“If you can see your path laid out in front of you step by step, you know it’s not your path. Your own path you make with every step you take. That’s why it’s your path.”
― Joseph Campbell
You have an inner source code – a soulcode — that holds the secret to where you belong in the world.
You unlock that secret slowly, over years, on a passion quest.
The quest is necessary because it makes you into what you need to be.
Your place of belonging, your golden niche, is defined by your ruling passion: the thing you do in the way that only you can do it, that puts you in flow, evoking your highest and most creative self in service to something larger than yourself.
A ruling passion is twofold: your purpose, and the method by which that purpose is delivered into the world.
Your purpose is timeless and unchanging.
The way you choose to express that purpose depends on your time and place, and it evolves as you evolve (or transforms into a different expression altogether).
Your purpose is often connected to an inner wound of some kind. Those places of hurt and shame can be valuable clues to who you are and what you’re meant to do. click here
“Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s.”
— Anais Nin
For so long, creative achievement – to make something out of nothing, to shape meaning out of raw experience, to impose your soulprint on the world — was the province of men.
‘Woman artist’ was an oxymoron: such a person was not a real artist (a lady artist, a dilettante) or not a real woman. To be a creator is to be the one who looks and invents instead of being looked at or invented, who chooses instead of being chosen.
A female creator is by definition a rebel, and a rebel is a dangerous woman.
She’s dangerous because her full-blooded, authentic spirit and its insistence on expressing itself through her chosen medium cuts against what it means to be traditionally feminine. To be feminine, as our culture would have it, is to be quiet, inoffensive, self-sacrificing, restrained, pretty, pleasing and nice.
It is to discount your inner truth when it threatens to be even remotely disruptive, as truth tends to be; it is to listen, nod and smile; it is to be weaker and lesser; it is to strive for a level of perfection that isn’t so perfect it might intimidate other people, especially men; it is to split off the stormy emotions and tamp them down deep where they can’t hurt anybody – except maybe yourself. click here
and live on the edges
on all the edges there are.
— Margaret Atwood
You would not have wanted to mess with Mother Teresa. She was tough. She meant it. Christopher Hitchens was not fond of her. Instead of a sweet, saintly, little old lady – the popular depiction – evidence suggests that she was a narcissist (albeit a productive narcissist, as Michael Maccoby terms it).
Her will was powerful, and she got shit done.
Mother Teresa, I imagine, had incredibly strong boundaries. She knew what served her purpose, and she could reject or let go of everything else.
She knew her deep Yes, and when to say No to protect it.
Because Mother Teresa knew where her edges were, she could go right up to them. She always knew when to draw back. She gave her love, her time, and her energy without giving away herself. She knew that you can’t give what you don’t have, so it was important to keep the reserve of her self filled up.
Structure gives shape to things. Structure creates a sense of identity. Mother Teresa knew who she was, and because of that self-knowledge she knew how to plug into the world: how to carry out the work of her soul. click here
To speak of wilderness is to speak of
wholeness. Human beings came out of that
— Gary Snyder
Beyond our ideas of right-doing and wrong-doing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’
doesn’t make sense any more.
Not long ago somebody left chocolate bars outside my front door.
“Somebody left chocolate bars outside your front door,” said the manny. “Do you know anything about this?”
He showed me a red drawstring pouch. It held a Crunchie, a Maltesers, and four or five Flakes.
I said, “Those are my exact specific favorites.”
I grew up in Canada, where you can get them at any convenience store. In the US, you have to make a little more effort. I will drive out of my way to a gas station in Beverly Hills for its rows on rows of imported candy, where I will buy my fix and leave without remembering to actually put gas in the car.
(When I do remember to put gas in the car, I then have to remember to take my Starbucks or my wallet off the roof of the car, which is where I tend to put things while I’m fueling up, before driving away.)
No one in my house seemed to know about the bars or how they got there. Everybody agreed it was a sweet, thoughtful gesture, and then reminded each other to lock all doors and windows in case I had a stalker. click here
1 of 1