Currently, I'm in the making of making myself.
In a meditation exercise for a professional identity class, we sought out to identify our essence. "Creation in progress" immediately popped into my mind.
Upon this realization, I felt a wave of dissapointment spread throughout my body.
Somehow, I thought I'd be love, or compassion, or even a flower. Perhaps something poetic like "flourishing love" or "sparkling rainbow", maybe even "dancing unicorn", and most preferably "Goddess."
Not a chance. My essence is just like me; unfinished. A work yet to be done.
Then, what's the essence of this work to be done?
A little voice whispers it's the truth at the core of my being.
An elixir of heart and soul.
The location of one's true vocation.
Sounds pretty fancy, eh? Purple prose at its highest degree.
Apparently, the part I need to remove if I want to become a successful writer.
How do I keep my true voice in the presence of restrictions?
Can I make myself inside societal constrictions?
How can the making of me contribute to other people becoming free?
No comments:
Post a Comment