Obsessing over our path, our purpose, our potential is like having selective hearing these beautiful questions are being answered in the most ordinary experiences but our conditioned minds don't see it, don't know our innate worth. We forget to take time, to give a little, to smile, we forget that those string of moments are the tapestry of our potential it is the sacredly mundane that moulds us. It is the egoic achilles heel, because even the purest dreams can distract us from being active loving participants of this world.
Of genuine feeling, active listening, a gentle touch, a conversation with a stranger simple acts of service that develop wisdom and embolden our personalities. The horizon of potential is an endearing future but it trips us into a state of non-presence. Our pursuit for potential is skewed by our neglect of the selfless state. We give our coldness to the homeless, we give our warmth to the achieved, we are kind to those we love and guarded and distant to strangers.
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What if our obsession with reaching the unreachable potential is fragmented by the way we displace and change ourselves, choose which circumstances are worthy of our full presence and love and which are lesser. We mistake our potential for ordinariness, we give up our potential for 'greatness', we miss out on the rich hidden beauty of our most mundane pursuits. We grieve our potential, we fear it, we yearn for it, we plan towards it, but all these states are a relationship with what was or what might be. Naked and open to the criticisms of a carefully constructed social order, that lives most ardently within our own minds.
Hushing the voice for fear it may lead us into vulnerability. The celebrities of this world on the thrones of potential in the light of recognition and the rest lay in shadow, gestating the seeds of dreams. We are familiar with potential, but we are conditioned to recognise it only when it is innately obvious. It blesses us, it emboldens, it carves us into the people we are. It curses us, it squanders our ordinariness and sub texts that we are never enough. It is the voice that undermines our peace and overrides our doubts. It is the song that cooes us into possibility, and derobes our becoming.
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With shimmering skin and eyes full of wonder as we stare into the mirage of our making and finally deem that we are worthy.
It is the impulse of the search, that distant place where the midday sun glows iridescent upon our skin and we become immortal, like gods. It is the voice that deems us all pilgrims of this world. It speaks of an unpathed road stretching endlessly towards golden horizons, each far landscape dissolving into the next and you walk on into the infinity of imagination. There is a voice within every human heart that whispers our Name.