I have a sign on my wall that says, “Dwell in Possibilities.”
I have been sitting here contemplating that phrase, mostly because it is my
line of vision. I made the mistake of
posting it behind our front door above our key rack, and I rarely look at it,
but this morning my vision aligned and I read it less superficially than
usual. What does it mean...really? I find it not coincidental that in the middle
of the lesson I am learning about waiting and expectation, I am drawn to a sign
that has been posted in the same spot for a year.
One interesting thing about the phrase is that it was coined
by Emily Dickinson who suffered from mental illness most of her adult
life. In my more volatile times, I found
her poetry consoling, because the cleaving of the mind she spoke of in her poem
The Lost Thought was exactly my
experience. Cleaving, as you may well
know, means to split apart, and I have felt that to be my experience so often,
as one part of my mind would separate from the other and go rogue. It was Emily’s work that inspired me to start
writing. My early writings, before
medication stabilized me, are vivid sketches of the internal workings of a mental
instability. They are the equivalent of
vivid crayons being ground into a canvas. In fact, I cannot handle Van Gogh’s paintings,
because when I look at them I can see the insanity in them, the frantic need to
pile paint on top of itself for texture, with vivid color and frenetic lines;
an assault on the senses. My early
writings are an assault on the senses as well, with every word throwing a
massive punch at the reader, vivid, texture ridden, desperate to be identified
with. Whenever I look at Van Gogh’s
work, I feel I am crawling into the painting and into his head where desperation
and despair put forth a cacophony of artistic expression. I too well identify with his ravaged mind.
So, Emily writes a phrase that is imbued with hope, and I
have to wonder whether it was moment in her depression ravaged mind, or if
somehow, she managed to hang onto the phrase through all the rise and fall of
her mood disorder? I confess, I do not
dwell in possibilities. Sometimes I
dwell on them. I think about what could happen, but there is
no mindset involved. I think, however,
that it is one I would like to develop.
I should choose to think, steep in, and hover indefinitely in what is
possible for my life. This is not a
natural thing for me. I am not a glass
half empty or a glass half full person.
I am a, “there is a glass with
liquid in it” kind of person, so choosing to spend a great deal of time
pondering what is possible, literally putting on what is possible like a wet
suit is not going to be easy, but I plan to give it a whirl.
I believe that as we get older it becomes more difficult to
change and to adapt. Flexibility tends
to be a trait of the young, both physically and mentally, and I don’t believe
it should be that way. The human brain
has to continue to be challenged by learning curves as we get older. That is one way in which to holds off dementia
for the brain and bitterness for the spirit.
So, this morning as I was sitting here looking at that little sign on my
wall, I decided that there is nothing wrong with choosing to look at what is
possible. If Emily could think it, I can implement it. After all, she spent a majority of her adult
life in her bedroom, unable to explore the world, so I have to infer that her
imagination enabled her to write such a phrase; even if she could only dwell
and never really implement.
I, on the other hand can not only dwell in possibilities,
but I can enact processes for those possibilities, and yes, that also includes
waiting on them. I wonder how many
chances to grow and go beyond our wildest dreams we miss because we simply do
not choose to think about what is possible?
A balloon soars when it is not tethered.
Now, it may not go far, or it may go to great heights, depending on many
condition, but we tend to think that what is inside it determines its ability to
move. If the balloon has been filled
with helium, it is much more likely to take off than if it was blown up by a mere
mortal. But sometimes even that balloon
that does not have helium inside it is picked up by a great wind and taken
beyond its limitations. So, maybe it
does not matter what we are made of.
Maybe much of what we become is determined by the winds that blow
through our lives. If that is the case,
it is prudent to dwell in possibilities, because then, everybody has the
potential to soar.
Hmm. But then what is
the difference between dwelling in and dwelling on? Personally, I feel there is a greater level
of commitment to be in something
rather than on it. So, if I am truly committing to this whole
ideology, then I will have to become immersed.
At this point I’m not sure what the means or looks like for me. Maybe it is more about being real time in our
hopes and dreams. Maybe it is not being
so passive about what we desire for ourselves.
Maybe dwelling in means to
actively participate in that which we think possible for our lives.
I watched a show the other night where the people needed to
catch eels for supper. At first the
people involved were tentatively standing on the edge of the water. Then they carefully stepped in and made noncommittal
movements to catch some of the eels. But
it wasn’t until they moved to the middle of the pond and aggressively committed
to catching the eels that they actually did it.
Their hunger got the better of their squeamishness, awkwardness, and
feeling that they could not do it.
I think that is what I need.
I think that is what it is to dwell in
rather than on
possibilities. I have to stand in the
middle of the stream, cast off all that I think will hinder me, and choose to
aggressively envision what I hunger for, for my life.
Here’s hoping,
L
