Religion Archives - TinaOLife

Dear Soul Dude – What is my Life’s Purpose?

April 25, 2016

Yesterday I announced that Soul Interpreter, Chris Dierkes will be sharing a regular post here on TinaOLife. If you missed it, here is what I’m so thrilled about.

Today we launch Chris’ column “Dear Soul Dude” and he’s chosen to nail a biggie: the soul and your life’s purpose. Oh boy. How many sleepless nights have you had rolling that question around over and over and over and over and over…? It makes my stomach flip just thinking about it. A few years ago I would wake up between 3am and 4am almost every night just twitching with this question. I would sedate myself with netflix in order to go back to sleep, usually by 6am, just when my ‘duties’ as mom was starting.

I love that we’re opening up Chris’ column with this delicious topic. Have a read. What are your thoughts? What are your questions? We’ll be sure to respond just as quickly as time allows. Ready? Let’s dive in!

I want you to help me find my purpose.

I want to discover my purpose in life.

When I talk to individuals considering entering into a soul work process this is the most common complaint and desire they bring with them.

I empathize with the sincere desire that underlies the statement. I think framing the the issue as finding or discovering one’s purpose is causing people huge amounts of unnecessary suffering and pain.

I believe wanting to discover your purpose in life is really problematic. But please hear what I am and am not saying in that statement. Undoubtedly the desire to express your soul is genuine. Conceiving of and framing that desire as finding or discovering your purpose is very bad.

Why? Seems sorta nuts to oppose people finding their purpose in life no? It might be a foolhardy quest but I’m going to try to persuade you that trying to find your purpose is an unhelpful approach to life. In order to get there however we first need a little background on the nature of the soul and its desires. Once we do that I hope you’ll understand why I’m arguing against looking to discover or find your purpose in life.

Be Careful (How You Frame) What You Wish For

The soul works through irresistible impulse, deep desire, and profound pull. The soul is a kind of generative germinator, a locus of longing. The soul is tidal; it’s energies build and gather intensity like the ocean’s waves. The passions of a soul incite it to movement and motivate it to action. The soul’s surge is an impulsion; it is kinetic, charged, dynamic.

Impulsion, drive, longing, these are the urges and surges of the soul.

Now the next step is to learn the fine art of creatively and judiciously beginning to ride those tidal impulses of the soul, to put those soul impulsions into concrete language. This path involves giving voice to these deep urges of the soul by letting them coalesce into intentions.

Intentions act as frames, as containers for these deeper-than-words groanings of the soul. Intentions give shape, consistency, and meaning to the soul’s sighs.

Intentions then are crucially important. There is a sweet spot where an intention has enough concreteness to give tangible shape and profile to a soul longing and yet is not so dense that it flattens the soul’s desire. This process of moulding a soul’s instincts into a life-giving intention is an art not a science. In other words, not all intentions are created equal. Some intentions, some containers are more congruent to the subtlety and power of a soul desire. Some less so.

The soul is more like an inclination. Soul longings incline in certain directions. They incline away from other directions. But these inclinations, these urges are not yet to be so narrowly defined as to efface the multiple ways that these longings can be practically realized and expressed.

The soul is more like an inclination.

As it comes to this particular topic of life path, the deep longing, the primordial urging of a soul, is to express its true nature, to irradiate the world with its singular light. This is universally the case for all souls.

That impulse is deeply felt by people. It’s a beautiful one. It’s very real.

Here then comes the mistake (in my view). That beautiful impulse of a soul is then interpreted and framed as needing to “find my purpose in life.” In naming the deep soul longing as such the person has inadvertently already begun to lose touch with the deeper impulse. They accurately sensed it but they have unfortunately mislabeled it and badly framed it.

The impulse is valid. The framework of interpretation is not. The latter distorts the former. What is needed then is the felt sense of the underlying tidal surging of the soul AND a more adequate frame to understand it, to seek to concretely surf it.

Finding Means Something Is Lost

If you begin with the proposition that you want to find your purpose you are describing your purpose as lost. When people say to me “they are looking for their purpose in life”, I’ll point my eyes up to the ceiling or look out the window or under the chair I’m sitting on. Looking for your purpose? Where? Where would a soul’s purpose happen to be?

