Thursday, February 11, 2010

Possibilities again, or revisited ... or something like that

Or maybe it's the fine lines of possibility? Ha.

Oh, possibilities. As I pondered my post earlier in the week, and as a few wise friends have gently, lovingly pointed out ... you know, I just don't really know about this particular possibility. I can certainly choose to close a possibility, that's a valid choice. And others may choose to close a possibility. And maybe there comes a point when, dude, look at the writing scribbled all over the wall in giant red Sharpie letters.... And, and I guess sometimes (sometimes) perhaps it's a judgment call about whether writing is on the wall and how big and how red it may be.

I'm working on my point, I am. Maybe it's this -- sometimes, it just feels safer or easier to call a possibility closed rather than risk someone else closing it for us. A preemptive strike, if you will. And, OK, if that's what we need to do, it's what we need to do, right?

But. But -- what if the possibility wasn't gonna be closed and you closed it? Well, then it's closed.

Or, as I said to a friend, what if you slam the door shut on your own toe to preempt someone else slamming it on your toe first. But if it wasn't going to be slammed ... then you just slammed your own toe in the door. Clever. And, chose to end a possibility out of fear. Not a good reason to make any decisions or close any possibilities, in my book. And, and even if someone were to slam a door on your toe ... how in the heck is you slamming it first gonna help? A doubly slammed toe? Dang.

sigh. But it's tricky. Because sometimes it feels like instinct or gut knowledge is leading us to a piece of knowledge, and you gotta respect that.

Except if it's misleading you out of self-protection. Sneaky. How dare it? How could we wind up being way too sneaky for our own good?

The good-living space, it seems to me, seems to be in that whole (damn) living in the moment, aware of possibilities and feelings, but trying not to let our own busy little brains push us around to somewhere we might not even need to be.

Me, I'm driven by understanding. Driven by it -- it's what makes my world make sense. I feel like I can handle any damn thing if I can understand it. And if I can't? It's terribleness.

The little hamster in my brain generally does a good job with the understanding business, as do my instincts, I give them credit. But the little brain hamster on his wheel is oh-so busy, always, always. And it gets tiring. And it's not always useful. And I think in emotional, unknown, scary scenarios, that little hamster is not the one who should be running the show. That's where we get possibilities closed for fear.

But in the moment of it, knowing this, stopping the hamster ... I dunno, guys, still learning that one. That's where I'll be grateful for quiet instincts that might gently poke, whisper questions; the trick is to first hear, then listen to them.

And grateful to friends who channel some wise and who gently, quietly ask the questions as well.

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