A young man was born into this world. The specifics do not matter. He is the embodiment of a certain subset of qualities as singular as a fingerprint.
He was not a mistake. Nor was he a “blank slate;” only in the sense that, in this incarnation of Himself, he had not yet walked upon this earth. He would not languish. In many other times, places and spheres as innumerable as stars, he had collected traits as one might shells, stones, and artifacts upon a lonely and stormy seashore. Storing them in a medicine bag, he made his way to Now.
He was unique. No one had found the exact artifacts that he had, and no one would ever again. His bag was his alone. What was he to do with them?
More on him later, for within this world there also exists a young woman.
She, too, a traveler of stars and dimensions, came into this world about the same time and had her bag, her artifacts. She was as prepared as the young man, no doubt, but this land is a strange land. The bagged traits she holds tightly would serve her well in many dimensions and realities, in and of themselves.
But not this one.
She feels alone. Misunderstood. She knows she’s gifted; that’s a given. The “imaginary friends” for which she was maligned as a child were anything but imaginary. A natural seer, she could meet an adult and tell immediately if they could be trusted, if they were running from something; if they were angry from past wounds. No matter how nice they were, how well they presented themselves, there were people that were aligned with the same force that animated her being … and those that were not.
Because of these gifts, and others that lit upon her as she made her way into young adulthood, she was a solitary one. Nature was her first love and, from time to time, her only friend. She felt like a keyhole, unrequited for the time being. Not from her Self, which was a complete unit—she knew that—but from a certain potential that she had come to fulfill. It involved a specific masculinity that had to be mixed with her moonlit femininity in order for her gifts to manifest most effectively here. In this incarnation, teamwork was to be the vehicle of certain gifts for in a world that desperately needed awakening.
The young man in this story was the key. But where was he?
His bag of treasures, much less than hers in many ways, was the yang to her yin. He had no way of knowing this, particularly because he had found ways to mitigate his own discomfort when his beloveds looked at him oddly or called him “dreamer,” “idealistic,” or “weirdo.” Unlike the girl, he chose an easier way to deal with the presence of his gifts. Rather than go within and wrap himself around them tighter as she had done, he squelched them. He bade them be still. In this way, he could cease the pain and path of Knowing, the discomfort of truly not belonging in a world that had long since forgotten the ways of the walk with soul.
He also had a calling for teamwork, and the most important aspects of his calling would be in conjunction with the awakened feminine, or this part of it would go unfulfilled, like the young woman’s. A particular feminine component would charge his unique masculinity such that his treasures would also be enlightened and informed, and to be thus able to inform his walk upon the earth. On a certain basic level, he knew this. But unfortunately, his squelching of his gifts—and this knowledge—took the form of looking at women as prizes, not partners. In the parlance of the day, they were “friends with benefits.” He had no time for a partner, for creating in this manner. He was fully engaged in the Consumption of the Less which, ironically, required the bulk of the lasting value he could bring to his existence.
It was comfortable, this forgetting. His starlight necklaces had been placed carefully away in the bag he had brought to earth. His crystals and the charms he had collected in order to serve the great thrum of Life were similarly stowed. Breathing freely now the dirtier air, he blended in nicely with others of the forgetful throng. As his bag and the objects were stifled, the gifts of this world now were free to manifest. While they were not made of light, these mortal gifts were nonetheless sugary and sated him for a time, whenever more could be obtained.
One day, the young man, fully dressed in the vestments of the world—suit, briefcase and tie, cropped hair and steely eyes—passed by a woman about his age sitting with her back against a building in a busy city, her head down, her clothes clean but threadbare. Her dark hair was dreadlocked and her ears lightly gauged. A tattoo on the back of her neck read, “Only Love,” and she held a cup. Handmade necklaces lay in front of her, like stars arranged. A bag sat next to her.
It was the bag that caught his attention.
It seemed to exude a sort of white light that could be seen even in the light of day. He did a double-take, and at second glance it disappeared. He supposed that he had seen a type of optical illusion. Maybe the granite behind her had sparkled. What else could it be? Moreover, he had seen the woman many times in the past and she had never caught his attention before. Not like this.
Stopping, he looked down at the young woman, as if he knew her.
She, upon seeing finely polished shoes in front of her, looked up into the eyes of the young man—the young man who had traveled stars and dimensions … and yet who had forgotten.
His first thought was, “how does a street person afford contacts?” Her eyes were that blue. They couldn’t be real, could they? Yet they were. In that instant, he remembered. His face fell.
She, still a seer, also saw into the young man in front of him, in spite of all he had done to avoid being truly seen.
It was Him.
In that moment, the two united.
“Where were you?” was all she could say.
He sat down next to her on the sidewalk, and never left her side again.
This is a true story.
◊♦◊
Too many of us are like the young man in the story. That’s what makes it true. I don’t know or care if you are here to unite with the opposite (or same) gender in order to fulfill your soul’s purpose. That’s not the point. Our gifts are unable to manifest while we’re distracted within the Great Whirlpool of Small Things.
We’ll never find the gifts our souls want to bring forth—that we came here to birth—if we’re so engaged in what feels good to body and ego that our soulful work is excluded.
So, what can be done?
I recently started paying tithes. A tenth of my income goes to a charitable organization or “good cause” now. I don’t make much money; every cent is accounted for each month. Yet I decided to take a leap of faith and let go, return the favor, pay it forward, act as if I really believe in an abundant Universe. As soon as I started doing that, opportunities opened for me. But I had to take the step. It turns out that I was the one blocking the Universe from manifesting on my behalf.
Manifesting our gifts is like that, too. We block ourselves in so many ways. My suggestion is that we look within for answers, for the blocks, and take a tentative step toward doing what we love, no matter the pay (or lack thereof). Give back without expectation—just do it for fun, as an experiment. Make it hurt a little bit, make it a real sacrifice. You’ll be amazed at how you feel and what happens in your life.
We each have a divine mission to fulfill that, if we just fearlessly remove the scaffolding, the nets, the ropes, and walk out onto the ledge, we’ll find that we’re always supported, always known, always loved, never alone.
Remove your barriers. Find your star-filled medicine bag and bring your gifts into the light.
We’re waiting, and we need you.
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Photo: Getty Images
Eric, this is REALLY good–excellently written! Congratulations. It deeply moved me and, I believe, it is the best work you have written.