Unhappiness is such a chronic and static state, that I’m truly beginning to believe that it’s the natural order of things. That’s not to say that I’ve been depressed or anything lately. Quite the opposite, life has been treating me pretty kindly as of late. But every time I poke my head above the bubble that is KZ’s special little world, I have to admit, I get a little down. People don’t seem to enjoy as much happiness in life as they ought to. Whenever we find happiness, we treat it like an honored guest or a long-lost sibling. Heed the words of Don McLean when he sings in “American Pie”: “A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile / and I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance, and maybe they’d be happy for a while.” Can it truly be that life on Earth is doomed to a terminal state of sadness?
I don’t claim to know a whole lot about Buddhism, but I do happen to be a fan of author Jack Kerouac. He was a fairly dedicated Buddhist in his time, and he was always eager to remind you of the First Noble Truth, which states that all life is suffering. Up until last week, I had only read a handful of his earlier works, in which his enthusiasm and commitment to Buddhism were at their peak. It was in these books that Kerouac swept me away with his beautiful, compassionate prose that paints the world with broad strokes of melancholy shades, only to wipe clean the significant spots, drawing attention to all the beauty and holy truth to be found in life. His books, on the whole, leave me feeling exhilarated and maybe a little wiser. Then last week I got around to reading Big Sur, which I would dare to guess is Kerouac’s hugest literary downer. The book is superbly written, but the story made me want to shoot myself.
Big Sur is the story of Kerouac’s real-life struggle with alcoholism, after all, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised at how depressing it was. Incidentally, it was alcohol that led to his premature death at the age of 47. What struck me most about the book was the realization that even Kerouac, one of the greatest (in my opinion) advocates of the beauty and joy of life, could have fallen as far into despair as he did. Life is suffering, bitch. Don’t you forget it.
I try to keep my spirits as high as I can, but I sometimes fail just like anybody else. I wish life weren’t so goddamned harsh and unfair, but it is. I don’t want to end up like Kerouac, but I would like to adopt that outlook of his that recognizes beauty in all of the sad, trivial moments in life. Keeping that outlook on life is what keeps me writing. And in the end, writing is the reason that I can stand to live.
What would happen if your blog became erased? I hope it never does because I truly enjoy reading it.