Feb 22, 2008
Once, some time ago , I was asked : “what makes you happy ?” Nothing, I replied. And then I asked myself again and again, seeking for that little happiness forgotten in a corner of my mind. Took a paper and a pencil to write down my finding and start looking around. Searched everywhere but nothing was there. Even those two beautiful faces looking at me with their sparking eyes didn’t make me happy. Even those innocent “I love you “ words coming out of their tiny lips didn’t give me joy. And that nothing was becoming bigger and bigger like a black river, made of drops of sadness, has flooded my life’s plain.
All I had was a black river and a white paper.
“Find a place (inside) where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." Says Joseph Campbell. “Easy to say” says me struggling to keep my head out of the black waters and trying to win the gravity’s force.
Candid has written in his cave’s wall “Only joy can overcome sadness, but it's hard to convince yourself of this.”
Yes, I reply, its hard to believe that. I can’t say that he is wrong, because a little voice inside me tells me that he is right but this little voice is not yet strong to convince me.
I look again in that white paper. Something is written there. Not many words, just a short list. A few things that give me joy.
I look again at the black river. Its seems now as a huge inkpot, full of black ink. I know what I need now. A fountain pen. To fill its reservoir with the river and make that list longer. Consume the sadness and create joy.
I have ink and paper. All I need is a pen. To draw a fire and burn the pain. I need a pen, to transform the ink into words. And put them in my sort lists.
talks between horse and moon
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