A Permission Slip to Live From Your Heart
It’s pretty easy to write a blog post and it’s even easier to make a video for youtube. But what makes the difference between a heartfelt and insightful communication and a mundane humdrum share is how willing one is to expose and express the essence of one’s human experience.
Tonight I was reflecting, not consciously, but automatically on the nature of my writing, since I first wrote about my grandma’s passing in June of 2015.
That piece and what I wrote soon thereafter, “The Ken Fried You Don’t Know,” were both heartfelt expressions of my personal human experience.
Those two pieces caused a flurry of activity to my inbox—both on Facebook and email—a flood of comments and genuine thank you’s from those who read what I wrote.
Since those posts, I’ve written more articles and shot more videos , all genuine expressions, but if we were to judge by the feedback received, it’s clear those did not pack the punch of the first two articles that I wrote.
I wrote those first two posts because I wanted to write, because I had something to say. It was an act of giving. I gave myself the opportunity to express and in giving to myself, I ultimately gave to you. Hence the beautiful string of messages and comments.
I wrote for the joy of writing and the joy of producing an article — the expression itself, the formatting, the italicizing of certain sentences, the addition of very specific images.
I created what for me was a masterpiece of my own expression.
Not for you, but for me, and in serving myself I served you through the mouthpiece of my heart.
I can’t help but to analyze and reflect on the differences between those first two and the ones that followed.
The ones that followed those first two were mechanical in nature — planned, at least in the sense that I said I would sit down and write something, whatever was active for me at the time. Whereas the first two were essentially spontaneous in nature.
It’s the spontaneous, raw, real, joy and sorrow filled communications, the ones from the heart that touched the hearts of others.
I’m tired of writing mechanically.
You see, I can do it and I’m pretty fucking good at it, but why, why even bother? Certainly you know what I mean. Why am I writing just to write? Or for you, maybe it’s:
Why am I getting up to go to this job that I don’t like.
Why do I continue to wake up beside this person who I no longer love?
Why am I so unwilling to break the thick ice and call my sibling who I haven’t spoken to in six years?
Why am I continuing to eat these foods that make me feel like shit?
Why would I rather suffer and struggle with finances than get a tick tock 9–5 job, which would serve to alleviate my difficulties?
Ahhhhhh, W.H.Y? WHY!?
We all, including myself, do things out of habit.
Most especially when that habit is a habit that ultimately serves nothing more than to maintain the status quo of a life we’re no longer alright with.
It’s as simple as that.
Why do I continue to write articles mechanically? And, equally as important, why do you continue to participate in certain mechanical and methodical habits?
I’m afraid of what might happen if I were to stop writing.
Even deeper, I’m afraid of what I (or others) might make it mean about me if I were to stop writing.
Yes Ego, I am all those qualities, for sure, thanks…Yet, I don’t have to make the end of mechanical writing mean anything that would diminish the wholeness of who I truly am.
What would your ego make it mean about you if you were to stop doing what you’re doing?…if you stopped participating in the habits of being, which are perpetuating a reality that you’re keenly aware is out of alignment with that which you desire for yourself?
What would you have to look at that you’re afraid to look at?
What might you see, which you’d prefer to not see?
What might you have to admit to yourself, which you’re afraid to acknowledge?
You can answer these questions, or you (and I) can simply choose to halt those habituated actions.
This takes courage, but you have courage.
This takes audacity, but you’re audacious.
This takes bravery (which is not the same as courage) and you’re fucking brave.
This takes heart and balls, and you have both, even you ladies.
“You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”
So, which pill would you like? Red or Blue?
The choice is yours.
Here’s the thing.
As far as I can tell (today), the story doesn’t actually end with choosing the red pill—it’s then that the story truly begins.
You see, you don’t even know that you’re spinning a story! Or that you’ve fused your identity to the convincingly believable safety and security of the illusory structures contained within that story.
The story starts the moment you choose to take that red pill. That’s when you wake up to the fact that you’ve been telling yourself a story.
Then you can see what was previously unseen.
That’s when you awaken to wonderland and that’s when life becomes a game.
That’s the real beginning.
The beginning of seeing.
That’s vision and that’s the kind of sight that inevitably results in attaining what you desire of life.
Heavy stuff, sort of.
I hope you’re tracking with me, because we’re in deep space 9 right now.
It’s 2:36am, my battery is at 4% and I’m writing from my heart — real deal expression right here.
So, where are we?
I’m not sure, hahaha.
Do we ever know where we truly are?
We think we do, but only for as long we believe our story is real.
We think we do, only when we think we have to be and to do in a certain way so as to secure our fiction as non-fiction.
Ahhhh. That’s a great.
Here’s the message, to myself and to you.
Do what you would do if you weren’t trying to do or to make your life in such a mechanical way.
Do what you would do if what you were doing was only for you and for no one else.
Do what you would do if you gave up on making your life work—and instead allowed it—it being life—to do what it would so naturally do without your resistance.
Does this make sense?
I hope so.
Back to reality, whatever the fuck that is.
For me, this means writing at 2:56am on a Thursday night. This brings me joy. In joy, I’m enjoying the moments making up the experience of writing this piece.
I’m doing this because there’s nothing more that I’d rather be doing in this moment than sharing from my heart, not even sleeping!
And that’s the point!
Write from you heart.
Speak from your heart.
Draw and dance from your heart.
Act from your heart.
Express from your heart.
Share from your heart.
Do whatever YOU would do, because it’s what you want to do!
Because doing so serves no one other than yourself.
Consider this your digital permission slip — to live from your heart.
To be the servant of your Self.
Because doing so will bring you the pure joy that you had mistakenly believed you could only feel by doing what you thought you needed to do so effortfully and mechanically.
Because that joy is already inside of you.
Open yourself to the nectar.
I know it’s scary, but it’s alright. You’re safe.
Nothing bad is going to happen, despite the endless arguments of your untamed ego.
I promise you. I speak not from ego but from experience.
Your heart is your guide, if you allow it to be.
And what a holy blessing if you allow yourself the gift of this guidance.
You can worry, but you don’t need to.
You can stress, but what’s the point?
You can panic, but really, is there a need?
Of course not.
Take your heart for a spin and discover for yourself what I’m talking about.
Let go, even just a bit—even if it’s just a tiny sliver of a let go.
…and watch what happens.
And then next time, let go a little more and watch what happens.
Keep letting go and what you’ll quickly discover is that you’re cradled..and that you’ve always been cradled.
I know…it’s so fucking cliche, I almost want to delete the sentence prior, but it’s the truth and fortunately for us all, cliches are often true.
So…tonight I wrote from the heart—is it beautiful and eloquent? I think so.
Is it perfect, or as perfect as I think a piece of writing should be? No, and that’s why it’s perfect.
I’m allowing what is to be what is.
You’re courageous, audacious, and brave and so I know you have it in you to allow what is to be what is, as you gently and gracefully open yourself to seeing with and living from your heart!
Is there an end?
No, there’s never an end, only new beginnings .
And remember, those monsters, aren’t as scary as you think they are.
Until that next beginning,
With love, gratitude and reverence,