Sometimes we get stuck in our lives. No matter how gorgeous, titillating, and inspired they may be, eventually it all becomes normal; still really, really good, but normal. That state of complacency, cruise-control I call it, is often confused with contentment. "Oh everything's great. I'm content with my life." If that's you, be terrified.
I've lived in Bali for five years. From day one I was awestruck. Everything was like nothing I'd ever known, done, seen, heard, believed, before. I was drinking from the fire hydrant of life at just about the same gushing flow. Joy was my perpetual state followed close on its heels by deep, soul-satisfying gratitude. I dreamed big and the dreams that manifested were bigger. Bali met me on every plane of existence with abundance above and beyond imagining.
But like many romances, infatuation becomes admiration, becomes love, becomes commitment, and then if the fire is left untended it wanes to coals and burns out to cold, dead, ash.
I woke up one morning and felt the chill.
Bali was still Bali. I knew that. But something inside me had shifted and I didn't feel her the way I had before. I'd become content, but in the wake of the intensity of joy, discovery, and amazement, contentment was a colorless place emitting the low-level hum of boredom.
There was nothing wrong. It's very difficult to sort out what's not right when there's nothing wrong. I journaled, meditated, yoga'd, did everything I knew to do. But I was metaphorically at sea in a magnificent sailboat without a breath of wind. My father died. My first grandchild was born. Life crested and dipped like waves around me but I remained stagnant in their midst.
Then one day by divine chance, I stumbled upon a book with the dreadful title, A Happy Pocket Full of Money, by David Cameron Gikandi. Truth be told, I would have never picked that book off the shelf. But because of the serendipitous way it crossed my path, I read it. Buried in a paragraph on page 85, was the key that broke the code. Paraphrased it went something like this: A major reason why people lose their joy is because they cease to dream. Sometimes this happens when comfort is finally achieved, which isn't a bad thing. But if you find yourself going down, re-examine your goals and mental images, for life is images of the mind expressed.
Bingo! Sirens went off. Five years ago my head had been filled with images: the kind of life I desired, the books I would write, the home I would live in, the friends I would have. Five years later, I had it all. I had achieved comfort. But the place in my mind once filled with fantastic visions and outrageous dreams was now empty space and I was going down.
The author didn't stop there. He went on to make the remarkable claim that 5000 dreams are better than 500. His premise is that you want to give Source plenty to work with.
So I'm imagining my list of 5000 dreams. I have three so far but they're big ones. Meanwhile, I've recognized that in the wake of so much blessing an old belief system had crept back in, one that suggested I'd been given so much more than I deserved, how dare I dream of anything else? Where do these idiotic lies come from? I knew better!
It didn't take months, or weeks, or even days. Within hours of the juicy birth of new desires, the lights went on, the expectant sizzle of potential zinged through my veins, and lusty infatuation for everyone and everything made me giddy with joy.
Beware of the life that is comfortably dreamless. Thank you, Mr. Gikandi.
This article was taken from my blog, Writing for Self-Discovery, about my life in Bali. If you enjoyed it and would like to read more, click on my website.