Are higher, more elevated forms of happiness only to those who revel in physical agility and health? Or can you find it even in sickness? Is it an illusion that I see rainbows under my eyelids, that I feel accomplishment even in making make my palms touch each other, that I hear the samba echoing off the walls on my room, that the unrolling of my backbone feels like the unrolling of the miseries of a lifetime, there is only the desire to watch the sky and the highrises from a windows as open as my heart, imagining the stars align in mysterious ways, watching people fly by on bagels and watch a half-finished native american dolphin jump off my easel into a world made of the very same bold strokes.
If it's all just the medication, should I even be taking it?