Embracing Destiny: A Journey Through Darkness and Light
Updated: Aug 20
The Seed of Transformation
We are in early spring. As I gaze at the deciduous trees, soon to bloom with new life, I find myself pondering destiny.
When you look back at your life, do you ever feel lost? Is "lost" even the right word? The seed buried underground doesn’t know it’s becoming a tree. It experiences only darkness and the pressure of the soil above it. If the seed had a mind, it might think it is dying. Darkness envelops its world until it cracks the shell. This burial marks the beginning of its rise.
As humans, we often believe we should have all the answers. We crave clarity about our lives. We want to understand everything at the start of our confusion. Yet, clarity usually comes only at the end. Accepting this can be challenging.
But what if our minds, like the tree, can only thrive in darkness? That’s a tough pill to swallow, especially since we often worship the mind. The mind provides us with planning and strategy when life throws us into darkness. There’s a place for logic, of course. I’m not suggesting we abandon it entirely. However, the mind cannot do all our thinking for us. It doesn’t shield us from the experiences we are meant to have. Life is not a mechanism; it is an organism. You are not separate from it.
The Cracking of the Shell
We all have experienced moments when we thought we were dying. Something essential within us felt like it had come to an end—the end of who we had outgrown. The shell, much like the buried seed, cracked so something new could emerge. This is a rebirth.
Have you ever truly listened to music? It creates tension and then resolves it. Each note longs to go somewhere, pulling toward the next note until there’s a release. This cycle mirrors our own lives. We are always in the middle of a phrase, reaching for the next note.
So, the question, "Am I on the right path?" is akin to a note asking, "Am I in the right melody?" You are the melody.
Navigating the Unknown
When I was young, I played a game with myself. I would close my eyes and try to walk through the house. Arms extended, hands out in front of me, I shuffled along carefully, testing how far I could go without peeking. I felt a delicious fear of the unknown. Could I do it? Each step was an adventure. With every step, questions arose: How far could I go? What’s here? What’s next? Would I make it?
I knew the house well, having walked it thousands of times with my eyes open. But with my eyes closed, it became new again. I was alive with an exhilarating thrill. It was a discovery.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was teaching myself something profound. I learned that you can move through the unknown. Blindness doesn’t mean you stop walking; it means you walk differently. You feel more, you pay attention more. You become sensitive to subtle signals, much like when life isn’t explaining itself to you. I became acutely aware of the texture of the floor, the scent in the room, the air around me, and the sounds that guided me.
This is how we develop blind trust. And blind trust is the only kind of trust there is. Trust with full vision isn’t real trust; that’s calculation. It tells us, "I can see this is safe, so I’ll proceed." That requires no courage, no faith. It’s robotic. It’s not real living.
Real trust is stepping forward when you cannot see where you are going. It’s saying yes to your life, even when it doesn’t explain itself. So why do we keep demanding that life show us the floor plan?
The Call to Action
We fill our minds with useless questions: Will I be happy? Am I wrong? Will this work out? Am I wasting my time?
Instead, life keeps saying, "Walk. I’ll catch you, or I’ll teach you. Either way, you’ll arrive somewhere." That somewhere will be the place you choose. It will be yours, created by your falling. Take that step into darkness; this is destiny—your life in motion, arriving anyway.
The Dance of Life
As I reflect on this journey, I’m reminded of the dance we all engage in. Life is a dance, a rhythm that ebbs and flows. Each step we take, each turn we make, is part of a larger choreography. Sometimes we stumble; sometimes we glide effortlessly.
In this dance, we learn to embrace uncertainty. We learn to find beauty in the unknown. Just like the seed that breaks through the soil, we too can rise, even when we feel buried.
So, let’s celebrate our journeys. Let’s honor the moments of darkness, for they are often the precursors to our greatest transformations. Let’s trust in the process, knowing that each step we take is a part of our unique melody.
As we navigate through life, let’s remember that we are not alone. We are all part of this intricate dance, moving together toward a shared destiny.
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