O'Keeffe "Red Snapdragons"

Something is very right about the difficulty of a task, for it creates opportunity for greatness.


Something is very right about pain and suffering, for they draw us closer to God, and they delineate pleasure and joy.


Something is very right about want, for it defines fulfillment.


Something is very right about fear, for it defines love.



For a couple of weeks, maybe, I've been in a horrible terrible mood. Life has seemed terribly full of unhappiness and woe. I've asked myself: was I ever happy(?) - at any time in my life after about, say, the end of third grade? Have I always been unhappily searching for contentment and fulfillment? Have I never had it? Have I only fooled myself into thinking I had it - or even that it was available? Is this existence all about coping inside a continuous state of woe? Can I even remember an extended state of happiness and fulfillment and contentment? Was I content and fulfilled in college? Not really. During any period thereafter? I really cannot remember any period of life when I was consistently happy and fulfilled and content. Maybe I am misremembering. Or not.

I've noticed, in comments which I've dashed off on other blogs, I've been unusually harsh and mean and hubristically full of myself. Not pretty. I've been a jerk. I've felt mean and horrible and terrible, and it showed. I've written two blogposts which I never put on the blog b/c they were so harsh. I've known I was in a horrible terrible mood, and I've been unable to shake it.

I've prayed. I've tried to meditate and think of what is going on with me. I've idly wondered if I've a hereditary disposition towards depression, and I've idly cursed the ineffectiveness and danger I perceive in anti-depression medications! Dang it! I wish there was a pill! Only really, I don't. I would rather experience my own life fully, for better or worse. Only, really, sometimes, I wish there was a pill. I've known exercise would help get some endorphins going, and I've not exercised. Tomorrow. I'll exercise tomorrow.

And I've felt just horrible. And in despair. And I've chastised myself: I'm healthy. I'm safe and warm. I'm living in no kind of hardship. Reminding myself of that hasn't helped me feel less horrible or less in despair.

And I finally remembered, thanks to various discussion and various circumstance: I've been acting like a lefty! I've been acting as if something is very wrong about life! I've forgotten the nuggets (composed by me[!], after studying and co-opting the reasoning of others) listed beside the red snapdragons: Something is very right. Something is very right about the design of existence. I'm so happy to remember/be reminded of this.

"Everything has already been said, and well said; but one must always recall it anew."
-Frithjof Schuon

I'm so happy because I think remembering something is very right is what I needed. I think my horrible, terrible mood shall soon subside. I was so happy to remember, I poured a big glass of wine and composed this post in celebration. So, this is written on wine, and Lord knows what it will look like tomorrow. But I'm publishing it, with nary more than a spellcheck. No proofread, no nothing. Life happens. I say let it. Blogposts happen. Let them. Proofreading is for sissies - and sober sissies at that. La'Chaim! To life with beloved friends.

Note: hah! I just spellchecked, and I hadn't mispelled or mistyped a thing! Stone-cold sobriety is overrated.