On Purpose

When it comes to purpose in life, we all need it.  Purpose is what allows us to thrive in whatever we choose to do with our time upon this earth.  Purpose is what drives us, it points us in the right direction and most of all, it reasons with our existence.  It is in this need that gives purpose relation to meaning.  The difference between purpose and meaning should be understood as follows.  Meaning is assumed as our grasping of the peripheral world, which has its focus on the past. Purpose is implied as taking hold of all that embraces our internal world, while considering with sentience the regards of our future.

Each and every one of us has a purpose, which is related to our values, therefore attached to the social aspect of our nature. When we have a clear purpose in life we are stronger, more acute with awareness.  If there is no sense of purpose, yet material possessions remain abundant, life will deteriorate, nonetheless. Possessions are fleeting, purpose perpetual.

Just because the past didn’t turn out like you wanted it to doesn’t have anything to do with the future and your ability to make the days that lay ahead full of purpose and far superior to anything that you ever imagined.

What has me wound up, as of late is that not everyone seems to realize the importance of his or her purpose, or that they even have a purpose?  I may be wrong in saying that the majority of us today place more emphasis on the diminutive meaning that our past conveys close behind us like an impenetrable suitcase.  When in fact we would be better off to portray the purpose that awaits us with the utmost magnitude of importance.  It must be noted that I do not believe myself to be wrong in seeing this as the suffered stricken truth.  The reason behind this reflection is because up until a year and a half ago, I was one that never really thought about my own purpose because I wasn’t aware of the significant circumstance that this life was meant to be extraordinary.

Then came a night, as I lay sleepless in bed, my thoughts running with abandoned stride.  My attention muddled with an unfathomable event that had just thrust its small hands upon the bosom of our well being.  This is when I first realized that my imagination wasn’t being used in the prosperous sense.  All of my creative energy was being exerted upon things that I had no control over.  I wondered how long I had been wasting what creative goodness was left within me.

The life that I had carried upon my shoulders in its entirety was wearing and tearing away at my being.  But then my thoughts turned around and started looking for meaning in places I hadn’t looked in a long time.  It was found in a hidden pocket, right where I left it, an allusion of purpose hiding with clever intent.

This was the night that I understood that to fully live, life needed purpose, it was meant to have purpose. Whatever purpose that was, didn’t have any matter yet, just as long as there was a purpose.

I have long understood that purpose is found in all of life’s provisions.  I have always carried the weight of being able to provide what I can, to nurture those I love.  Providing safety and security is primordial instinct, it dwells in me as it does you.  This primitive purpose no longer seemed attached to meaning in the way that I thought it should be.  I could find nothing transcendent within the current demeanor of my self-worth.  I guess one could go so far as to say I wasn’t happy.  I just felt that for my entire life, I had been herded into some metaphoric field, where wrapped a fence built around acre upon acre of mediocrity.

That night I truly prayed for the first time in so long that time cannot even remember the last time I did. My conscious came to a truce with my exceeding deliberations by way of sleep.

The next day was awakened with a long and lugubrious yawn that woke my world with a hint of harmony. The day’s routine went about its business.  I was awake too damn early to commute to a job that held consistent with ease.  The normal irritations that usually arise in me, due to people that I do not know, with their irresponsible driving techniques did not boil to their usual temperature.  Then as I came to the summit of a mountain’s highway overpass, the sunrise spoke to me with such beautiful symbolism that it triggered the voice of the poet inside me, spoken with endless mention of lyric and verse.

Something was different—ideas were bouncing around between my ears like inspirational kernels dancing blistered.

That was the day that everything changed for me.  Everything around me was blushed with jubilation.  That day had an identity to it, from its means to its end.  That night I lay sleepless again, but my train of thought was moving in a different direction.  It was moving towards a destination like nowhere I had been, but was taking me somewhere I needed to be.

Once again, a restless urge washed over me, my patience overwhelmed with excitement.  I had to breathe with depth to calm myself down. Then it happened again.  It had happened that morning, which was the first time we had spoken in ages, minus a few moments of intoxicated brevity between then and now.  It wasted no time.  The voice started speaking in stanzas.  Stanzas so striking and eccentric that I had no bother to write them down.  I was hypnotized by the loveliness and loneliness that these words spoke to me with the elegance of a lullaby.  I slept that night like I had fallen by the graveside.

That morning those words were gone.  They had escaped me but not without leaving their purpose strewn about me—shoved closer to my dream.  The thing is those words lay unheard in me since that night.  They have been hidden in me since the adolescent version of me struck a poetic pose at the first sign of heartbreak’s suffering.

You see we are all vessels of creativity—each vessel carries something different but that difference is what allows you to create from the genuine side of you.  That is where your purpose hides, and it will stay hidden as long as you ignore it.  To be happy is full of purpose—to be content is full of emptiness.  It is our purpose to create happiness out of the emptiness. It does not matter whether you use words, paint, or cook with grease when you create, just so long as you create happiness out of the goodness of your heart.  Use your vessel to create the goodness that comes from within you, then and only then will you watch that goodness design your purpose.

The only way to appreciate what looks good and to understand the purpose as to why it looks good, and to be at one with this goodness as the work progresses, is to cultivate an inner harmony, a peace of mind so that the goodness will always illuminate through you.

The words you just read are the words that came to me that night, dressed in an idea of transcendence. They are not in the exact state or structure in which they crossed my mind, but nonetheless the similarities intersect.  It was that night that I decided that it was time to reach for what lay beyond myself. It was time to find that connection between my meaning and my purpose.  First, I had to find my identity.  I have always had a weakness, which is my lackadaisical approach in keeping up with my possessions.  In this weakness, I often misplace the belongings that I should hold with sturdy hands, identity being the most important.  Every once in awhile, I find it and hold it close, only to watch it fade away with the morning light.  It is only fair to mention upon my own character that I am as clumsy as I am conscientious in regard to life’s identity.

That night for the first time in a long while, I was given back the relentless radiance for my own life. I again recognized that with purpose, providence awaited.  I could see the ruins of my being becoming fragments of the divine.  My soul breathed purpose once more.  My eyes were opened to things I had never seen before, or maybe I had, I just bothered to pay them no attention.  It was a moment in which I felt a glow upon the dreams that crawled through my mind via my heart.  I had no choice but to give my unfettered imagination full reign over my being, it was the only way I was to create with the genuineness of bliss.

The following day, Barstool Buddha came to be incarnated.  That was the day the dream took to living and my life’s purpose began again, and it is my hope that the rest they say is history.  While I continue the search for my identity, I will continue create what I can with words that give me purpose.

Please allow me a moment of reflection upon this blog.  I often feel like a leave a lot on the table.  My intentions seem to get mixed up with the dualistic fray of me.  My ego often gets in the way of what this whole dream is about.  This was never about building an audience.  This was supposed to bring an audience together.  It was about building camaraderie in a world where the reverence of mutual respect is dwindling like the hair upon my head.  The purpose of these words are meant to plant seeds of becoming in not only me, but also you as well.  I have only one question for you.

What do you believe your purpose to be?

I believe that my purpose is to write with goodness, so that these words will leave a mark and spark a change amongst those that read them.  I often assume that it is an impossible task but that is nothing more than fear talking. It is difficult to be an open book in a culture that doesn’t read.  I have forever been stubborn as a mule, so “giving up” isn’t in my vocabulary.  I guess when its all said in done, that in my identity lies the purpose that I am here to help inspire people to create, because to put it simple, if I can create something out of nothing, so can you.  Poetry and writing with love is not dead, it may have lost its luster, but the beast of written word shall awaken again.

BeLove © 2018


Leave a Reply