Happiness is of the Devil

What does it mean to be happy?  Do you know?  

What does happiness look like, feel like, and what affect does it have on those around you?

I find that happiness is vilified, and demonized; for if you are happy, people tend to believe that you have some mental condition that you are hiding like sociopathy.   I am happy.  I smile a lot.  When I talk with people, it tends to be contagious.  If you are having a bad day and I enter the atmosphere of your haze and shine a little light into your darkness.  This bothers people.  And I find myself asking: Why?  

Why is it so hard to be happy?

Shit happens.  Get over it.

Shit happens to you, Get over yourself.

Attachment to the events that invoke unhappiness is dwelling in sorrow.  Who the hell wants to be unhappy?  As I look around at many unhappy people, it seems there are lots of people who actually want to be unhappy.  The contentment makes them uneasy, and so they seek an outlet to be unhappy.  It can be anything really, a news report on television, some forum post on the Internet, or even bumping into another unhappy person on your daily travels.    The truth is, many people seek out unhappiness.  Why?

What is it about contentment that makes one so uncomfortable that it leads to belief that: Something is wrong.  Personally, when I feel content, I consider what it is I could be doing to strive for more so that I don’t stagnate in my present level of being.  It doesn’t make me uneasy; instead it just makes me wonder. So, I reflect.  I have a moment of introspect, and think:  Well hey this moment is good, but things could be better.  I take great pride in my personal accomplishments but if you are constantly looking back, rather than forward, you tend to believe that there’s nothing more that can be done.  You’ve done it all.  Nope, there’s always more and life is full of surprises.

I spend a great deal of time considering the possibilities.  I take on challenges as a condition of my being to constantly test what I’m made of.  Some challenges are more difficult than others, and I find the trouble-shooting to be great way to exercise my mind.  My mind…Ah yes… It is always working, and on many levels.  My mind is never really quiet.  It’s on an adventure into the imagination.  That’s where it all begins right?  Imagining.  I can imagine myself being a certain way, or acquiring things, but it can border on setting up expectations.  Generally speaking, when you set up expectations and they are not met, you are left either disappointed or frustrated.  This can lead to being bitter….Unhappy.  There’s also negative identification and imagining.  You gotta stay alert and self-aware at all times.  This takes Work.

All self-created unhappiness should be exorcised.  Is there an Exorcist in the house????  Oh right, I’m one of those too.  A skill one acquires when being of the Devil.  The Devil is always in the details.  The details aren’t always what they seem to the outside world thereby making them Occult.

I am rarely unhappy.  I am ambitious, and enjoy the challenge of daily life.  The years have gone by like a blink.  I’ll be 39 in January, and I can remember 29 like it was yesterday.  When I do look back, I’m looking for apparent changes, or coping tools I’ve employed in the past to see if they are relevant today.  We change, but the more things change the more things seem to stay the same.   I can identify constants in myself that have been tried and found true.  I can also identify when I’m on a Fool’s Journey.  Something needs to happen to knock you off the wheel, so life throws you a curve ball.  The more we accept that we cannot control every aspect of our lives, the less inclined we are to freak out when shit happens.  

I’m a happy person.  It doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days or days when I’m like:  Let the world burn!  About six months ago I was driving down the highway and a construction vehicle dropped a stone as big as my fist out of its cargo and it hit my windshield smashing it.  I chased the truck down for phone number and driver id #, I obtained it.   I pulled over to call the company, left messages, with no reply.  It was made resounding clear, that this is one of those instances when shit happens.  Even if the office had called me back, the burden of proof is on me to demonstrate the cover to the truck was up when ordinance requires that it be down.  This would have prevented the stone from flying out at high speeds and hitting my car.  I had to pay for a broken windshield.  Shit!  So you suck it up, put on your big girl panties and just deal with it.  I got over it.  Three months later, the hatchback handle on my trunk broke off in my hand, and I had to replace the part to open my trunk.  Upon research, it happened to be a fairly common occurrence with the make and model I bought.  Even if I’d known that, I’m fairly certain I still would have made the purchase. I love my car.  So, shit happened.  I got over it.  I fixed it.  A month ago, a small pebble hit my windshield, again on the interstate and now I have a busted windshield again.  Shit happened again.  I got over it.  Shit happened to me, I got over myself.  This time I laughed.  What can you do?  It’s pretty funny.  My little toy car, now 6 years old, appears to be having a moment.  It’s been a pretty dependable car, easy on gas, and packs a lot of cargo for being so small.  I still love my car.  I still remember vividly ordering it online.  The first time I’d ever purchased a car by ordering it on the Internet.  I paid cash.  No car payments.  I customized it the way I wanted it, right down to the shade of paint.  I wanted it and I bought it.  The day I drove it home from the dealership, I was happy.  Driving it around town, I noted that the seething jealousy of the people around me was projected at me.  I laughed.  It was apparent.  By this time, I was on my 3rd new car.  I couldn’t decide on car I really liked.  I went from a sports car, to a PT Cruiser, but still wasn’t quite happy with my purchase.  So, I traded it in, first paying off the car loan, then buying the new one cash.  People asked me: How do you do that!?  Save for it?  Make good financial decisions, and go after what you want?  I mean, it’s just a car right?  Or is it?

