Happiness is a waterclock

It finds its way everywhere. If it can’t seep down, it will rise, mollecular crawling, acrobat-like, on a perfectly impenetrable wall.

Due to its unstoppable assault on everything in its way, water was bound to inspire people obssesed with the passage of time.

It could have been in Babylon, between the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers.

How long does it take to fill a jug of water? Three breaths? Five? It was not going to go unnoticed.

The Babylonians knew already that there was more to count between sunsets, to turn the day into smaller, more palatable morsels.

They may have given us the waterclock and a more enduring legacy contained within its inner workings.

Like water, happiness and its twin emotion, sadness, find their way through labyrinthine corridors of reason. They create caves and tunnels, bring about landslides and eat away at what modern psychology calls personal boundaries.

They can hide but are never far too far for emotion diviners. When first brought to surface before they are ready to emerge, they are muddied. Only natural springs are pure.

Happiness and sadness could only be measured by a timepiece that is always in danger of stopping.

Water evaporates or goes so deep into the ground that even expert diviners give up. Not fed by its vital fluid, the clock becomes useless.

Happiness and sadness need feeding too. Without a constant supply of events or conjectural thinking they wither and die.

How hungry is the waterclock of happiness? As hungry as we allow it to be.

Sadness is no different. Water is the perfect containable element. It will take the shape of any vessel readyb to contain it. That says about all.

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