I hear people describe finding their soul’s purpose or locating it like it was a buried pirate treasure. Unfortunately far too many practitioners (in my experience) play into this problematic dynamic. They sell themselves as helping someone “locate” their lost purpose as if it were indeed some kind of buried treasure. Practitioners will even claim they have some special map to their client’s purpose, complete with an X to mark the spot of the (other) soul’s inherent desires. Once someone becomes the expert on locating your lost soul purpose, they can immediately sell you this fanciful dream (or is it a nightmare?).

Looking for your purpose? Where? Where would a soul’s purpose happen to be?

The central error here is that the purpose of a soul is intrinsic to the soul itself.

The purpose is not somewhere else. Consequently you do not need to go on a journey to locate your supposedly lost soul purpose. You need not look outside yourself. There’s no reason for you to adopt some formulaic three, four, five, or ten step formula to activating your soul’s growth, potential, and purpose.

There’s the old saying of “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” In this case it would be “if it ain’t lost don’t find it.”

Your soul’s purpose is not lost. It’s inherent to the soul of you, to the soul of anything or anyone. The philosopher Aristotle described the soul as the animating principle, the essential mover of a being. In other words, that deep generative longing. That is inherent to you as an incarnate soul.

So there is no need to bring in some outside set of actions in order to “locate” your soul’s purpose. All that needs to happen is to let your soul out. What people call their purpose is really just the unfolding of their soul.

Consequently there’s no reason to abdicate your soul’s sovereignty to someone else, to some expert (self-proclaimed, valid or otherwise). All that is needed is learning to attend to the generative impulses of your soul that are always already motivating you from the depths. And then from there learning how to let them move, form, and solidify into life-giving, creative, loving action.

If you say you are looking to find your soul purpose then you will seek outwardly in vain. You will seek elsewhere than directly where you need to, namely the core animating tides of your soul. I use words like tides, urges, impulsions to describe this mysterious quality of soul because they speak to the subtle nature of the soul, to the soul’s fluidity.

Looking for your soul’s purpose is disempowering. It’s meant to be empowering but sadly it’s the exact opposite.

That’s the main reason I believe looking for your purpose is well-intentioned but nevertheless flawed. There are a few other major reasons as well, which I want to mention just briefly.

Such as, the soul is not bound by a or any purpose.

The soul doesn’t have a purpose. The soul is purposeful.

The key is to express the nature of your soul as it is. That is intrinsically meaningful, purposeful, and creative. It is so much simpler and more heartfelt than “finding your soul’s purpose.”

Peace, Chris

Chris is a long time spiritual practitioner and teacher. Raised in the Roman Catholic tradition, he has had a lifelong love affair with the Christian mystical tradition, however he is also well versed in a diverse range of lineages and teachings. He’s a strong advocate for shamanic forms of healing work and consciousness, as well as being a Reiki Master in three lineages of Reiki.

He works with with clients from a variety of backgrounds: from different religious traditions, spiritual but not religious folks, agnostics, seekers, and atheists.

He spent four years living as a monk in his twenties and later worked for three years as an Anglican priest in Vancouver.

He is a soul interpreter and an energy healer.

Chris lives in Vancouver with his beloved wife Chloe (a doula) and their daughter Sage.

Have a question for Chris? Want to check out his blog? Want to find out more? Check out his website and be sure to leave him a message below okay?

Religion or Ritual?

March 29, 2016

Let’s just open this right up by letting y’all know that I self-identify as a Christian. I’ll also let you know that I truly have no idea what that means, other than I’m a Canadian white girl (like as white bread as they come: German, English, Irish and Scottish) who grew up in a neighbourhood with five churches within a ten block radius and from 9-14yrs old I went to the United Church, and loved it, therefore, I think that makes me a Christian-yes?

Almost 30 years later, although married to a self-identifying atheist, I decided to go back again, taking up a seat in the back at our neighbourhood’s Little Red Church. On my way home from my first visit, I cried and cried and cried big wet tears as I rode my bike down the trail to my driveway. No words. No understanding. No story, just gratitude for a place to rest.

Was that religion?

My parents didn’t go to church, my brothers didn’t pray, and most of my friends were the children of first or second generation immigrant families. Every now and then we could catch a glimpse into each other’s family’s wildly different and colourful customs and practices. We were a gaggle of Italian, Filipino and Chinese Roman Catholic, East Indian Hindu with some Sikh, East African Muslim and all of that peppered with a few tried-and-true good-ole-white-bread-Christians. We were like a religious omelette of Vancouver leftovers.

