I do not dwell on happiness - that state of shifting between two sorrows - past and future. The excitement caused by relief from pain. Real happiness is un-SELF-conscious and perhaps best expressed in the positive as "being in the NOW" or "I am enough," and in the negative as there is nothing wrong with me / I have nothing to worry about. These expressions are experiences of emptiness uncluttered by memories and expectations. The child-like feeling of having all the time in the world coupled with a vastness of unlimited possibilities was taught by Dogen Zenji and popularized by Suzuki Roshi with the quote: "In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind, there are few."
My nickname as a child was "Happy." I lived in a infinite state of euphoria. Every human, plant, and animal was smiling in my world, and the possibilities were endless. I was completely immune (one might argue naive) to parental and authoritative negativity and oppression; so much so, that my father would exasperatively say, "Give her a paper bag, and she'd be happy!" In my younger years I saw my father's complaining about my happiness as a desire to quantify and prove happiness. He wrestled this demon of Samsara through the expression of contradictorially scolding all of us for not being satisfied with the little we did have, because - to him - possession was the only source of happiness. I have since realized my own shortsightedness and flat out ignorance of that shallow, past interpretation.
I do not want to admit this ignorance still plagues me, but I must. For in my admittance lies the responsibility of ownership. Possessions - in all forms - are the duty of the owner. Duty is the purpose of life. So, I live - maybe even thrive - on this fuel of liability, maintaining "my stuff" via the constant search of heeding the voice within. Eventually, a daily grind evolves, and the perpetual mining and filtering of the mind's daily haul reveals a state between the ebb and flow - an impartial silence.
As I write this, daily chores mound: dishes, cabinet doors, artwork, gardens & rocks...all calling their owner for maintainence. I heed their cries diving into the routine of ordinary life. All the while though, peaking through the din and racket is silence, the unbiased stalwart of solace, with the gentle reminder that I am happy.
