Reading harold_maude's journal

Dec 03, 2004 13:51 # 29756

harold_maude *** posts about...

The problem

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What is the difference between a person who finds contentment in what would seem a boring continous never changing life and a person who doesn't?

What is the difference between someone who is content no matter where they are and someone who constantly needs something to make them feel alive?

Why is it that when someone has an experience they think that the same experience everyone else should have too?

Every person is different.
How they view the world.
How they See the elephant under the rug, or the parrot.

There in lays the problem. What makes one content may not make another content.

There are commonalities between all humans.
Threads that join one to another.

That's where the road begins to splinter. Break of into chunks and do it's thing.

The flow of life is what takes us where it will. How we fight aginst it or go with it could possibly be the answer to the question of why some people seem content or so completely discontent that they are in a continual search mode. Or at least part of it.

I wrote yesterday about the importance of finding the purpose of life in relation to your life.

Why is it that some people know their purpose and then run hard and fast to get away from it?

Is it the same need to know the answers to what if?

The problem is....and the winner is....

Every morning I spend time wandering through this quiet space and thoughts come.
Because they are fresh in the day, not colored by my experiences of the day, they often make me think about things that are more than the currant events of this time of life, or work or what needs to be done.

Somedays I feel like life is crushing me. That there is no point to anything. After all the work of life. All the imitating our primal anscestors of gathering things instead of food, that it means nothing, because it's in a constant state of decay.
This morning was like that. Then I remembered lamentations.
There is a feel when you read it that comes down to this: I denyed myself nothing and discovered that everything was vanity...
That we are dust. That the greatest joy in life is to be content in the simple things. Being able to work, and eat because your labor has provied food.

Simplicity. A child's view of the world. Of life.

that's where I want to live every day. No matter where I go, no matter how exciting things are in the beginning, after a while the discontentment that is in me will surface.
The external is still the same, the problem is in me.

That's where the problem really lays.

Not in my job, how much money I have or don't have. Or anything else. Wether I'm thin or fat or short or tall or have all my teeth or don't.
Or how long it's been since my last vacation.
Thoes are momentary things. All of it. It's all passing.

The only thing I carry with me is what's inside me. If I'm not content, the place that needs adjusting is inside me.
If I am content, then the physical place has little baring on whether I wake up happy or not.

Simple. Difficult to change what I'm comfortable with. comfort I comfortable in a state of discontent? Do I really and truely want to leave and disgard thoes things that make me miserable inside of me...or are thoes things so much a part of my comfort zone that leaving them would be like loosing a precious treasure to me?

Mirror mirror on the wall
who can complain the loudest of them all?

And the winner is....

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