Why is it utterly uncomplicated to write and speak of the bad? Why are we as a species seemingly fixed into this “negative” default setting? At least I know I tend to be. And no matter how actively I try to flip that switch, which is a persistent struggle in itself, no matter how determined and diligent I remain, at the slightest signs of compliance, click, it powers back into negative mode and all hell breaks loose.
So why are we programmed this way? Is society to blame?
Nature vs nurture even?
When it comes to personally deliberating my own precious junctures I find it impossible to smile because I have real difficulty locating them in the vault of my memory. And perhaps that has simply been my life; one of extreme complications with only a splash of lapsed wonder which has plunged into impassable, atramentous depths. Like oil and water they refuse to mingle but dance to a hostile grapple of capoeira. But we all know that oil wins in the end, refusing to sink beneath water.
And when it comes to writing, negative words seems to flow in an effortless poetic flood. The damnable is a seductive mistress who seizes your soul, rendering you powerless to unbind her siphoning tether.
Perhaps it’s because I have a deeper and complex connection to darkness; more understanding of its mechanics. Or perhaps because I genuinely lack in jubilant experiences and evade penning what I simply can not comprehend. But oh how I wish I could compose of such marvellous things. I’d love to create sunnier skies. Scrawl about the magic of sunsets, the wonder of Mother Nature and beauty mankind has constructed beside it. But I can’t cease to dwell on the bad. And humans as a whole seem to respond more to the negative, feeding the nightmare with stories of ghouls and goblins. We’re inundated with it. The media, Facebook our peers, we seem incapable of celebrating in prosperity, consistently choosing to wallow in fear and melancholy.
I wish the nefarious would depart my soul. Even take a slight vacation to the Bahamas or a month-long stay Paris. Perhaps the opulence of a limestone jungle will be enough to seduce it indefinitely. Finally leaving me be, allowing for some goodness to finally come my way for a change. And maybe, just maybe I’ll grasp the essence of happiness and with it be able to write and share it with the world.