It seemed to me that car represented so much more than a vehicle of transportation to others.  Some sort of status or accomplishment.  It’s not as if I purchased a Mercedes or some other ‘status car’, nope.  It was a Scion XB 2005 to be exact.  That’s a pretty cheap car, when compared to other makes and models.  I noted that those projecting their unhappiness at me were driving a beat up shit box.  I’ve had my fair share of those too when I was a teenager.  My first car was a 76’ Pontiac Hurricane, white with olive green interior and it always smelled like maple syrup because it had an antifreeze leak.  My Dad gave it to me, even though I had already purchased my own car, but it needed a clutch.  It was a 69 Mustang Fastback, black with red interior.  I loved that car, but boy did it always give me trouble.  Those jokes about FORD’s are true you know…  Fix Often, Repair Daily!  So I drove the Hurricane around, my girlfriend’s ducking down in the seats because they didn’t want to be seen in this ridiculous hoopty of a car.  I loved it.  I was happy driving it. Thing was a tank, and I could fit 10 kids in the back easily (and often did).  I drove that car until I finally wrecked it when living in NH.  I was t-boned during a rainstorm, and hit a parking-meter.  I never even felt it.  I should have been dead.  The kid that hit me couldn’t see 10’ in front of him has he plowed through the intersection going about 60.  My girlfriend got out of the car and was shaking.  She was on the passenger side that got hit, but she just ended up in my lap on impact.  I made sure she was okay, and she was.  Just a bit shaken.  We are all out there in the pouring rain; the kid is freaked because he doesn’t have insurance.  The car wasn’t even registered in my name.  So I left it there.  It was ready for the junkyard anyway.  I’m smiling, and laughing to myself to which my friend screams: Are you insane we almost died!  I told her “But we didn’t.  Shit happens, get over it.”  She calls me a sociopath in her endearing way, because she’s freaking out and I’m fine.  I thought to myself, Man that was crazy but yay for Pontiac for making such an indestructible car!  She begins worrying about everything under the sun:  What about the car?  Insurance?  Are we going to get in trouble?  Is her mother going to kill her?  All the usual stuff kids worry about I suppose.  I wasn’t worried and that bothered her.  What’s to worry about?  We are alive.  We are fine.  And I have another car to drive, well…After I fixed that clutch that always gave me trouble.  Life was good.  Just another event in the history of SIN JONES.

The car was a fair bit more than just a vehicle for transportation.  Yet another allegory I can pull from my armory.  

To be happy, is to be of the Devil.  To me, that car was a symbol of what could have been if... And the memories I had driving it.  I wasn’t really attached to the car.  I was thankful to my father for giving it to me free and clear.  When I called him to tell him what happened, he was glad I was okay, but then again…He was never worried about me.  He knew I could always take care of myself.  My father always voiced his sense of pride and awe of me.  Our discussion was mostly about old muscle cars, and how they don’t make them like that anymore.  He always had a love for old cars, and it fostered the same love in me.  I still love them but they aren’t always practical.  I had my son at 21, and getting a car seat in and out of my sports car was a pain.  So I traded my love for muscle cars, for something that made better sense.  We sacrifice, but it doesn’t mean we have to sacrifice our happiness.  Especially to those that would do better to see us unhappy.

I’m often vilified for my happy and friendly demeanor.  I mean let’s face it; the stereotype of Satanists is out there!  We are supposed to be brooding, miserable assholes! Life is full of happiness, but shit happens, and you have to get over it.  Otherwise you end up holding that stereotype up with two hands.  How typical and ordinary.  I am neither.

Keep your unhappiness to yourself.

I am of the Devil.