Yet here’s the thing: None of us were confused. None of us were outraged. None of us needed to change each other. In fact, most of us were wildly curious about the customs of our friends. We saw Mendhi for the first time, touched a rosary, received a red envelope, breathed in incense, smelled curry and drank real chai… these are the gifts of a multi-cultural childhood and teenage life. None of us assumed we were ‘right’ about our beliefs (let’s be honest, we didn’t even know what we believed in or why yet). None of us challenged each other’s life-practices. None of us understood faith, we simply lived, and we enjoyed the wonder of it all.

I think I was 9 years old when I decided to go to church with my new bestie who lived across the street. We were the same age, born on the same day, and we both LOVED to sing. Cheryl’s family went to church every Sunday, so one day, I decided to join them, and I loved it. My favourite part was singing in the choir (of course) and having hot tea with milk and sugar after service (sugar cubes are so fancy). I became part of a community who smiled more often than they frowned and I loved that.

I can still hear the comforting sound of my one precious little 25 cent piece drop and hit the felt bottomed collection plate as it was passed around.

And then there was Easter Sunday. The truth is, I had no idea what on earth we were doing, what the story was about, and why on this particular day women wore hats and men wore suits. What I did know is that once upon a time a long long long long long time ago, there was this guy who had been nailed to a cross to die because he said crazy things that scared people. Then he was laid to rest, only to miraculously go MIA after his massive stone was rolled away. Some lookieloos wanted to check in on him you know.

Who rolled the stone? Was that the Easter Bunny? Is that how the rabbit thing ties in?

But wait then this guy named Jesus shows up again neither as a ghost nor man yet he can speak with his friends. How does that work? But Wow… I mean… wow… That’s a super awesome story. I remember thinking: ‘Do my Italian, Filipino, East Indian, Chinese and African friends know about this?’. But you know how it is, it just never came up in conversation.

So what of this Easter Bunny?

Seems kinda nuts doesn’t it? And I’m not slagging it, or religion either.

But what of it?

and why for it?

I mean a dead guy lives?

a bunny poops eggs?

What? Yup. That’s right. A guy in a robe died so we shall live, and a bunny brings us chocolate eggs. And Yes, we believe in them both.

Why?

Because it’s not about religion, it’s about ritual.

It’s not about believing, it’s about loving.

It’s not about Jesus, Buddha, Shiva, Krishna, Muhammad, Yahweh, Jehovah, Elohim, Allah, Shakti, Zeus, Eostra, the Universe, Source… or anyone else, it’s about belonging.

It’s not about the Easter Bunny, it’s celebration.

What if we didn’t have to choose? What if it wasn’t about some but rather all? Here’s what I think:

We don’t have to choose between God or the Easter Bunny, fact or fiction, belief or ignorance, we can choose the power of ritual, of connection, of meaning instead.

Even typing those words makes me want to groan. Connection… blechhhh it sounds so new-agey and trite doesn’t it? I know, let’s all chomp off some chocolate bunny ears, feet and heads and then hold hands ’cause we’re all ‘c o n n e c t e d’ -k?

As if.

Yet, there I was this past weekend with my family, doing what we do, and fifteen years into a familydom, Easter like most holidays now runs like clockwork: Bunny shows up around 5:30am, hides the eggs before the house wakes, leaves funny limerick riddles leading the boys to their appropriately sugar stacked chocolate baskets, followed by mama cleaning up with a quick wipe of the bathrooms, then a fast sweep/vacuum/dust, switch gears to placing the mighty lemon themed desserts into the oven, pull out the china, set the table, pour my first glass of wine and…wait until the family arrives.

And then we catch up. We talk about the state of the world (and with the upcoming election in the USA – there’s been a lot to talk about), we cook and then we eat.

Every Easter in our house we start dinner with the great egg smash and if you ask any of the kids at the table what their favourite part of Easter is, I gonna bet they’d say The Smash even before they’d say chocolate. Why? Because it’s fun, it’s silly and it’s a ritual. Everyone counts on it happening every year.

