I read in a buddhist book once that the natural state of being are:
“Joy, Bliss and Peace”
A Solution to the Resolution of the Train of Thought:
After so much splitting and destruction, derailing more than once, with infighting of the highest degree, from emotional states so down and awful you would think there were no more–but it had learnt.
It had asked what the story was all about?
But now it was the train’s turn to turn itself into an answer. It was done asking questions. With so much loss, it could not spare another loss and, consequently, did something no other train would ever think of doing. It was going to speed up faster than ever before.
All the stop signs, and warnings blaring, all at once, so loudly it could not think.
It had tried, oh so, it had tried to do the right thing, try to understand the world it was in – safely, calmly, gently. It had spoken endlessly, conversing, with so many verses it could write a book.
Now it had it up till here, and it was no longer going to listen to others, nor its inner voice – not a road sign, nor blockade, could make this train change its fate. For it was the one, the only one, that could create its own story-line.
Too much it had listened to others. Trying, so much, to avoid self-centeredness, or ignorance. But it found it was only in fear of being perceived as such, and stopped itself from being much.
It wanted to be happy for once.
And the way it had done so, did not work.
It had lost everything.
And, then, lost more, unaware that it could lose any more.
With every disapproving frown, and all the shouting “not allowed!” in its mind. It decided to quit. To ignore it all, with ignorant self-centeredness, and a little bit of arrogance, it began to stop reasoning and began feeling.
NOW–it was the train’s turn for a chance at joy. So far, it had only gone slowly, and it had only felt lowly. Be careful, everyone sang–but this song did not rhyme in rhythm with the beating of the locomotive. It only became insecure if it followed what others had said, so sure.
The story would end anyway, sooner or later, so why p(l)ay it safe–and still it felt unsafe. It wanted to sing its own song for so long, against all who said it was wrong. It wanted to play.
“Follow the right track!” they said all so certain, but it only led to more hurtin’.
With all the resistance it could muster–it went for it–all alone.
It would rather tell a story of insanity than ever tell a story that would bore one to death.
And so it did what no one would ever do–it sped up–faster than it knew.
It excelled and spelled, with speeds unknown–accelerating its acceleration against everything it had ever known.
All narratives told it to stop–for yes it feared what it was doing, insecure, filled with self-doubt but these emotions did not decide the motion of the Train of Thought, and so it fought against them hard, and harder.
Persistent against the resistance, it rode ever faster.
It did not believe in what it was doing–but it did not matter–for it just chose to do so. It was truly scared, but took action nonetheless, and that was that. No cosmos in the universe, nor god, nor author could tell it what it should do.
And so it sped up, through and through.
Even the air resistance could not stop its acceleration–it only pushed it harder. The more difficult it became–from the narratives speaking back, or the warnings in its head–it only made it go harder and faster. For nothing could stop it from doing what it always wanted to do–reach its limits and then go further.
Through landscapes it went, unable to see as it sped to a thousand degrees. It had a fire in it burning hot with color unthought, exhaust pipes breaking, mechanical parts forsaken, and yet further it went.
It was going to die or be alive–but never ever would it be in the middle again. It was full of anguish and anger for having listened to so many before, thinking it was the right course of action, but none of it was true, for it was cracking under the pressure of pushing away it’s desire to be, and this was it’s reaction–to all those who said walk instead of run.
Throughout the story, it had experienced all the spectrums of misery and all the irreparable ways it could damage itself, oh so cautious it had been, yet it still crashed over and over again.
So it might as well take the way it desired to–the one against all odds.
It did not know where it would go, but the self-doubt it had, began to let go.
So persuasive and invasive was this self-doubt, but it finally left, as it no longer did what was ‘right’, and it began to believe it was right in doing so.
As its belief in itself grew, so did the speed reach new heights, and then, from nowhere, it flew.
The wheels of the train lifted from the tracks, as the speed reached its max.
The Train of Thought was flying.
None spoke a single word, not a narrative, nor a warning voice from within, it felt lighter than it ever did begin, and before it knew, it experienced something new, it found itself in a state of joy.
A state so sound, nothing could change it. Unchangeable, unfathomable, and unshakeable. None could do it harm, no more, for it truly had it all.
As the realization of this state occurred, so did it flourish, evermore, into something new than the state before. For if joy existed and it could return to it, over and over again, then this, naturally, led to the state of bliss.
And in that wonder of joy came forth the feeling of bliss, for it could have done this before, and it could do it again and again, over and over, in revolutions, in cycles, in repetitions. For what better state can there be, then to go to joy whenever one desired to do so–this is bliss…
Then came the last of them. For it would always be okay, it would always be safe, it could trust in itself–no matter which way. It was finally, deeply, at ease, and so came the sense of peace.