Last night, I dreamed of a question.
I was sitting in a circle with others—fellow seekers, perhaps—and someone asked me, Which medium do you want to carry forward? Which path will you walk? And without hesitation, I answered: writing.
When I woke, the answer still rang clear. Not just as a preference, but as a remembering. Writing is not just what I do—it’s how I am. It’s how I walk the world. How I gather fragments of meaning, soul-moments, and story-signals, and shape them into something that speaks to others. Words are how I reach out to my tribe—those scattered souls who are also trying to live a life of meaning, on purpose, with soul.
And lately, I’ve been feeling it more deeply than ever.
This call to be truer to myself—not someday, not later, not when the time is right, but now. To live as fully me as humanly possible. To walk the talk, yes—but also to walk as the talk. To be the thing I’m saying.
This morning, I went for one of my Wisdom Walks. The kind where the thinking quiets down and the listening begins. Where the world, if you pay attention, speaks not in sentences, but in signs.
And as I walked, it became clear:
I’m not preparing to live my myth.
I am living it.
Not in some grand, heroic sense—but in the simple, soulful loop I’ve been walking for a while now:
Reflect → Walk → Gather → Create → Share → Repeat.
Each loop is a cycle of becoming. Each message I write—whether blog post, email, or audiogram—is a soul signal. Not “content,” but a call. A way to say:
Here I am. I see you. Let’s walk together.
This morning, after my walk, I pulled three cards from the Osho Zen Tarot:
Trust. Aloneness. Guidance.
And just like that, the inner reflection became an outer echo.
Trust showed me the leap—the willingness to walk without knowing the entire map. That’s what writing is for me. That’s what these messages are. Leaps into the unknown.
No guarantee, no safety net. Just the inner knowing: This is what wants to be said today.
Aloneness reminded me that this path I walk is solitary at times—but not lonely.
It’s the Hermit archetype: not isolated, but sovereign.
Carrying a lantern not just for my own steps, but to light the way for others who might be nearby in the dark.
And Guidance whispered something I needed to remember:
I’m not doing this alone.
There are invisible hands, synchronicities, inner voices, outer reflections.
Conversations like this one—between me and you, dear reader—are part of that guidance.
We teach each other. We mirror each other. We remind each other who we are.
So today, if my life were already in full alignment—if my being, doing, and offering were one seamless soulstream—I wouldn’t do anything differently.
I’d do exactly what I’m doing now.
I’d wake up, walk the walk, listen deeply, and then send out what I’ve heard.
Not to be productive. Not to perform. But to participate.
To stay in the rhythm of the real.
That’s what I want, more than anything:
To live a meaningful, soulful, purposeful life.
To let my work and my play be one and the same.
To stop asking, “Am I on the path?”
And instead, just walk the path.
Because I am the path, walking.
I am the fire, burning.
I am the story, unfolding.
And so are you.
✍️ A prompt for the road:
If your life were already in full alignment,
What would you create today?
Who would you reach out to?
And how would you show up—right now—as if it were already true?
So the dream reinforced what you knew already and the cards helped you rationalise this?
To me, my friend, you are WordSmith and it is your calling to create things that will out live our mortal bodies, the fragile contraptions we drive, the homes we live and quite possibly civilisation itself.
Your forge is the messy office, your raw material is imagination and experience. Like a nuclear reaction, imagination and experience feed off each other. Your fuel comes from the interaction with others, your need to exercise, the love for your family.
This calling to be a WordSmith is as natural for you as it is a beaver to build a dam.
Absolutely. Dreamwork and Tarot don’t give us answers so much as they reveal the answers we already carry within. They act as mirrors—symbolic surfaces that catch the glint of inner knowing and reflect it back in a way we can finally see.
These tools pull your thoughts out of the invisible interior and place them into the shared space of the world. Once there—out in the open, like cards on a table or images in a dream—they become something you can walk around, observe, and dialogue with from new angles. A change in perception becomes a change in meaning.
But it’s not limited to cards or dreams. Anything can serve as a mirror. The environment itself becomes an oracle when you learn to listen. On my Wisdom Walks, I’ve received messages from birdsong, tree branches, discarded receipts, street signs, and even the clutter on someone’s desk. Everything speaks in its own symbolic language.
Even your message is part of the unfolding story. I’ve taken it as a sign—confirmation, actually. There’s an old saying: the message is true if it comes three times. I asked the universe a question. The dream answered. The cards affirmed. And now your text arrives, echoing the same chord. That’s three.
Is it rationalisation? I’d say it’s more reflection than rationale. The rational mind plays a role, of course—it parses, structures, and aims for coherence. But the storythinking mind, the mythic mind, is what gives meaning its depth. The trick is knowing when to let one lead and when to let them dance together.