A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” — Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
We all live in boxes
“What’s in the box?”
Business. Tight boxes.
Success. Invisible boxes
Artificial expectations of what an orderly existence should look like.
I couldn’t sell my house.
I lost passion for the business I had built.
There was nothing left for me to do.
No reason to stay. And yet stay I did.
Because I built a box.
I told my mom,
“I’m going to pack a bag and leave the house. Fuck it if it doesn’t sell.”
You can’t do that.
People don’t do that. It’s not what we do. So I stayed . In a box.
The house, my box was not doing the wrong thing.
The box doesn’t care.
It’s just there.
A new project.
Partners. Passion. Excitement and enthusiasm.
Software. This is what it can do.
And then. Eventually. The edges appear. In quiet conversations that ring tired, and true.
“These are the limits of what we can accomplish. Best case. And if we’re lucky.”
Just another box.
Of course, it’s not a real box.
Just a comfortable one.
The prison we build for ourselves are the living conditions we volunteer for.
Digs that we’d never accept if someone else stuck us there and insisted we stay.
We all have the urge to expand. To grow.
Explore your edges — can you find one?
Seek a center — do you see one?
100 interviews. 100 people. 100 extraordinary stories.
Near dark experiences. The last gasp deception of a dying brain.
Or a glimpse into a wonderful world that awaits.
It matters not what they believed.
They all had broken the box.
At the moment of death, they said, “I was too big to fit in that little body.”
A box of blood and bones but still a box
There was a passion and purpose to their coming back.
Our boxes belittle us.
Our stories shrink us.
Our inhibitions limit us.
Our artificial boundaries beget the bigness that is.
Sure that sounds like syrupy sweet spiritual silliness and new age nonsense.
Who cares? Belief is yet another box.
We all lose our freedom some day. Some way.
It’s usually a story — and an invisible ceiling that keeps us tethered to a life of less
I’ve recently begun to experiment with lucid dreaming.
The person teaching the course says,
“When u dream your soul is exploring. Dancing, prancing and romancing the ethereal realms”.
I don’t tell her this, but thats not what I believe.
Its just my imagination.
Outside of the box.
The freedom to fly.
To soar and explore the wild wacky and wonderful world of life without the box.
When you really flex this freedom, you realize, it’s all a dream within a dream, anyway.
So dream big.
And step outside the box.
Because the box was never there.
And there were never any boxes to begin with.
Just the magical, mysterious and limitless experience of aliveness that is available when we spread our wings and fly.