What’s possible? NO WAIT DON’T ANSWER THAT

Lately my brain has been finding its truths in two-and-three-word chunks, which is interesting, for very restricted values of "interest", heh.

Recently I was driving and thinking and a song came on that, combined with the thoughts and scenery, made me feel a huge rush of…something, something both big and good, something that could be powerful, I sensed.  But what was this feeling?  I poked around and let it simmer until finally some words surfaced — very, very clearly, too.  The words were, "What's possible?"

Yes, I thought immediately; those are the words for this feeling!

But then another part of my brain responded, automatically I think, to the question-mark in those words, and it started trying to formulate "answers" to the "question", "What's possible?"  True to normal form, it went looking for true words, good words, meaningful words, sifting and choosing…but while this was going on, the part of me that had given me the words "What's possible?" started screaming:  STOP THAT.  NO.  THIS IS NOT A QUESTION.

I was a little shocked by that, but I did stop.  For one thing, I kind of knew it wasn't a question:  It was an answer.  I asked a question, "what is this powerful feeling?", and the answer just happened to have a question-mark in it — but that doesn't make it a question, I eventually realized.  Or rather, it is a question in the sense that the good part of it, the bit you're looking for, is beyond the boundary of the words themselves — but it isn't other, different words.  It's the space where you'd find them! 

"What's possible?" is pointing to a room, basically; a place, a space; and yes, it's the place you'd go to find certain things, certain answers — but my answer, the thing I was looking to learn, wasn't any of the stuff in the room; it was the room itself.  The space that contained those potentialities.  And — this bit's a little weird, but maybe you've experienced something like this too — the possibilities themselves, but not any of them in actuality.  "What's possible?" points to a space filled with things only some of which can be true, and which depends on a lot — me, and luck, and physics, and tons of stuff — but that powerful feeling was about the space and the possibilities as they exist before I, or anything else, chooses any.

If you want to maybe experience a fun thing, try pointing your mind at What's Possible?, and not letting yourself focus on any answers.  Just hang out in that space — see if you can get used to it, or at least get enough of a feeling for it that if you wanted to, you could return there again. 

It's a huge space, and it's full of a ton of stuff (not everything!  but lots) — and yet, as soon as you judge any of the stuff, as soon as you say "I like this possibility" or "I hate that one" or anything like that, you get kicked out of the space.  What's Possible is a space you can only hang out in for as long as you're able to make room in yourself for all of it.  And that isn't usually very long — zow does the mind like answers, and it'll start judging possibilities as soon as you give it an eighth-inch of leeway — but — BUT — while you're there, it does really nice things to your emotions, I'm finding.  What's Possible is a space of no pressure, no endings, no artificial Point At Which This Has All Failed If X.  And it's an immortal space too:  Long past when you and I are gone, What's Possible will still be there, and just as full. 

It's not, I suppose, a comfortable space to hang out in — it doesn't soothe the ego one bit — but it is, by necessity, relaxing.  And also, by definition, hopeful. 

I've really enjoyed the time I've spent there the last few days, since I heard those words and realized that space exists.

Maybe — this is conjecture, but hey, I'm allowed — maybe people could be less anxious and depressed (lack of relaxation and lack of hope, respectively), if they knew how to find and spend a few minutes here and there in What's Possible.

Too bad this is the best I can do for giving directions there!  …So far.  ;)

About puredoxyk

Word addict, kungfu/taiji nut, and life-partner to polyphasic sleep. Rabid fan of as many hobbies as the world will let me pry into its piddly fourth dimension (it helps to have knocked out the wall).
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