“Perhaps, trying even makes for unhappiness.Perhaps, all the din of my desiring has kept the bird from my shoulder. I have tried so long and so loud after happiness. I have looked so far and wide.
“I have always imagined that happiness is an island in the river. Perhaps, it is the river. I have thought happiness to be the name of an inn at the end of the road. Perhaps, it is the road. I have believed that happiness was tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Perhaps, it is here. Perhaps, it is now. I have looked everywhere else.
“So here and now.
“But, here and now is clearly unhappiness. Perhaps then, there’s no such thing as happiness. Perhaps, happiness exists not; it is just a dream created by an unhappy mind. Certainly happiness cannot be, as I unhappily imagine it. Here and now there is no happiness. So happiness is not. I need not, therefore waste myself on what is not. I can forget about happiness then; I can cease to care and instead concern myself with something that I do know, can feel and fully experience.
“Happiness is an idle dream: now it is morning. I can awaken and stay with unhappiness, with what is real under the sun this moment. And, now I see how much of my unhappiness came from trying to be happy; I can even see that trying is unhappiness. Happiness doesn’t try…
“At last I am here and now. At last I am what I am. I am unpretendig, at ease. I am unhappy. So what? Is this what I ran from? Is this really unhappiness?
“When I cease to try to be happy or anything else, when I do no seek anymore, when I do no care to go anywhere, get anything, then it seems I have already arrived in a strange place: I am here and now.
“When I see that I can do nothing, that all my doing is the same dream, in the moment that I see this, my mind – the old dreamer and wanderer – is for the moment still and present.
“For the moment, here and now, the real world shows. And see: here and now is already and always all that I had sought and striven after elsewhere and apart. More than that, I have hunted after shadows; The reality is here in this sunlit place, in this bird-call now. It was my seeking after reality that took me from it. Desire defeaned me. The bird was singing here all the while.
“If I am still and careless to find happiness, then happiness it seems is able to find me.
“It is, if I am truly still, as still as death – here and now.”
(I read this in a book I was reading the other day and wished to share.)