My dad who is not my father nor my daddy but is my dad, is American (long story which I won’t explain today) and he often works during these kinds of holidays but when he’s not he brings his American-ism to the table offering a very traditional grace, blessing our food, each other and thanking God for the bounty before us. It’s a lovely practice for each of us as we all bow our head out of respect following our intrinsic Canadian politeness of doing the right thing, and saying grace out of love for me because I’m the one who usually asks.

This year papa was working so there was no ‘grace’ (I suck at that kinda stuff because it’s not authentic for me yet not false either – confusion leads me no where) so as a result, while the ritual of the egg smash did take place, the deeper meaning of the day never really took hold, well, for me anyway.

Not that religion = depth and smashing eggs = superficial (I suppose you could argue that), but rather our chosen go-to-family-activity didn’t invite us to ‘be’ together: to see and be seen by one another. Too much touchy feely stuff I guess.

I tried.

I always think about Todd’s mom on Easter. I’m not sure why. She passed away in the month of February so that’s not it, but man oh man that lady LOVED FOOD and any CELEBRATION around it, and on this particular Easter I missed her. I raised my glass and toasted the moms in our life, the grandmas, the mommy’s, the mamas and hands that hold us. It was an invitation to start a deeper sense of story before we all chowed down, but it just didn’t take. Sometimes it’s just what the day wants.

I missed it. It felt like I ate cake for dinner instead of meal.

I said to Todd as we were debriefing the day later that night:

I don’t think I know what Easter is all about for me. I mean I get Christmas. Even the biblical story of the baby Jesus, the Virgin Mary, the Wise Men and the Star of Bethlehem touches on the same themes that Hallmark and marketing does: joy, togetherness, celebration, light, and possibility. Thanksgiving is similarly tied (albeit not a religious holiday), our ritual of feasting and gratitude is rooted in the story of the pilgrims and Indians gathering together. The Indian people taught the pilgrims how to grow corn and to fish, and so the pilgrims honoured them with a feast to show their gratitude. But what of Easter? What is the modern day, accessible story of Easter that has roots that we can all understand?

Surely it’s not chocolate, egg smashing and hunting.

Surely there’s more.

I go back to my roots of religion to find my own answer. I turn to the power of story, to meaning, to symbols, to make sense of it all. I said to Todd as we were laying there and I was clearly wrestling with my own disappointment that this Easter we as a family just didn’t ‘get there’, nor was it particularly desired this time. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t seem to invite a deeper meaning to the table, because frankly, I didn’t know what exactly it was that was important to me. I said to him:

This resurrection story thingy is not about a dead guy dying for our sins and it’s not about a bunny pooping eggs either. While both of those interpretations are ‘true’, those stories both honour birth and rebirth. Maybe it’s the story of Spring, of overcoming the deadness of winter and inviting the newness to live again. Are we celebrating life as we acknowledge and honour the reality of death?

Hmmm… that feels honest. That feels inclusive.

So if Christmas = Joy

and Thanksgiving = Gratitude

then Easter can = Growth

Right?

Here’s how the Easter table could’ve gone this year had I figured this out before Sunday:

Tina (Mama of the table): Happy Easter everyone. Today is a day of honouring our growth, acknowledging what we’ve overcome and celebrating what we’re stepping in to. If anyone has anything they’d like to acknowledge, I invite you to do that here. I’ll start:

Me: This is has been a very complex year as Todd and I find each other again, as I heal my body post cancer treatment, as the big boys get step into teenager life, and I decide that I am indeed a writer. I’d like to acknowledge my own courage and patience this year because I’m not someone who walks slowly and methodically and mindfully forward, yet today I am.

Cedar (6 yrs old): Ummmm…. I’d just like to say, I like the sunshine. I like the chocolate. And I fought with Angus about the playstation, but we like each other now.

Connolly (14 yrs old): Yeah, well, ahhh… Just wanna say I scored a hat trick last night and I’ve been working hard at ahhh showing up more on the ice. I doing better with Math too, and ahhh yes, I want to win the Egg Smash. Thanks.

Angus: (12 yrs old): I’m good. I’m good mom. I don’t have anything to say. Yeah. I’m good.

Todd (my husband, and daddy to the boys): I just want to say how proud I am of our family and all we’ve done together this past year. To my wife who is stronger today than yesterday and to all of you, we’re so glad you’re all here. Tomorrow hasn’t happened yet, so let’s raise a glass to tomorrow because we can.

