One must imagine Sisyphus happy.
One must believe that the constant struggle of pushing a boulder up a never-ending mountain makes a man happy.
One must expect a cursed man to accept his curse and struggle on, blindly, happily.
That has always sounded a bit strange to me.
This idea follows the train of thought that were Sisyphus to reach the top of his mountain,
look out, up and around, he’d
feel empty.
The payoff would be unsatisfying.
He’d push the boulder down and start anew, now wouldn’t that be logic-defying?
One must imagine Sisyphus happy because if he isn’t, what point is there in hard work towards uncertain goals,
against impossible odds, carrying unweighable loads?
One must picture him happy because otherwise,
one would have to face an unforgiving world in which one can struggle all one wants, never get proper advice,
and continuously get crushed by an unforgiving vice,
to never truly achieve anything, because unless one is lucky, one, too, is cursed to push boulders.
And should one not picture Sisyphus happy, one might stop pushing the boulder and seek alternative paths, and try to grow happily older,
because one is not Sisyphus. One needs only notice that.
You and I and the guy next door are not cursed, but all of us push our own boulders upwards, lads.
We are all told that meaning is not given to us, that we make it, but it is conveniently left out that we should be able choose how, when, where.
One person may stop pushing their own boulder. And all the other boulder-pushers around them would look at them, call them a fool, naïve for
looking for meaning in different ways.
And those who don’t won’t speak out because they, too don’t want to be called fools and strays.
And this works quite well, and everyone keeps pushing their own boulder and tells themselves that this is so very meaningful!
Yet they don’t look in the mirror to see the real fools.
Because what if more people stopped pushing their boulders? What if this caused a chain reaction, and only those who have been pushing for
decades refused to stop?
Because here’s the real kicker: From the beginning, not everyone had a boulder. Nobody is born with a boulder, but there are those who distribute them, and they keep getting bolder.
They’re obscenely powerful to an extent where most people don’t bother being mad at them.
So detached that the rest fail to see the impact that they had on them.
They own the boulders. They own the mountains.
They sell the illusion that purpose can be found in
anything, they encourage looking for it in your most miserable states,
so that you forget to try and open your gates.
So that you forget that you could go out of your way
And refuse to follow their ways
And they keep giving you rocks, and they give them graciously, down to you from upstairs
and they make it your truth, and they make it everyone’s truth because it’s theirs
and the second someone doesn’t take a rock,
they made sure that society will punish them for it.
Because people tend to flock,
And as flocks change, outsiders called boring.
Obviously, few are privileged enough to actually stop pushing boulders.
They made sure of that, too. By becoming the shareholders
Of all that’s precious and I find that horrid,
Because if enough people keep pushing like their life depends on it,
their life, and everyone else’s will depend on it.
Because humans are desperate for the approval of others, and they will
try to fit in. But though it is a privilege to stop, more than this, still,
it is a luxury to continue. It’s a luxury to look down and watch others crumble under the weight of their rocks
and keep pushing because you may have no such worries, say ‘that sucks’
all while you smile and wave as those above you shove their rocks on you until you, too are out of luck.
One must imagine Sisyphus happy because his anger is too strong for the Gods to undermine.
So be angry. Be angry that no matter what you do, they will keep throwing rocks at you, and you either catch and shove on, or get hit and die.
So maybe, just maybe, we should stop imagining Sisyphus happy, and do something about this boulder, and face the gods bathed in riches and wine