beware the ides of march

You know, there's something about all of it that is just inane. An existence where we wander around, trying not to see or touch. The words spoken flowing so freely, sometimes bolstered by meaning, sometimes hollow and can you really ever distinguish? The beautiful is lost to the majority and that my friends, is lamentable. We destroy it instead of ensuring the protection that it is in need of. People do not regularly speak of the moon or trees, do not stand outside each day to watch the sun set, cannot smell the sweet aroma of awareness because it is not necessary to them. They do not need it. People who are happy.

Being "happy" is easy, my friends. Being "happy" is a retreat within the depths of disillusion or ignorance or career or religion or numerous other factors which contribute to the blindness that is becoming increasingly indicative of the society we live in. Does happiness exist? Yes. But perhaps it is a debilitation rather than a sense of relief. One cannot always be happy, but rather, will experience these crystalline moments, examples, lucidations, epiphanies, triumphs and cling to them forever, trying to alleviate the emptiness, and the memory of a time that has now become at best, foreign, and at worst, completely lost to us. We are haunted, my friends, haunted by our happiness and the ghosts it has claimed.

I wish I were not so nostalgic. I also wish that spring would come. But what good are wishes anyway?