During the Memorial Day holiday (now two weeks ago), I spent the weekend with a friend and her family at her parent's house, which is located near one of New Jersey's many scenic bodies of water (that's not sarcasm, New Jersey is actually a lovely state, depending on where you are). We basically sat around and ate, drank, and enjoyed life. Enjoyed living. All people are familiar with the expression, "money can't buy you happiness," and usually we can dismiss it as bullshit, because money certainly doesn't hurt. Yet, during times like I enjoyed that weekend, I really get the meaning of that. I understand. I absorb the wisdom of those words and experience it in my core. All the money in the world couldn't buy me that simple experience. It was pure...contentment. Yes, the worries of my world and the truths of my existence tried to worm their way into my brain, but for the most part, I was in a complete state of comfort. I was beyond comfort. It was like the poet B. Carlisle once wrote, "Forsooth, do you know what that's worth? Zounds, heaven is a place on earth."
Of course, like a ball tossed into the air, everything comes back down to earth. The higher the heights of happiness, the more you recognize its absence. Back to work, back to the grind, back to bills, back to the general sourness and bitterness I find in myself and others over any and all harms, real or perceived, grand or slight. But really, what can be done about it? The oppressed may change, but oppression itself never goes away. Someone must be ground under the heel of the world. Sometimes that someone is me, but more often than not it is some other shmuck. All in all, life is okay.