Monday, July 6, 2009

Stepping and Leaping

(Pre-Script: This post will fling the doors of your mind wide open when paired with the song, "Good Intentions," #20 on the playlist, so go down to the playlist, click on that song while simultaneously unlockinging your mind, then come back and resume reading...I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)
Sometimes you might want to get into a room, but you're not comfortable walking through the door. You don't TRUST the door to get you through to the other side, even though it goes with all the laws of physics...if you walk through the door, you will on the other side of it, you will be in the room. No visual tricks played to distract you while someone takes the hinges off and flips the door around to make you THINK you are in the room when really you are still just in the hallway, or outside, on the wrong side of the door. Maybe you trust the door but aren't sure that once you enter the room you will be able to get back out. What if the door slams shut behind you and automatically locks, with no way to unlock it but from the outside? What if it was a trick to trap you all along? What if after the door slams shut behind you, you see that there is a list of rules on the back of it that you could not see before you were trapped in the room, but now you are stuck here, and must adhere to the rules? Such things do exist, and it is a good question to ask and have an answer you can live with before walking into that room. Because some rooms are worth getting locked into, you don't mind if it slams shut behind you. But some lock behind you before you have a choice to think through how you will feel when you cannot get back out again. So it's good to weigh these options carefully-what you'll lose, vs. what you'll gain, and is it worth it, or is it really just a door that you open and close from inside or out, freely? Can you ever trust it, the decision you just made or did not make, to enter the room, to stay out of the room. Because you could always have made the decision you did not make.
These days, it seems to me that hope comes in the form of little moments of peace. They are like delicate lily pads on a pond, and I am the frog leaping from one to the next in order to get to the lush grass on the other side of the pond. Sometimes it seems the lily pads are spaced widely apart, and that my lung capacity and leg strength will give out before I reach the next lily pad, and I will land splat in the water. Sometimes I land spat in the water, in my most valiant and graceful attempts at a leap, sometimes it is even a farther leap than I have ever lept before, and I want to shout to all the other frogs, "Did you see that, did you see that??" but still, I have landed in the water, and now I am wet, and this is frustrating, but it's not the worst thing, because I am a frog, an amphibian, and thank God I can swim. (Thank you, GOD! For your foresight in design!) So I swim or tread water until another lily pad comes along, or until I hit the solid ground, whichever comes first. Then I collapse in a heap there, gasp for breath, and while open mouthed gasping, a fly flies by, and I stick out my long sticky frog tongue and am nourished again, ready to go back out onto the pond from which I have just emerged, to live the life I was created to live. I could always have made the decision I did not make. Unless that's not true, and I never could have made the decision I didn't make.


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