recognising-endless-possibilities

“So many things are possible as long as you don’t know they are impossible.” “Without leaps of imagination or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all is a form of planning.” “Turn your obstacles into opportunities and your problems into possibilities.”

This poem was posted in a group I’m in, it speaks about the world which offers many levels to us while revealing our inner selves. There is still 24hours in the day and though a lot of us are currently going racing into work each day, our days are still pretty much brimming over with things to do. For me, life is the same as it has always been if one thing stops, there’s always something else starting.

We can choose to fill our lives with endless possibilities or we can live a limited life that stops in the slightest disruption. In your own unadulterated opinion, what is it that makes a life? Are you choosing wisely how your life is spent? Even amid this pandemic, we can continuously live a life filled with glorious possibilities and full conscious awareness. It’s up to each individual self to recognise all those possibilities. I’m anxious to see what comes next. Are people taking advantage of and recognising the endless opportunities life is presenting them? Are they being creative in their efforts or simply sitting in idleness waiting for life to resume to some normalcy?

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Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?

by Mary Oliver

Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives —

tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, hanging from the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, feel like?

Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you?

Never to enter the sea and notice how the water divides

with perfect courtesy, to let you in!

Never to lie down on the grass, as though you were the grass!

Never to leap to the air as you open your wings over the dark acorn of your heart!

No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint

that something is missing from your life!

Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch?

Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot

in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself

continually?

Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed

with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone?

Well, there is time left —

fields everywhere invite you into them.

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away

from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk!

To put one’s foot into the door of the grass, which is

the mystery, which is death as well as life, and

not be afraid!

To set one’s foot in the door of death, and be overcome

with amazement!

To sit down in front of the weeds, and imagine

god the ten-fingered, sailing out of his house of straw,

nodding this way and that way, to the flowers of the

present hour,

to the song falling out of the mockingbird’s pink mouth,

to the tippets of the honeysuckle, that have opened in the night

To sit down, like a weed among weeds, and rustle in the wind!

Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

While the soul, after all, is only a window,

and the opening of the window no more difficult

than the wakening from a little sleep.

Only last week I went out among the thorns and said

to the wild roses:

deny me not,

but suffer my devotion.

Then, all afternoon, I sat among them. Maybe

I even heard a curl or tow of music, damp and rouge red,

hurrying from their stubby buds, from their delicate watery bodies.

For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,

caution and prudence?

Fall in! Fall in!

A woman standing in the weeds.

A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what’s coming next

is coming with its own heave and grace.

Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things,

upon the immutable.

What more could one ask?

And I would touch the faces of the daises,

and I would bow down

to think about it.

That was then, which hasn’t ended yet.

Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light,

I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the ocean’s edge.

I climb, I backtrack.

I float.

I ramble my way home.

 

 

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©Etta  D. Richards

 

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Link To 21 Day Meditation for Growth, Gratitude and Abundance