Artistic folk like to think of themselves as having a “muse” or “muses”. Being the contrary soul that I am, I instead, have an “a-muse”.
I’ve been falling in love… with a word. The word is “possibilities”. When I say it or think it I feel that I hear an echo. The sound comes back to me, multiplied a hundred, thousand, million times. This thought, however, may be an imperfect expression of the potential in the word since an echo implies the existence of a boundary off of which the sound must be reverberating.
But the word itself has no such boundaries. As people so often say, “The possibilities are endless.” That statement, in my mind, is redundant. All it is necessary to say is, “The possibilities…” And that really says it all.
I don’t much care for the words “spiritual” and “metaphysical”. They make me think of ghosts and deities and wild claims of past lives of the rich and famous… Ever notice how everyone that claims to remember a past life always seems to have been someone famous? I’m sorry, but there just aren’t enough famous characters to go around. Though, you know, I do keep getting the strongest feeling I was Foghorn Leghorn in my last life…
It’s not that I disbelieve stuff. Nor that I believe in much either. I suspend judgment until I get some first-hand knowledge. I’ve had some wild experiences in my life and to this day, I am not at all sure what they all were or what they meant. I know what they mean to me. I know I believe in consciousness well beyond what most of us experience in normal, daily life. I’ve experienced that and I know it can be an awesome force for change. In many different ways.
I don’t feel the need to know everything. I don’t need all the answers. I get a serious kick out of asking the questions, especially the unanswerable ones.