Thank you for joining me. Every Tuesday, I transmit an initiatory opening. On other days, you may find I send an inspired transmission. Source Lab and so much more launches soon!
Once upon a time, out there in the endless, wild expanse — and also swirling in the unknowable depths within — there is a vast and glorious ocean of Source.
They say that every wave and every drop of the sea is made of the sea.
But let's imagine that one day a magnificent wave rises so powerfully, and so high, that it momentarily forgets that it is Source.
Let's imagine that wave decides it's a ship. A ship out at sea...
A ship out at sea
How glorious this is! The ship thinks. Being a ship is FANTASTIC.
But wait... now this lone vessel must stay afloat.
It must remain intact.
For if it were to break apart and fall to the watery grip of the sea, it would be no more. For how can a ship be the sea?
Seeming eternities pass as it busies itself with becoming plank and rudder and sail. The ship takes its time, reveling in having a purpose and curious to discover each next step.
Eventually, the bustle of becoming quiets. The ship no longer knows what else to make or build of itself. There are too many options. And perhaps it is tired.
A bright sun gently warms the decks one morning and soon it becomes a day of rest. The sea laps and kisses at the prow and the lone vessel meanders without direction.
This is nice. The ship feels free and glad.
And somehow the salt on the air tastes different than before.
A storm approaches…
A breathy whistle sounds from somewhere in the distance and the wind abruptly lashes at the sails. An electricity crackles in the air.
A storm comes! Wow!
The ship that used to be a wave remembers how delicious storms are. For when you are ocean, you can do nothing else but dance with the storm.
Yet, as the storm begins to slap and kick at the ship, it becomes quite clear that this will not be a dance for two. The dance of the storm is destructive to those that are ships.
Whipped up into a frenzy by all the commotion around it, the ship decides it needs a captain. It needs a way through this mess because going with the flow doesn't seem to work anymore.
As the captain emerges to take helm for the ship, there is an odd experience of being tugged between these two forces:
The chaotic pull and punch of the storm — and the steady presence and direction of the captain — who now sets a course to cut their way out of danger.
A battle of wills ensues for a time. But eventually the vessel and its captain are safe. Victory!
The serious business of staying safe
Things called days and soon big things called years and decades begin to pass.
The ship and its captain learn to seek calm waters and to avoid approaching storms. Lessons are learned as leaks and breaks occur that must be fixed. For a time, it is as if the storms chase and hunt them, and the ship and its captain become afraid.
This is very serious business, staying safe!
Waters must be charted. Plans must be made. They can't waste time lingering in the sun and salt. No, no, they must focus on the task at hand! They must focus on staying SAFE!
The brave captain efforts tirelessly to navigate all there is of the ocean, and one day, lo and behold, he finds it: The one cove where it is always safe.
"We will remain here. You will want for nothing," the captain declares.
And for a time, the ship is relieved.
No more leaks or breaks.
No more tireless work, or stress, or fear.
No more anything, actually.
There is no more dancing, either.
No adventure, no discovery. Nothing new.
The sun and salt spray glimmer out towards the horizon, but little of it reaches them here.
And eventually, as more years pass, the ship that was once a wave begins to miss the titillating tango of the storm.
"But we must remain here," the captain urges.
Deepest longing says otherwise. The answer rumbles from the very fibers of the ship's decks.
"We must stay. It is not safe elsewhere."
Safe. The word erases the barely-there memories of a storm that did not destroy. A storm that danced... had it ever even been?
Perhaps not.
Storms punch and kick.
They know this.
And so the ship agrees.
Safe.
And soon the captain takes his leave to go rest.
The siren call of the real
Something whispers on the breeze just beyond the cove's entrance. It stirs the sails of the ship. It knocks softly on the hard wood of the decks.
Come to me, my dear one. Your captain fears me, but I am meant to touch you. My kiss does not destroy. It reveals. We were once lovers, you and I. We once danced as Storm and Sea.
The ship tries not to hear the dangerous temptings of the storms beyond, but they tug at something deep within its bowels, down where the sea hugs its bow. Something just beneath memory?
The siren call continues, and the ship cannot but hang on every word:
Let my harsh caress penetrate your shackles, and let my love dash you among those rocks. With me you can be free. With me you can remember your Source. Come to me, and let us dance once again.
No, it is a call to death! the ship thinks.
How could what feels so right, so deeply true, be so cruel?
The ship is shaken, and its shudderings wake the captain.
But the siren's call continues, serenading the ship each night as its captain sleeps.
Until one day… the ship creeps out beyond the safety of its cove.
Out to sea. Out to meet the storm.
Those upon the land's shores will tell you of a dreadful hurricane that thrashed the seas and claimed a lone ship and its captain for a watery grave.
Yet as the ship met the storm and her love wrecked its prow, the wave that was the sea remembered itself, and let the ship it thought itself to be sink, and sink... down and down... to where grave and womb, death and life, and all the mess and miracle and multiplicity they make, are One.
And somewhere in the vast expanse, there was a smile and a sigh...
For this is what happens when you sink a ship that knows it is the sea.
We are never not ocean. Every drop of Source IS Source.
And sometimes the storm restores us to what is true, by shattering all that was false. This was not a death, but a return.
The Self was unharmed. Only the structures fell.
As we seek safety in answers —
Sometimes what reveals us are the questions.
I spent two days writing literally 5 different article drafts on 5 different topics for today’s newsletter. Nothing would land for me. Nothing felt real.
By 8pm last night, I had to face it: What wished to speak through me here would not be a teaching or a linear how-to.
I needed myth. Story. The kind of medicine that can only be delivered with “once upon a time.”
And so I hope you enjoyed the above transmission.
For our Signal Source subscribers I thought I’d keep with that theme. And instead of delivering clearly delineated answers… I’d help you reveal your own with some poignant questions.
Check out the 12 Questions to Reveal What’s Real →
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What opens for you as you read this? Or did something close? Share your thoughts, questions or stories. This is how we live into our own Self As Source →
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I loved this metaphor! I loved it because I could actually understand it and resonate with it! Thank you!
I loved this metaphor! I loved it because I could actually understand it and resonate with it! Thank you!