Happiness

There is no substitute for the pureness of Happiness in a baby. Everyone knows this. But I struggle with the fact that no one seems to do anything about it? Is it hopeless to have the pureness in happiness as an adult? If so what prevents it? does the struggle of everyday living really prevent it?

Now, I’m not a dark existentialist or a morbid nihilist, but I still struggle to find examples within myself of pure, unadulterated happiness. hmmmm… just look at the word: unadulterated: not weight down by adult perspectives.

Nor am I one to be connected with my inner child. I do not wish my world to be small.

But tell me — where have you see an adult so completely, to the core of their being happy?

I do feel things to the core of my being, yes — and count myself lucky to say that. A’loft, yes. Angst, yes. Fire and Flow, yes. But happy? hmm.. I can’t seem to experience the pureness of “happy” — perhaps because of the pureness of it, as opposed to the happiness of it. Pureness suggests that it is strictly and wholly that single feeling. The things that reach to the core of my being and shake me in my complacency all are now intertwining moments of fullness and lacking – I feel the wonder and the pain. But to be purely happy, is inconceivable to me.

But then, I am a bit strange. Yet, why do I not observe others in a state of unadulterated happiness? In the bars, when one guy throws a joke so perfect and the table is all brought to tears over the descriptive storytelling abilities of the speaker — is that happiness that comes close to rivaling the look of pure joy my baby daughter has?