“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back– Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.
All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”
Somewhere in the night, perhaps when I twirled the duvet into a knot around 2 a.m., or flung the pillow off the bed shortly thereafter, or while I was staring at the dark horizon between 4 and 6 a.m., or maybe, just maybe when I actually slept…something shifted.
Snippets of conversations, pieces of text from websites, books, magazines or overheard moments from the radio, all whipped around in my blender-body and I woke with one very clear thought;
“I am creating my reality.”
I know we’ve all heard this before. In fact, I know too that it has been said ad nauseum. It’s not always a popular thought.
But for some reason, this morning it went from an intellectual construct that I try to overlay like a grid on each day, to a truth that I felt.
I knew that I could open my eyes and feel flat, or content, dissatisfied, engaged, somber or elated.
There is only one director calling the shots on this stage. As Miss Piggie would say, “C’est Moi!”
So, as I stretched and told myself that this meant I had to take complete responsibility for my day and my response within it, another snippet of all those blenderized thoughts gelled into place;
Love involves investment.
In this instance, I was thinking about our place in Sechelt. We haven’t been here much and the dust and weeds and sad neglect is witness to that fact. And each time we came, I felt like it was just another series of chores to do. And there seemed to be no energy that I could summon forth to do it.
I wasn’t feeling my usual love of the place. It felt more like a burden than a joy. But something happened this weekend. Mostly, my winter attitude.
I cleared and dug in the garden, smelling dark dirt and bursting greens. Then I scrubbed a few shelves and the sinks with Comet (surely there’s an Ode to the smell of Comet somewhere!) and then dusted and rearranged some of the bits and pieces from various trips.
I found myself smiling at the memories of the baskets from the Copper Canyon and the beach glass from Cape Breton, but most importantly, I felt my internal flatness tilting upward.
With every external action, I felt space clearing within. I started to feel the love.
This morning it was clear.
I stood on the deck and admired my weed-free garden, my newly arranged book shelf and felt happiness like a little green shoot pushing up and forward.
Love, like life isn’t always easy. It needs weeding and tending. Sometimes it all just feels like work and a responsibility, but given enough care, time to lie fallow and the odd night of twisting insomnia…you get a chance to start again.