To Heed The Call
“I have not always chosen the safest path. I’ve made my mistakes, plenty of them. I sometimes jump too soon and fail to appreciate the consequences. But I’ve learned something important along the way: I’ve learned to heed the call of my heart. I’ve learned that the voice of fear is not always to be trusted.” -Steve Goodier
My grandmother initially introduced me to this concept of a “calling” right around the time of my first communion. It would come up in conversation usually in reference to some priest or nun being “called” on by God to an occupation no otherwise sane individual would consider.
Every night before bed, I would dutifully recite The Lord’s Prayer and Hail Mary before politely requesting my name be withdrawn from consideration from any list of candidates God might be compiling. The idea of He/She/It personally seeking me out to do, well, anything, quite honestly rendered me shitless.
For starters, if I was ever to hear the booming voice of The Almighty randomly speaking to me from out of the ether, I would undoubtedly void my bowels right there on the spot, serving nothing but to embarrass myself and God in the process. More importantly, however, I simply could not handle the intensity of any such divine expectations. I could barely remember to take out the trash. Put another way, if God had asked me instead of Moses to lead his people out of Egypt, the Jews would still be wandering aimlessly in the desert.
Thankfully for all parties involved, however, my prayers have gone answered. I, like God apparently, know my limitations; but this leads me to ponder, do I, or others not delegated to the realm of the clergy, actually have callings these days?
While I did graduate from law school, prior I was one of those students who changed their major every other semester. The idea of committing myself to one worldly pursuit long enough to actually achieve it was beyond my particular skill set. Academically speaking, I had the attention span of a strung-out golden retriever.
My one constant, however, was the arts. Yes, that nebulous occupational realm that makes parents of every college-aged child cringe. To be called to something not known for its high monetary success rate is a risky business indeed. In a material world with rising costs and stagnant wages, it is almost as brave as a life in the clergy, albeit slightly more fun.
For example, there is a man who plays saxophone for quarters on the corner of my bus stop. The sounds of his horn grease the wheels of my morning and point it in the right direction. Yet, the mantra of “Get a job!” pour upon him at least once a day by random passerby. The connotation being, adding beauty to the world lacks the occupational pragmatism inherent for compensation. For them, he is not a musician doing what he was called to do. He is quite simply a beggar, even though he never asked for money once and in all likelihood has another job. A job that undoubtedly does not fulfil him the way playing his saxophone does, even for quarters.
I think of Joan of Arc called on by God to lead France over England only to be burned at the stake at the young age of nineteen for confessing her calling. Is this talented sax player, and every other artist for that matter, not the same in some small way? Following an innate proclivity of purpose only to be stoned for it.
The late mythologist, Joseph Campbell believed that artists were modern day shaman, and after all, who were shaman other than the indigenous clergy? Maybe, there is a loose connection here. Maybe God, or the Universe ,or the Great Powers That Be do have unique plans for some of us.
I am currently reading Patti Smith’s, Just Kids. (I know, I am late to the party on this book, but a phenomenal read, nonetheless.) It is the autobiographical tale of her youth spent with artist and photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe. This was before they were the famous punk icon, and provocative sensation of the art world. This recounts the days when they were penniless, sharing meals, and living in squalor in rented hotel rooms they bartered for with their art work. Why did they choose to live this way? They were brilliant and capable young people in the prime of life. Were they lazy? Had they never reached fame would they still be considered such? Who knows. What is known is they are artists and despite all the societal pressures to conform with the masses, they could be nothing else. Even if it left them hungry and without a roof. They followed their calling. Like the young musician at my bus stop, and the great Joan of Arc before him, they heeded the call of their hearts regardless of its cost.
I will come right out and say, I do not believe in God. At least not of the gray-bearded-hotheaded variety, but I do believe in a universal order of things. Something that connects us to the plants and animals, to the stars and universe, but more importantly to each other.
As the population of the world spreads like a cancer over the earth, it is my humble opinion that humanity must find its own unique calling in the order of things. For most of us, we have lost touch with this primal urge to fill the void only we can fill, to heed the call of our own hearts regardless of how scary that may be sometimes.
To that, I raise a glass to all of those people who have heard an internal voice inspiring them in the direction of their calling. To the artists and believers, whoever you are, I salute you. You are the music makers and dreamers of dreams, as the great Willy Wonka once said, and it is your faith in yourselves which ultimately bring us all a little closer to ourselves.
Originally published on August 21, 2016 on the author’s website, The Boxing Buddhist at www.theboxingbuddhist.com
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