(We all seek happiness but often find it beyond us. Why is Happiness so elusive? Is it because we seek it in worldly possessions, rather than looking for it inside us? And why does a life, lived for others, brings profound joy and fulfilment. To serve, or help others selflessly is known to make us happy, so does self-discipline and sacrifice.)
Happiness—
the mind begins its search in the glittering world,
in trophies won, riches hoarded,
and fleeting pleasures that shimmer like mirages.
It chases power,
believing the heights of conquest
will echo with joy.
It drinks from the chalice of indulgence,
only to find the sweetness fleeting,
the cup hollow.
The mind, restless and disquiet,
wanders further—
to the applause of crowds,
the fleeting warmth of fame.
Yet, each treasure crumbles,
its promise unfulfilled.
The chase grows weary,
and in the stillness of exhaustion,
a quiet truth descends.
Happiness—
not a prize to be won,
nor a jewel to be owned.
It resides in the unlit corners of the heart,
waiting to be found.
It blooms not in the taking,
but in the giving—
in the hand extended to lift another,
in the sacrifice that bears no name.
The joy of service,
of living for more than oneself,
becomes an effortless purpose.
The mind, once outward-bound,
turns inward,
and in its surrender finds peace.
Happiness whispers,
“I am here.
I was always here.
In the love you shared,
in the lives you touched,
in the quiet grace of simply being.”
And so, the search ends,
not in the gaining,
but in the letting go—
not in the grasping,
but in the open palm,
offering itself to the world.
scribo ad LX 