Annnnnd on to the EGG SMASH! May the best egg win!

I strive to have my table be a place where everyone is welcome. I really do search for language that includes, rituals that invite and practices that welcome widely. I still go to my Little Red Church when I can. Mostly in the summer as the long hockey season really trips that up, and funny, just like the house I grew up in, I live in a home where I’m likely the only believer. And that’s okay because we’re all speaking the same language, just not the living the same stories and rituals.

Sir William friends — Some of my elementary school friends

When I think back to my circle of childhood and teenage friends, many of whom are still an active part of my 45 year old life, I remember that to us, we weren’t ‘multi-cultural’, we were a gaggle of sneaker wearing, ripped jean sporting and song singing kids. That’s it, that’s all. We created our own community not because we knew the rules or the symbols, we just did it because it felt good.

The rules and absolutes that can be found in religion often divide us, but the rituals we inhabit from their stories are what unite us.

There’s room for both.

Happy Easter – be that the story of resurrection, wabbit ears or something entirely different.

xxT

TinaO is a writer, speaker and the founder of TinaOLife – a hub for all things worth living for, the workshop Live Your Best Story, and her coaching practice: Tall Poppy Living. She’s also a professional network marketer with a decade in the industry and in her Tall Poppy Living for Network Marketers Coaching Program, she teaches: selling isn’t slimey and marketing isn’t make-believe. You can be yourself and be successful in Direct Sales.

What was I Thinking?

February 19, 2016

Another list. Another ridiculous guffaw I frequently have with myself – usually when I’m driving. Sorry gang. I try not to drive after 6pm because I’m too busy laughing at how insane I am to be considered ‘safe’ behind the wheel after six.

Who needs a phone to distract you from driving when you have a list like this? Want to have some fun? Come up with your own top ten – but fair warning, don’t drive when you’re thinking about it.

Here’s how it starts:

WHAT WAS I THINKING?

As I flung my eight year old yelling self over the staircase banister desperate to be heard through the double doors where a boy I was teasing stood. J E N S E N ! ! ! I screeched until I fell ass over tea kettle down two flights of stairs. Cracked my jaw too (just a little but enough that there’s still a bump). Thanks Laverne for dragging my blacked out self to the office that day.

with Laverne 36 years after the banister incident.

As I claimed bankruptcy over $20,000 in debt when I was only 27 years old. Oh gawddddddd… really? If only I knew my own earning potential back then.
As I believed that guy who said he was only sleeping with me. Jeeeeeee Whizzzzzzzzzz.
As I had a freakin’ thirty-something temper tantrum and threw a chair into a wall – yup, the kids and I still laugh full out about that one. …we can still see the legs sticking out of the wall.
As I hung the family Christmas lights without a ladder, without a step stool, without anything but the back of the couch (you know, the really skinny part that’s for BACKS and not FEET?), only to quickly scramble down in order to change a poopy diaper, land on the baby’s ukulele, twist my ankle and not be able to breathe for 30 seconds because of the pain. ‘Don’t touch me I seethed. Just let me lay here for a minute.’
As I believed my college drama teachers who said I wasn’t an actor. I believed them. I actually believed them. Dumb dumb dumb dumb powerless and ahhhhhh done. Sometimes I wonder if they were right only because I believed them. What would’ve happened if I had believed in myself more?
As I made three short films with no budget. Funny how not knowing what can’t be done usually translates into doing it.
As I talked on my cel phone, pumped breast milk and DROVE all at the same time (pre-hands free driving folks just sayin…).
As I pretended that I wasn’t sure if I believe in God because it was easier than having a faith I didn’t understand.
As I almost gave up on being me as if I could ever run that fast or that far.

Here’s to you and being all that you are in whatever form you’re currently showing up as. You’re funny man. Ridiculous even. Welcome to the club.

xxT

TinaO is a writer, speaker and the founder of TinaOLife – a hub for all things worth living for, the workshop Live Your Best Story, and her coaching practice: Tall Poppy Living. She’s also a professional network marketer with a decade in the industry. She teaches: selling isn’t slimey and marketing isn’t make-believe. You can be yourself and be successful in Direct Sales.