I like to think happiness is an immortal sleeping dog – I know it’s there, and while it sleeps, it doesn’t move or make a sound. It’s a dormant happiness. For however long it sleeps, my only happiness is this constant, of knowing, that the dog is always there.
I find solace in thinking that by design or outcome, everything in this life is supposed to be true and harsh, tough and brutal. That’s why things die. And, reassuringly for me, I feel that while things are tough for me, It tells me I’m alive and qualified and justifying my existence to be in this life.
But life won’t make my day any friendlier or easier or fairer – it’s like a crude businessman : “Don’t take it personal, It’s just business!”
That’s why I don’t trust life by itself much because it just tries to make me the victim of it’s policies. Life often tries to sell me a product called “Happiness” and it says that it’s cheap, easy to get and makes a good return of investment every few days and is fool proof. Only thing I need to do is to rely on it.
When the salesman of life knocks on my door asking to sell me happiness. I look across the hallway and see the dog, still sleeping and I realise I don’t need to get happiness from life, he’s a fraudster and I already know Happiness is sleeping in my hallway and eventually will wake up but if it doesn’t, I know it always there.
I’d like to think that the dog is everything I’ve felt, experienced, done, the people I’ve met, and mostly the thoughts in my mind which I value the most. The dog is the source of my happiness.