Wishing to Whelm

Whelm is a word that nearly disappeared.

Once, it meant to submerge or to engulf, and so it drifted into the deep shadows of language, swallowed whole by the louder storms of overwhelm and the dull ache of underwhelm. But if you listen closely, you can still hear it singing in the middle.

Whelm: the feeling of being met.

Not crushed. Not starved. Met.

Whelm is the forgotten sibling of too much and not enough. It is the one who quietly moved through the world, cultivating stillness, learning to listen.

To be whelmed is to feel life press gently into you—without force, without lack—with perfect measure. It is the warmth of sunlight that touches without burning, the sound of music that fills without flooding. It is the friend who sits beside you and says nothing because nothing needs to be said.

We live in a world addicted to overwhelm. We often measure the intensity of an experience by how much it overwhelms us, as though the magnitude of our shattering equals meaning. We seek stimulation, information, and sensation not for their own sake, but to feel shaken enough to believe we are alive. And when we do not feel that surge, we fall into the numbness of underwhelm, where nothing touches, nothing moves. In doing so, we begin to associate instability with vitality, equating disorientation with depth.

We forget that true aliveness can arise from stillness, from a centered presence that holds all things lightly and fully. From that place of stillness, intensity can become arbitrarily large without overwhelming. It allows the full range of human experience to move through us without the need to turn away.

To wish to whelm is to wish for harmony.

It is not a wish for less. It is not a wish for more. It is a wish to be held in goodness—in the feeling that this, now, is enough.

Enough to feel. Enough to grow. Enough to rest.

Wishing to whelm is a quiet invocation. A tuning fork for reality. When you make this wish, you call in the rhythm that matches your soul’s unfolding. You ask the world to meet you with tenderness and truth. You become the ground that knows how much water to drink.

This wish can meet any moment:

I wish to be whelmed by my work—inspired, without being consumed. I wish to be whelmed by love—met, without being overtaken. I wish to be whelmed by growth—stretched, without being broken.

Beneath each wish lies the deeper knowing: I believe I am worthy of being met where I am. That life can rise to meet me, not because I chase it or fight it, but because I open to the possibility that it wishes to hold me in return.

To wish to whelm is to let go of extremes, to move without force and with resonance. It is a movement towards poetry without compromise.

So wherever you are in this moment,

whatever you carry,

whatever you crave or fear or hope for—

I offer this blessing:

Be whelmed.

Be met in your measure. Be held in your unfolding. And may everything come—without floods or famine, in perfect, pulsing grace.