Is there a parallel universe out there? One in which we made all the right turns and followed through on all our decisions? Is there a version of ourselves, complete and whole, for whom regret is a sensation unknown?
I like to imagine there is, and that evolved and perfect person, we can call her destiny. Flashes of clarity, intense dreams, deja vu; perhaps these are all moments in which the inescapable truth of destiny has broken through. Like shards of light on a thickly clouded day, she makes her truth known in sometimes subtle ways.
There are many ways in which we try to gain access to our destined selves; drugs, alcohol, travel, adrenaline rushes. But the drugs wear off and create even greater distance to our destined selves. The alcohol blurs the line between the selves, and travel can ignite the spark which makes us chase the destined self forever.
Solitude. To open the portals to our destined selves we must find solitude. Moments in which there is silence, enough to stop the mindless chatter and open up dialogue with our destined selves, that person you so rarely speak with or listen to. You never email them or write. You never call them. You just wait for them to call you. But the destined self gets tired of waiting around, waiting until you call. Then one day you finally muster up the courage to call your destined self, in one of those brave dashes of desperation to live to your true spirit. But she's not home. You were too late, call back later.
Your two selves continue to co-exist, parallel stories, overlaying in parts like a choose-your-own-adventure book. Your destined self was living your destined life all along. She was just waiting for you to find the break in the page, the right pause between words, courage between the falls...to slip into the gaps of your consciousness and into the rhythm of your soul.
I give my pen now to my destined self and let her be the author of the story of my life. Who is writing your story?
Only in silence can I hear my heart speak. It whispers through the trees, brushes gently over my skin, calls to me in subtle and gentle ways. Only in silence can I quiet the screams.
Happy New Year.
