Cynicism, stress, a too-numerous series of underwhelming life-like milestones and a half-lived pseudo-adulthood have cut me away from the magic, existential joy, beauty and meaning of my childhood. I once possessed Ecstatic Joy. I once held the divine spark of content bliss in my hands, but It is now gone. In its place, I’ve a disfunctional family who all seem bitter and bored, and a hole where that previous existence once was. I want it back.
Without going all “See Mel Gibson’s “The Passion Of The Christ” on me, tell me what keeps you all from staring paralyzed into the abyss. I know you can make a pessimist from an optimist, but can you help me find a way to reverse the process? Can you help me find purpose and meaning? Can you help rekindle that fire I once held so dearly? Have you seen my Ecstatic Joy lying around anywhere?

