Not long after my Wizard of Oz breakdown and breakthrough, the film was rereleased in theaters as part of its Fiftieth Anniversary celebration. I had never seen the film on a big screen and found myself settling into my seat with a rush of childlike anticipation, just as I had all those years ago. As soon as the overture started, I sat straight up, eyes welling with delight and a lump in my throat. And though I sang every song and recited most of the dialogue (apparently along with everyone else in the theater), it was as if I were seeing it for the first time. And in a way, I was.
Having several dozen viewings under my belt, a now much-expanded library of life-enhancing self-development books (life-enhancing sounds like an upgrade of a couple of yellow bricks further along the self-development journey than self-help), and being well on my way along the path to changing my mind about my life, I had a very different listening of Dorothy’s adventures in Oz. This time, at the end of the film when Dorothy woke up back in Kansas, I was not disheartened but heart-filled. Dorothy’s whole life lay before her now because of her experiences in Oz and the wisdom she could now access.
It took the events of Dorothy’s journey through Oz to reassemble the aspects of her character—her mental (brain), emotional (heart), intellectual (courage), physical (human), and spiritual (Divine) bodies—into alignment with the frequency of listening that was necessary for her to hear the wisdom and profound simplicity in Glinda’s guidance. Dorothy had always had the power within her to go home, to claim her mastery, to fully realize her highest potential. However, to do so in a sustainable way, she had to start from the beginning and retrain herself to be conscious and intentional with each step along her path, to be present and pay attention to the signs along the way, and to appreciate the opportunity to remember who she was as a powerful force—a tornado of creative potential. Dorothy’s adventures through Oz, much like her life in Kansas, didn’t happen to her; they happened for her.
Later that evening, while lying in bed, I reflected on those earlier nights so long ago when I spent what seemed like hours promising myself that if being an adult meant I had to surrender my over-the-rainbow childlike wonder, I wanted nothing to do with it. This night, however, I saw how I didn’t have to surrender anything except my limited thinking and beliefs that my life was something I had to survive. Oz isn’t some place far, far away; it’s a way of being, a way of believing; it’s a journey to remembering we have always had the power to claim the truth of who we think we are, and what we believe is possible.
