(the title is a nod to that melancholic groan by Kierkegaard)
Krishnamurti famously said (and it became famous because spiritual misanthropes gleefully latched on to this quote) "It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
Is humanity "sick"? Or are you just sick of it.
Those very naturalists who decry man for not being in harmony with nature are also quite miffed with the natural, animal instincts which man has somewhat tamed.
It is true that modern life has its discontents. Alienation, Stress, Loneliness, Financial insecurity. Is life as an animal better?
One of my friends expressed a wish to be a bird. To be human was too burdensome for him.
Rent, mortgage, health insurance, car repairs, immunizations...
But he could choose to live as a bird even now. He can give up his home, his family and his work, and be a bum. He could choose never to go to a doctor or a mechanic.
We think the birds are happy. But the birds (if they could think) must be envious of our comforts. Birds must suffer during every rain, during every storm, and one can imagine their distress when they fly back to their nest and find that a ravaging predator has left blood soaked mess of feathers and bones of the birds' young ones.
Our greatest gift, the mind, also imposes its burden.
Happiness is not to wish to be someone else. That someone else is probably not that happy either.
Krishnamurti famously said (and it became famous because spiritual misanthropes gleefully latched on to this quote) "It is no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society."
Is humanity "sick"? Or are you just sick of it.
Those very naturalists who decry man for not being in harmony with nature are also quite miffed with the natural, animal instincts which man has somewhat tamed.
It is true that modern life has its discontents. Alienation, Stress, Loneliness, Financial insecurity. Is life as an animal better?
One of my friends expressed a wish to be a bird. To be human was too burdensome for him.
Rent, mortgage, health insurance, car repairs, immunizations...
But he could choose to live as a bird even now. He can give up his home, his family and his work, and be a bum. He could choose never to go to a doctor or a mechanic.
We think the birds are happy. But the birds (if they could think) must be envious of our comforts. Birds must suffer during every rain, during every storm, and one can imagine their distress when they fly back to their nest and find that a ravaging predator has left blood soaked mess of feathers and bones of the birds' young ones.
Our greatest gift, the mind, also imposes its burden.
Happiness is not to wish to be someone else. That someone else is probably not that happy either.
1 comment:
This is till date the best out of your blog
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