Today’s (Second) Soul Report: True Confessions & True Spirit-Gifts
True Confessions (a-1-in-the-morning-revelation)~
I want people to listen to me. I am mad I think no one does. I need too much acknowledgment, too much recognition. This desire brings me little, to no rest. I’m always after it. Seeking it. It’s partly the internet- did anyone email me? My dumb mobile phone- is my screen lighting up? Facebook- did someone like my status? Blogs (although I rather love my blog)- how are my stats today? These are mediums in which we can earn instant recognition and validation (or not). Sometimes I do, but it isn’t enough. My hunger for it is far too greedy.
Okay- do you hate me?
But hold the mobile phone- on a recent Facebook comment thread, I added my truth to an update. I hovered over, and reread my words as if they were laced with silver and gold, and a new commenter posted. Surely, I was the one to admire. But no, it was another. Every comment she had written was “amazing and so true.” I laughed. I honestly laughed, and truly did not care. Not a bit, and no I’m not just saying it. I did not give a shit. Who cares if someone likes what I say or not. Who really cares. Why does it matter? Why should it concern me? Really, and not bitterly, but really, why should it?
It’s not what life is about, at least not for me- anymore (and don’t think this happened in an instant- I’ve been wrestling with this a long while). I don’t want to be that writer who stands in front of a crowd, reading the words I have written as if I’m the greatest creative genius since Mozart. I don’t want to be bounced around by every word of praise and every word of criticism. I don’t want to manipulate and maneuver to get what I want. Or strategize or be like someone else to get what I want. It’s more simple than this. More honest. More real.
Rumi writes, and I opened spontaneously to this passage:
You live in an admiration world, but what do you offer your admirers? If you had true spirit-gifts to give, you would not think of customers?
At first when I read this, I shuddered. Sure, I hope to be that person who does not think of customers, but really? Is this possible? It is. And for me, right now it has to be. To only seek admiration is petty and sad, and because I don’t truly and honestly believe this was my only motivation, to believe or fear it might be, covers up a more pure intention, and it is with this pure intention, I would like to consciously lead from. It is with this pure intention, that will help me to stop avoiding and fearing the possibility of giving the true spirit-gifts.
So I have confessed to you, and to myself. It’s a risk, this I know. But it is worth the risk. I cannot work for admiration any longer. I just cannot, and now that it is said, perhaps I can get busy with what really matters and leave the fluff and stuff behind, or at the very least be more aware of when it rears its tiny head.
What can you confess to today? Oh, and wait- there’s more.
A week or so later….
I wrote this post (the one above) early one morning, last week. I was going to read it later that day, and post, but I didn’t. I also didn’t post it the next day, and then I had days of not posting at all. It turns out this 1-in-the-morning-revelation brought me another layer deep (into myself). When I was a little girl, an only child, I spent a lot of time alone- in my room. In my room I created. I made up classroom curriculums, which I taught in an imaginary class. I was a conductor of an orchestra atop my cushy toy box. I choreographed dances. Pretended I was Sandy (in Grease of course). I read books. I colored and drew.
This time alone, where I was creating was about creating. And maybe also about coping with loneliness, although I don’t remember if I felt lonely. I was too busy creating. I did not seek recognition or praise, but as I got older, this little girl had some cries. She was in fact lonely. She felt a bit lost. She didn’t feel like kids liked her. Or that anyone paid much attention to what might be her gifts- her true spirit-gifts. These honest cries turned bitter. Turned into disappointment. Rejection. A sore layer where I projected what I thought was real at others.
In my writing work, which seems to now be where I create the most, I wanted the work to mean something. I began to need it to have a result. You know because “they” say do what you love and the money, accolades and blah, blah, blah will follow. So because I am a thinker, often thinking way too ahead of myself- if I write, then result should be recognition. Recognition means opportunity. Opportunity means a livelihood that could pay my bills and than some. And all this means fulfillment.
After exposing this need for recognition, to write was no longer appleaing if it meant I had to also carry all of those expectations. Really, what this entire revelation is about is to have me return to that little girl who created. Maybe who did so to cope and escape her circumstances, but I find in a way I need that now anyway, but more so to return to the place where creativity is pure and real, and does not look for results, or customers.
I expect this important learning to continue to unfold.
The Soul Reporter