Willing Myself Off The Couch

So, moments ago something brilliant happened: I knocked over a glass of water.  At first, I did not think it was very brilliant, in fact, I cursed at what had occurred.  Because now I had to get up, grab a towel, ya da ya da, so much effort, right?  I was really enjoying just sitting there.  

But then my brain went back to the split second before this incident occurred.  And what my brain was telling my body not to do was knock over that glass of water, spilling it all over me and the couch.  But guess what?  It fuckin’ didn’t matter because my body didn’t listen, or perhaps gravity wasn’t paying attention, or maybe… I willed it to happen.

By merely entertaining the thought, perhaps I invited that situation into my life.  And if that’s the case, how often do we do this?  We create things all the time that begin as nothing more than a mere inkling, the very vaguest of ideas, which could have the power to transform the whole world, or at least our own lives.  The fact that I can write these words onto a page (because originally I wrote this out on paper!) that started out blank is just an example.  Other artists do it all the time: turning nothing into something; bringing their ideas to fruition and watching them grow as they begin to inspire others to develop their own theories and abstractions.

But then I think: don’t we all do this?  Our life is a work of art if that’s how we choose to see it.  But first, we must will it to be.  Do we choose to labor with love, commitment, passion, and drive?  Or do we choose to confront our lives like I did when I spilled that glass of water?  “Fuckin A!  I don’t want to get off the couch!

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as a mirror

Maybe in a relationship, the thing that keeps it from going anywhere is the fear deep within ourselves that we are imperfect beings capable of hurting others; capable of feeling hurt; capable of destroying; capable of being destroyed. When we become intimate with another imperfect being, tensions do arise because building intimacy requires that we reflect as a mirror to the other person both how we see them and how they truly see themselves, deep within. And sometimes we do not like what we see; we loathe what we see whenever how we feel inside isn’t congruent with the reflection of ourselves in the mirror that is our partner. We feel hurt. We feel destroyed. We feel the need to hurt. We feel the need to destroy. And so it goes; an endless cycle between creation and destruction.

We create stories in our head that we tell ourselves to hold on to; we replay them over and over in our minds. We eat these stories; we drink these stories; we dream these stories, over and over and over. They become us and we become them. But what if there is more to the story than what we are allowing into our self-narration? What if there’s another truth of ourselves? One that’s deeper, and richer, and more fulfilling? Wouldn’t we want to follow that, to use our mirror’s reflection to better ourselves? Wouldn’t we want to create ever more of this type of dream, instead of destroying our only hope for everlasting redemption?