The Meaning of Life

While being secluded in a mental hospital, I had a rather epiphany as to what the meaning of life truly is. I was reading a book featuring the Dalai Lama's ideas on the topic, and he seems to believe that the meaning, or at least the purpose, of life is happiness. I do not view this to be correct. What I view as the meaning of life is consideration. That very word seems to encompass all the wrongs that can be righted in the world; consideration. Viewing happiness as the goal or meaning of life sounds good, but we have to ultimately consider what it is that leads to happiness. Therefore consideration is a much greater foundation for happiness to arise. People could indulge in unwholesome behaviors to achieve happiness, or at least their narrow view of what it means to be happy. The truth is, is we have to be considerate to be happy. We have to consider our own states of mind as well as the states of mind of others to be happy. But this also begs the question, what should ultimately be considered? And that, I view to be Christ. If we continually allow a consideration for Christ in our lives, I feel that we will achieve happiness. There is so much to consider when we consider Christ; love, peace, joy, happiness, and above all else sacrifice. The meaning of life is not just to be happy, but to consider happiness and how to achieve it, not only for yourself, but for others as well.

Knives

The truth is, not all stories are happy ones. Some are of a darker nature. And the reason I tell such stories is because life can be dark as well as light. Some say there are two sides to every coin. I don't believe this to case. For in the moment, we are entranced on one side. We can flip the coin repeatedly, heads one day, tails the next. But for the unlucky one, the coin always lands on tails, whether or not they flip it once or thousands of times. This is the story of one unlucky one.

She grew up poor. There was a garbage dump and a row of run down, delapidated houses. None of which were enjoyable to the eye. There was the bus station where the neighborhood kids would play from time to time. They would play hide-and-seek and tag and "don't touch the lava". All those games. Chelsea was a young, red-haired girl about nine years old. Too young to know of love and sex. Only old enough to know of eyes and ears.

Rusty knocked on her little red-brick house one night, asking her aging mother if she could come out and play. She said "yes" of course. Chelsea's mother loved her dearly, she couldn't help it. Her father had died of Leukemia recently, and they lived together in that house and enjoyed their life. They also had a neighbor Dan, who was beginning to show an interest in Chelsea's mother, and would show his presence in their home from time to time. He was even showing an interest in young Chelsea. Not the healthy kind.

"So Chelsea, what do you want to play?"

"Oh, I don't know. Hide and seek."

"You always want to play that. Fine."

Chelsea ran through the buses and hid while Rusty covered his eyes and counted "mississippi seconds". The sun was coming down and casting long shadows of the buses, the sky turning that beautiful pink and orange.

"Here I come!" shouted Rusty.

He started to run through the buses, trying to find her. Rusty was a good kid, only about eleven, doing well in school. Dan was his uncle, standing there watching the children play, smoking a cigarette and drinking beer. The children ran and laughed and giggled, Rusty couldn't tag her.

"Slow down Chelsea!" said Rusty.

"Okay." she said and caught her breath. "I wish we had a ball."

"Uncle Dan has one!"

"Oooooo!" Chelsea stood up and did a cat stretch, reaching for the sky. Dan watched.

She walked briskly over to Dan, his dirty jeans, scruffy face, and creepy glare.

"Hi Dan!" she said.

"Well, hey there Chelsea. How have you been little girl?"

"Goooood." she said shyly, staring at the ground. "Do you have a ball?"

"I do, actually. You're mom said you needed a father figure, do you know what that is?"

"Nooo, my daddy died awhile ago."

"I know that sweety. Why don't you come inside and I'll get you your ball."

Chelsea innocently followed Dan inside. Dan's intentions we're far from pure, but the reality of the future was even worse. Dan collected knives.

"Do you like my mommmy?"

"Yes, I do Chelsea. But I like you to."

"Oh," was all she could say.

"Now if you come downstairs, I'll get you your ball. But you'll have to do something for me?"

"What?"

"I'll show you." He said watching her.

Chelsea ran downstairs and saw plenty of strange things. Odd trinkets, machines, and a large pile of knives. Dan collected knives. It was a strange fascination for him. Some of us truly descend into evil. Rusty sat outside and waited patiently.

"Now Chelsea, I want you to take off your clothes for me, okay?" said Dan.

"I was told by mom that,"

"Look, I don't give a fuck what your mom says, okay. Do as I say, I'm your father now."

"No! My Daddy's dead! Mom said so!" She started to run. But she tripped and fell. She fell right into the pile of knives. Her screams were agony. Dan just stared as she bled to death.

The cops came and questioned everyone. Rusty said she went inside to get a ball. Dan said she tripped and fell. But Chelsea was dead. No one was arrested. There was a funeral. And Dan, being the hero, comforted poor Chelsea's mother and eventually they married.