One day a married couple stopped by my mother's office to look at homes. They sat down with my mother and described the home they were looking for.  My mom had just signed an agreement with a seller earlier that morning, and realized the house she listed was the "dream" house described by the couple who just arrived. My mom was so excited about the "perfect match," that she insisted on immediately showing the property to the prospective buyers.  She told them to act upon it fast as the house would most certainly be sold that same day.  Her enthusiasm was so overwhelming to the buyers, that they decided to not make a decision on the home's purchase, and left.  In other words, my mom's sincere enthusiasm drove them away.

Another couple arrived in right after the first couple left.  They looked at several homes, then decided to buy the other couple's "perfect match..."

Ironically, of course, the first couple returned later that day to put a deposit on my mother's enthusiastic recommendation.  My mom told them it was sold.

My mother's overwhelming enthusiasm prevented a "perfect match."  She arrived home upset about the incident, realizing one's vision of perfection can sometimes temporarily blind the wisdom of another. Or maybe it was due to that parable about one worm and two birds.

Fear makes us run from things "too good to be true" and suppresses desire by negating its object of intention. Caution often leads to opposite course of action. The pendulum will one again reverse itself and swing in the direction of wisdom when we see the mistake of a path inappropriately overshadowed by fear.

Time represents stability, lessens our fears, and helps us appreciate displaced wisdom. Time can also lessen wisdom's importance and strengthen desire.  The swinging pendulum rests when wisdom becomes a rock, or when desire can no longer be acted upon.

We envision potential mistakes of others then offer judgemental or prejudicial solutions.  Instead, our wisdom somehow becomes fuel for such desire, and adds to the fire...  As we witness their lesson with acceptance of something we cannot change, we eat our words of advice not asked for. After the mistake is made, such wisdom solidifies into rock-hard legitimacy with the words "see, I told you so....,"  a phrase I heard quite frequently during my childhood.

I hear my mother say those words when I dream about days I walked on a loose leash, with space for mistakes and applicably appropriate one-liners sent my way for purposes of enlightenment. Told or not, a child thanks or blames a parent for mistakes once made. After that, there is no one else to blame.

A child standing near the water's edge for the first time will blindly jump in or hesitate as unanswered questions race through the mind concerning the implications of such a plunge. Hopefully, a person of knowledge such as a parent will be there for advice, or pull the child out if the water's too deep. The rest of our lives is not much different: As our base-knowledge increases we metaphorically weave through similar themes possessing more challenging complexities.

I walk this earth filled with my mother's endless wisdom. Now more than ever I see how much of it turned to gold. 

I think I'll go for another swim...