No, really. They bug the shit out of me.
"What crawled up your culottes?"
Seriously, Buddhists who talk-tweet-blog-chirp non-stop about how happy they have become are really just projecting how miserable they are. But rather than deal with their unhappiness in an honest and direct way, they figure if they just keep telling others they are happy that maybe they'll be able to conjure up Manjushri's sword to cleave their miserable heart, revealing the pulsing bliss of Kwan Yin.
There's not a lot to be happy about. I'm a 55-year-old gay man surrounded by men who think they are 10s (some of them seriously are) and they're all looking for an 11. They go to the gym to get these bodies that they've become enslaved to, because as soon as they stop working out, their body goes to hell.
Well, I shouldn't cast stones. I go to the gym. Not as often as I should, but I go. I want to stay ahead of this bulge I have. Seriously, I can't even see my penis anymore. Well, I can see it when I have an erection, or when I tilt my head down, or when I'm lying on my back and my belly flattens out because gravity pulls all the fat down toward the mattress. And I kid myself that, yeah, I'm going to return to that svelt 180-pound gorgeous man I was in my 30s, I just need to shed, you know, like 30 pounds. And I need to watch my health. After all, I've had a stroke and a heart attack, so I should take care of myself.
Wait. I was going to the gym before I had a stroke and a heart attack, and I still had a stroke and a heart attack. So there you go. A lot of good it's done me.
But I digress.
All too soon, this body
will lie on the ground
bereft of consciousness,
like a useless scrap
Now there's a happy thought, eh?
Don't get me wrong. There are plenty of happy Buddhists and I admire them, I want to be like them, and I pay attention to what they say and do. And you know what? The really, truly happy Buddhists never talk about how happy they are. They don't have to because you can see it for yourself.
Happiness is just like any other feeling, it comes and goes. Anyone who says they are happy are lying. Because to be aware of your happiness means to kill your happiness. Consider the basics of meditation: when thoughts or feelings arise, you pay attention to them and observe them rather than indulge them, and when you observe them, they go away, the mind settles. So as soon as you acknowledge your happiness, you just killed the buzz.
Real happiness, the "Buddhisty" type of happiness is a happiness you never think about. It's just there, like the shadow that never leaves.
Give me a miserable Buddhist over a self-professed happy one any time. He or she will be the better teacher and companion than the halcyon Buddhist with his or her deluded saccharine silliness.