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Philosophy of happiness in the suicide forest

Humanity seems to me often, like a stupid child that start with a holey nets a butterfly and would leap on his fruitless hunting over gaps, overcome traps Solving puzzles ... and the end notes that it has become old and still holds only the holey nets in hand, but not the butterfly.

Then he thinks back on his journey and he falls on to what it's all over run: the land of plenty, the beautiful corners of Wonderland, a great love. All this has not seen the child on his pilgrimage to happiness. It dies slowly and alone as an old man.

We all chase the great paradigm of happiness behind. We think we have a clear idea of what we seek. And therefore missed we are lucky even if it escapes a whole garden fence and so awkward stormed into our house.

I do not know how much I've already missed on my crazy journey to the perfect figure - my butterfly which does not exist and I would never give ultimately the fulfillment that I seek.

On the contrary, it often takes me like a little wisp in areas in which I never wanted to go. The suicide forest inhabited by those who have realized that they can not catch their butterfly. They have thrown down the net and stay there, be a slow with the dead wood that surrounds them. And they complain.
Every time I ran like crazy.
course again towards the butterfly.

Slowly I am learning to put the blinders that let me see only the grim forest green and without life or the little lying bastard of a butterfly.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of the wonderland. I make detours. Stay times are and look at something.

The butterfly itself is unfortunately still there. He seems to always wait to get back to me in my eye and lure.
I follow him still. Only slower and with more caution. And with Gefplge, with small Camping stops along the way, give me at least sometimes feel that I can go back without the floor breaks away beneath my feet.

Perhaps one day, to my present and my restlessness ends.