It's 4:14 my time, and I can't believe how one thought can keep me awake.
I'm appalled that you took my sympathies, however misplaced, as "pity" Ron.
I hate the stuff, m'self.
But I thought I'd sum up how I feel about "bliss" with some carefully chosen words. I know they were chosen carefully because I did not write them.
"Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is a train of moods like a string of beads, and as we pass through them they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its focus. […] Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them. It depends on the mood of the man whether he shall see the sunset or the fine poem. (The Portable Emerson, 269)"
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Do we choose to see the sunset or the fine poem, or do we choose to define it out of existance?
Which sort of ties into my other thread--and again I love serendipity, because as I was pondering all of this, I thought that our problem lies not in each other, but in our definitions. From the script of the animated film Waking Life:
"Creation seems to come out of imperfection. It seems to come out of a striving and a frustration. And this is where I think language came from. I mean, it came from our desire to transcend our isolation and have some sort of connection with one another. And it had to be easy when it was just simple survival. Like, you know, "water." We came up with a sound for that. Or "Saber-toothed tiger right behind you." We came up with a sound for that. But when it gets really interesting, I think, is when we use that same system of symbols to communicate all the abstract and intangible things that we’re experiencing. What is, like, frustration? Or what is anger or love? When I say "love," the sound comes out of my mouth and it hits the other person’s ear, travels through this Byzantine conduit in their brain, you know, through their memories of love or lack of love, and they register what I’m saying and they say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert. They’re just symbols. They’re dead, you know? And so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed. It’s unspeakable. And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another, and we feel that we’ve connected, and we think that we’re understood, I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion. And that feeling might be transient, but I think it’s what we live for."
That pretty much explains why I say your bliss is none of my business--it's personal.
And, as stated above, I think I have to agree that so is frustration.
Now, g'nite Ronnie Baby. Dream sweet.