We are who we are but we’re always becoming something. Change is the only absolute that is both saviour and executioner, the ultimate tool for recycling that gives us the kaleidoscope we know as life.
We’d be dead without it. It’s an irony that most of us focus on the the things that don’t change such as fixed assets, possessions and stale intentions. If man is a creature of habit then habits need to change as well.
If Change is the River of Life, then Focus is the helmsman that will steer our craft towards our desired Destination, for our Becoming will be determined by what we focus on.
Whether it’s being sucked in by an immediate reality or visualising the aspirations we have, they mould our being in the process, similar to a piece of clay on a potter’s wheel.
As we are constantly in a state of transition, there is a linear relationship of one moment to the next. The expressions ‘pregnant silence’ or ‘simmering with emotion’ or ‘seething with anger’ imply an impending outpouring of energy, somewhat like a volcano about to erupt.
In the same way that this represents an unstoppable force, so to does the next moment hinge on the fallout of the previous one. It is this next moment that is critical in shaping the direction of the following one. This is where magic can happen, ‘in the twinkling of an eye’, as it were. By refocusing or retargeting our attention to the desired outcome rather than allowing events to run their course unimpeded, dragging us along with them, then small changes in direction will achieve big changes in points of arrival.
Of course more is required than just crinkling ones nose and making a wish à la ‘I Dream of Jeannie’. This is more than just wishing and hoping, however. It’s an application of ‘intent’ to alter the course of events by ‘steering’ the intrinsic energy of the moment with our own inner gyroscope. (See also this related post)
Rudyard Kipling’s famous poem ‘If’ says it all:
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son.