The past couple years have emphasized fate and history a great deal. Grandpa Hart was a farmer throughout my earliest memories. Basically every day all summer he would be out there in the garden. I would watch him tend the land, laboring in the summer sun. He lived one infinite message: if you are going to do it; do it right. Don’t half-ass it. Living with conviction—without a doubt—accentuates virtue. True, genuine human fulfillment only comes from the whispers of soul.
Developing a listening ear to these callings, I think, is a lifelong process. As cliché as it may be, these messages come in no explicit form, but as a feeling. Our vocabulary doesn’t quite capture it, but terms of phrase like “makes your heart sing”, “what you love to do”, “follow your heart”, serve as intuitive signposts. When in tune with these, it all seems obvious and life is infused with creativity, energy, zest, and joy. But other times, these proverbs frustrate in all their ambiguity. But the beauty here is that we are always free to choose again and reconnect with our shine.
It is undeniable—the upspring of humanity latent even in the iced-over foul-tinged suit. The inevitable upsurge of imagination can “rise suddenly from the mind’s abyss and enwrap the solitary traveler like a mist.” (Eisley 273) To make sense of it all is the universal. And the reason? In Man’s Search for Meaning, Victor Frankl offers that “each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible…responsibleness [is] the very essence of human existence.” (109)
It is in that particular tonality of sky-blue arcadium. Its wonder reverberates through childhood reveries. The ship, the castle, and the ground all communicated daimon before we started seeking it. So clearly there is no “mineness” or achievement about purpose. And because this is already clearly a narrative will beyond me, it simply does not follow that I resist its flow.
The degree of which achievements agree depend on the degree of attunement with one’s own essential alignment within the cosmic drama. Going against the nature of things will create strife and friction. But when I come from a place of truth, being-at-home, there is a wind at my back. The universe conspires with that path, and everyone, including me, loves to fly.
The light in us is to shine; it is not mine. So who am I to smother? Each upsurge is infinitely unique, and each novel work’s criteria of success is whether or not it achieved communication.
The more internal telos communicates, the more pronounced the manifestation of collective edification. To walk in step with purpose is to love the world. To revel in awe of the world has being-at-home at its centre.
The blue sky needs both the black and the white. Finding the harmonious commonality with distant corners of the world is the seminal task of humanity. In every soul is both a mirror and a teacher. Ask for it. Nobody’s inherently against us.
Now more than ever the appearances will have us belief in our impotence. But some of my favorite writers have convinced me otherwise. In The Star Thrower, scientist/philosopher/poet Loren Eisley offers that “The substance of the truth is in the great images which lie behind.” (273) Or in the words of James Hillman in Soul’s Code, “Invisible fates may show as visible failures.” (107)
This is no time for my fellow “millennials” to rip the world off from their potential. Surely, it will creep in: “Wait, is this too narcissistic? Delusional? Why me play so big?”
You have the flow of history in your reserve. If it’s harmoniously correlated, allow enormity to blossom.
Everyone gets to fly.