Our Souls' Work

I just now listened to a song performed by a dear friend of mine, who finally, after four years, allowed me to hear her music. I am speechless. I've only known her as a fellow educator and mother, so it's no exaggeration to say that I am in awe. Jack and I sat here in silence and listened to the whole song and both of us could only say, "wow" when it was over. Her gift, and I say this in complete belief that we are all born with a gift to give to this world, is her song. This is not to say that she doesn't have other gifts as well; she is a wonderful mother and teacher. But hearing her voice sing her truth transcends her other gifts (at least in my opinion). Oh, and she is also writing a novel, which is no poke in the eye, so it's kind of a big statement I'm making about her music.

I'm not telling you her name so that she can't get mad at me or sue me for libel, but this also allows me to be totally honest about what I think (and really, even if she suspects, how can she know that I didn't  receive song attachments this week from another friend who also happens to be a mother and teacher and writer of novels?). And what I think is, most of us, like 98%, are scared to death of our gift. THE gift. We are so scared of it that I would bet many of us don't even know what it is. This doesn't mean that we aren't still fully present and authentic in our lives; it just means that we are avoiding that thing that moves our souls like nothing else does. That thing that makes us sweat and feel a tiny bit nauseous when we think about actually doing it. That thing that can keep you up at night by simply thinking about doing it. I call this thing our souls' work; the core of our purpose in this life. For my friend, it's playing her music out loud. For me, it's writing and doing what I need to do to be a therapist. I have known in my bones for a long time now that I need to write and I need to counsel people, but in my 38 years on this planet, I have done almost nothing to achieve either one. And naturally, I have done about a billion other things instead. I can grade an essay like nobody's business and I can pour a mean glass of wine, but I can't sit down and type out my truth for others to read and I'm terrified to complete my training in therapy. I think it's only been in the past six months that I've understood why. It's the same fear that paralyzes all of us. It's the fear that if we finally bare our soul and commit to fulfilling our deepest truth, we chance failing at our most vulnerable level. We chance having the very core of our being rejected. We chance putting our guts out there to only have 39 people in the whole world read what we wrote or listen to our song. We chance being told that we don't have what it takes after all. That we were wrong to believe that this was our souls' work.

So we stifle our truth and do other things to pacify us. The problem with humanity is, this never fools our souls, damn them. I mean, it can work for a while. We can convince ourselves that this thing that we are dedicated to now is what we are supposed to be doing. And we can do this for quite some time. I've done it for years. But eventually, if we are willing to really listen to ourselves, we will see through the rouse. And having just reached this point, I have to admit that right now, this is much scarier than it is "enlightened" or "sacred" or "inspiring". No, it plain sucks ass, because once you acknowledge it it's real and you have to do something about it. There's no other choice. Which explains the nature of this post. I sat down to write something witty and safe about our new chickens, and this is what came out. I freaking told you. Once you blow the roof of the sucker, you're done for.

But seriously, on a side note, we finally got chickens. Six fine young gals. So far, our janky, homemade coop has held against predators (including our own dogs and cat), which, I'm not gonna lie, we are all flabbergasted by.