Dwelling in Possibility.

Possibility—with a capital P—becomes a place, a “House” you can physically inhabit and walk around in—a place where one can dwell and “gather Paradise”—when you begin to chase your wall. Poetry certainly is a place of Possibility if there ever was one, and I certainly find Possibility in running, but, beyond form, every day we can make a choice: to dwell in Possibility, or to wander past it. We owe it ourselves to choose the former. What might we be missing otherwise? Read Emily Dickinson’s poem, “I dwell in Possibility – (466),” below.

I dwell in Possibility – (466)

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –

Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof

The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands

To gather Paradise –

Emily Dickinson