Heavy

I want to be a collector of feelings, not things. 

Over the years I have noticed that the search for the perfect shirt is much more satisfying than the shirt itself hanging in my closet.  Later on, wearing that shirt might make me happy in tiny doses here and there, but usually it is what is in me more than what is on me that brings me joy.

The acquisition of stuff is a national past time.  If  I can buy just the right piece of clothing, or car, or house….  If I can find just the right medicine to alleviate all my aches and pains…..  If I can bring just the right people into my life…..   If I can find God, or reach Nirvana…  I will be happy.

The dreams of it all generally bring more happiness than the culmination.

The carrot is always out there.  Even if it is giving something away:  money, time, goodwill… We are creatures whose feet are firmly planted in seeking and doing.

In the end I have discovered that it is not the act that brings me real joy.  It is the contemplation of its implications, the savoring of its possibilities, the manipulating of my own desires that truly turns me on.

The concrete things are too heavy.  They weigh me down.

My feelings, on the other hand, often allow me to soar.