Our worlds are bubbles – contrived, fragile, sustained only by the laboured huffing and puffing of us all – these jobs, this compulsion to get to work, the feeling of elation when we get a promotion to a larger desk, the idea we are working for some ‘good’, the suggestion that our lives are significant and larger than the world appreciates, the smirk of content when we drive by a house less impressive than ours, a car less flashy, a wife less beautiful…all fragile. If we all would hold our breaths for one moment and turn blue in the face, the bubble will come crashing down on us, and what we will find is not some Truth Out There or a bubbleless world called Things As They Really Really Are, but other bubbles, other huffers and puffers, many invitations to become…again and again. I think the question then is not if other worlds are possible, if there is some tapered edge we do not know about, if there is a story we have not been told, if there are tunes we have not yet danced to, if there is a hole in the sky.
Another world is always possible – the real question is if we have the courage to co-create them. We sometimes must transgress today’s Script, get a boat and sail out.
Of course, those content with the rhetoric of the Real and of Truth will rail at us, many with good and noble intentions, advising us with teary eyes to be content and to stay put. But then there is that pernicious edge yonder beckoning, mocking our righteousness, querying our guilt, luring us to the precipice. Only courage then will answer the question of other worlds, only courage will take us far away. And we will sail, against the tide of truth and rightness, wearied and bruised by the censoring waves of fear, propelled by our doubt, guided by subversive faith…and if we persist, we might find an edge, a hole in the sky – glimmeringly dark still tantalizingly inviting, beckoning on us.