Possible

October 29, 2018

Greetings from the depths we plumb,

The moon spied on me, peering between thin grey clouds. Behind the moon was blackness, a few white freckles to break up the emptiness.  It was technically morning, but if you were looking for clues to prove it, you would conclude ‘night’ instead.  Darkness, sealed with the last of the rainclouds, held night in place over the morning’s realm.

I was dressed as black as the night, a ninja.  Well, not exactly. I also wore bright green shoes and a reflector vest.  Like a ninja with an overprotective mother who is also a circus clown.  It takes a confident runner to pull it off.  I went out into the dark with a jumble of things to think about, but after a few miles I had whittled and sanded the knot in my brain until there was only one thing.  A word, really. 

One advantage of running in the dark is that the reality around you does not disturb your imagination.  The dark does not offer the shapes or colors to distract you.  I could not see autumn’s wreckage.  It is a unique experience that encourages thinking.  And talking.

It is not unusual for me to talk out loud while I’m running, to hear how the words I’m thinking would sound to someone.  It might also be how I keep myself company.  I dare say it has made a few nervous witnesses.  I tell stories, I have conversations with people I can’t otherwise, I will sometimes work out things I want to write.  If it seems normal to you, you’re probably a runner.  Or a seer.

Some of you know how a word will seep into your mind and make itself at home, right in the center of things.  I have been carrying a word like this with me all week.  The word is: Possible.

When I crossed the road that left my town behind, night had finally loosened its grip.  Beneath my bright green shoes, the rain had dried on the pavement, still wet in the creases; it looked like alligator skin in the almost-light.  In the first miles in that dark, damp run, my legs were not quite willing.  I asked for possible, from myself, from my body, an exchange I’ve had thousands of times.  I brought the run to me, pulled it on like a favorite pair of jeans, just out of the dryer.  Moved and stretched until it finally settled on me like it was meant to.

Earlier in the week my brother shared a thought about his daughter Cali, wondering where her singing talent would take her.  I had seen videos of Cali on stage, and I saw someone who was talented, surely, but natural, graceful, comfortable, not so much a performer as a living expression of her possible.  Cali’s voice, her presentation of the words and music, were also created and shared to change things for the listener.   She brought possible into our lives.

I turned onto a gravel road, the light finally pushing the morning’s agenda.  The gray sky framed the morning, and the trees sighed at me in the light wind.  The leaves emerged from tintype dimness, becoming cranberry, lemon, orange.  Each step I took formed a brighter, more colorful world. 

The miles tumbled, and my body warmed to its work.  I ran faster, felt the ache of the effort, and left it behind.  The lungs and heart and muscles did what I asked, with some questions at first, and then made possible with me.

I have been a writer for a while now, and every time I sit down to put words on the page I ask for possible.  Sometimes possible is on the other side of a lot of staring, of failing, of mistakes.  Often the purpose is a mystery.  But sometimes it is in me so large I can’t control my hands to type what I want to bring possible into reality.

A few days ago, I spoke to a woman whose only purpose in our conversation was to share an understanding of Islam to those who are willing to know. Her only desire that I could see was peace.  I watched her face and eyes, listened to what she said, both of us uncertain, unprepared, no idea what will come of her effort, only willing to offer possible. 

The morning rolled out brightness like it was the first time. Running toward home I felt a freshness that surprised me.  I surged into the next miles, the world now full around me.  People were out looking at the day, making their own noise, pushing their way into whatever they would make of Sunday.  I sliced through their morning with my possible, splashing it on either side of the road in big messy waves.

Each morning we expect something, maybe not always enough. Not of ourselves, or other people or of the exchange among us.  Sometimes even in discontent we remain wedged in doubt or cynicism.  Perhaps in part because we don’t allow for possible.

Maybe this sounds too mystical to you, but try walking around saying it out loud and see how it feels.  Asking for possible is creating hope, it is a prayer, it is plumbing a potential that exists in all of us and among all of us, and in every day we step out into the beauty that waits.

I ran from darkness, my legs stiff, my mind in ordinary chaos.  With each step I created possible.  I breathed it in and out.  I left the dark emptiness, demanded of my body what it could, unwound the chaos, ran into color and texture and light.  I ran into possible, filled my hands with it, my heart with it, and carried it into my day. 

Hope this finds you open,

David

Copyright © 2018 David Smith