In the middle of winter, with overcast skies, cold temperatures and sub-zero wind chills, you might not think elation would be a problem. What is there to be ecstatic about?
Well, I can never tell. I think it is usually a case of multiple lifts and hits, all at about the same time. Say, I hear that a favorite team, struggling this season, scored an overwhelming victory last night. About the same time, the sun catches me just right and she swoons over my profile in just that lighting. [No, it could happen.] I find a $50 bill I had overlooked in my wallet. Meanwhile, totally wonderful music is wafting through the air of the house while I sip some good wine. It's moments like this when I can be overtaken by elation.
The feeling of uplift can be very powerful. It is usually a delight, a gift, a high pleasure. But sometimes the lift goes beyond wonderful to the level of more or less frantic pain. I feel impelled to take flight, to shout for joy, to drive at double or triple the speed limit. If I had John's voice or Luciano's, I would belt out an aria.
I suspect that this sort of mad joy is behind some alcoholic binges, some purposely picked fights, some damage to self and others. I feel berserk, bordering on immortal, ready to challenge a dragon just for fun, for the challenge. Maybe that is when others would start up the north face or take off for a 26 mile run. At times like these, I strive to recognize that I am beyond genuine satisfaction. My elation has simply reached an out-of-controlled level and just needs to be quashed. No drink, no drug, no strong action will suffice.
I need the strength to simply sit and burn. When the flame dies down a little, I have a good level of fire, a warming and heating, an energizing that is a propellant but not a damaging explosive.
--
Bill
Main blog: Fear, Fun and Filoz
Main web site: Kirbyvariety
Main blog: Fear, Fun and Filoz
Main web site: Kirbyvariety
Twitter: @olderkirby
