Suspending Belief

Apr 22

… and opening to awe.

Have you ever sat in a dark movie theater and been transported to a different time and place as the movie unfolds? Have you ever gotten so lost in a well-written book that the scenes and characters of the story appear in full color and texture in your mind? I’ve frequently wondered what my favorite characters are up to long after I finish the book.

Sometimes, stories require us to put down our measuring stick and suspend belief so that we can enter the realm of imagination and allow ourselves to see new ways of seeing.

Are you comfortable letting go and suspending belief?

Are you “willing to accept that there may be another perspective, equally valid and plausible.”1

Can you allow yourself to be carried along for the sake of a story, which may seem fantastical at first, but you get drawn in because there is just enough of what you know to be true to keep listening? A gifted storyteller can cast a magical charm over you, and soon you find yourself entering a world of possibilities and surrendering to the opportunity of awe.

My law school training makes surrendering belief very challenging! But I am finding that there is so much richness and depth of meaning when I allow myself to entertain other possibilities and experiences that are beyond my five senses, and beyond my conditioned way of seeing the world.

In the words of author Roald Dahl,

Above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.

My husband and I stopped in a store that displayed the most beautiful and unusual pieces of wooden sculptures. The shopkeeper was one of those magical storytellers. He told us stories about underground tunnels hiding riches (cue Indian Jones), our ancestral connections to trees, and so much more!

There was just enough truth in what he told us that he kept us engaged for a good long while. Eventually, I became aware that my husband was slowly backing away towards the door, and though the shop owner would have kept going for hours, I declared that my mind had exploded with all that he shared, and he thought that was good! Perhaps the weirdest part was that he never tried to sell us anything.

Much later, as the fog of the strange and spectacular stories cleared, my husband and I continued to be amused by the odd experience. We are tempted to dismiss the whole of it as a fantastic story!

And yet I wonder…

What would happen if I opened to awe?
What am I missing by clinging to my agenda?
What might I discover if I surrendered to serendipity?
What enchantments lie undiscovered because I have been conditioned to believe only what I can count or measure?

Intangible experiences are often cast aside as untrustworthy and therefore of no value. We have lost our orientation to wonder in the quest for more, more, more.

Here is my challenge for you: can you slow down enough to see the wonder in the most ordinary of moments?

I was recently inspired by a poem about believing in ordinary things as a locus of the divine. I don’t have the reference at hand, but I will share with you my poem about believing in daffodils and finding wonder in their strength and beauty.

I believe in daffodils.
So brave and bold in the early spring!
This morning, the cold air froze the dew
and the daffodils laid their heavy trumpets down in the garden,
waiting for the sun to take the cool sting out of the breeze.
How are they so bold, pushing up through still frozen earth?
How are they so brave, showing up before spring even begins?
Can they show me how to show up before I’m ready,
Before all my ducks are in a row?
Before my art is perfect?
Can they show me how to be bold and authentic?
Unafraid of who I am?
Unapologetically colorful?
Can their trumpets blare loudly enough to dispel all of my despair by ringing in hurrahs and hope —
— that we have survived another long winter,
— that the sun has returned once again,
— that we no longer need to fear the darkness,
— nor worry whether there will be enough light, enough warmth, enough food.
The bold yellow daffodils proclaim a comforting story of the hope that returns each year.
If I believe in daffodils, I can believe in myself, too.