You’ve heard the cautionary tales about making wishes, right? Whether it’s being careful for what you wish for because you might just get it in a way that is undesirable or ultimately disappointing. Making the wish successfully depends entirely upon word choice and proper addressing of context and scope. For instance, a lover who wants her beloved to always be around should not say, “I wish that he’ll never leave my side,” because the magic purveyors will take that statement literally and stitch him to her side. They will be conjoined.
Or, if the back up wide receiver wants a chance to prove his talent and skills on the gridiron, how should he phrase his wish? “I wish to start in every game for a month so the coach can see what I can do” ? Not unless he wants to see the starting wide receiver fall mysteriously ill or down a flight of stairs and is rendered physically incapable of playing for a month — because that’s how it’s going to happen.
Even when the wish is crafted with literary precision and legal bond, unless you’ve inserted into your semantics a line about estimated delivery date, you could be waiting all of your life to find or keep a lover, get a chance to play in a game, or whatever else you daydream about and are convinced could only happen with the prodding of divinity, the elusive undercurrents that enable people to recognize serendipity and synchronicity.
Let’s say your wish has been granted. Did you remember to include a caveat that if you don’t decide within ninety consecutive days that you are satisfied with your reality that you can get a do-over? Of course not. You’ve assumed that you’ll be off the charts in bliss because the ostensibly improbable has materialized. So, it may be what you wished for, but is it what you want? What you will still want? What you’ve always wanted?
對我來說, 沒那麼簡單. For me, it’s not that simple.
Isn’t it highly likely that you’ve never experienced what you really want or wish for? You might have enough imagination to visualize how you would go about your life with whatever you desire, but unless you’re wanting version 2.0 of a piece of equipment and you were very specific with your upgrade demands, how do you know for sure that you still won’t be pleased? Or that the new toy syndrome won’t set in, or that you’ve incorporated a do-over clause to every wish and you’ve become obsessed with out-modding yourself?
今天的願望是否變成明天的遺憾. Today’s wish may be tomorrow’s regret.
假如我的願望實現了, 一對翅膀從我的背後展開讓我起飛, 然後呢? If my wish were granted, a pair of wings unfurl from my back, letting me take flight, and then what?
I’ve never thought beyond that moment of lift-off. I don’t even know where I would go to first.
假如我另一個願望實現了, 我遇到我的動物靈魂圖騰或是動物靈魂裝成人的摸樣, 我會知道怎麼照顧他 嗎? If my other wish were granted, I meet my animal spirit or animal spirit in human form, will I know how to take care of him?
I’d like to think that I would, but I just don’t know. Let’s say I meet my spirit animal in the flesh tomorrow — human form or not — I’m assuming I’ll recognize him when I see him. I’m assuming he’ll be a mammal or a bird. But he could be a reptile or a fish. And then he’d feel unloved because in the back of my mind I was hoping for a panda. Or a rabbit or a fox.
If I had wings and could fly, I hope a pair of nesting eagles would adopt me. I’d tell them about wind energy turbine farms and where they shouldn’t fly.
If we really are creating our reality, and wanting doesn’t have to be as convoluted and footnotes-with-footnotes as I make wishing out to be, then I say it for the world to know. I want a hug on a cellular level. I want my blood and bone marrow to be fed with nourishment and joy that I can’t get from books or youtube videos. I want to drink and feed from the vitality of another; my self-reliance in these arenas has gone on holiday.