Field Notes

Notes from the wandering mind of a rogue learner

In reply to blogging about blogging about blogging …

Blogs are, from the reader perspective, a window into the personality of the blogger. The window can have varying levels of opacity and the light coming through can be polarised. The best blogs are a window of transparency free of polarisation in that way the mind-light, transmits across the entire spectrum and the personality shines in all its chaotic glory. – Dave Anderson

Your comment, Dave, is a pretty cool metaphor, and I love how you’ve framed blogs as a “window into the personality of the blogger.” I like the idea of varying opacity and polarisation. Blogs are indeed like windows, and I think they’re also like prisms: the light of a blogger’s personality can refract into a spectrum of colours, revealing hidden facets and depths that a plain window might not show.

I wonder if some level of opacity or polarisation isn’t part of what makes blogging so fascinating. After all, isn’t personality itself a construct of layers, contradictions, and shifting masks? Perhaps the “chaotic glory” you mention arises not despite these filters but because of them—like stained glass transforming raw light into art.

For me, the best blogs aren’t necessarily those that strive for perfect transparency, but those that embrace their complexity. A little polarisation can add dimension, like shadow adding depth to a painting.

Sometimes the most honest light is fragmented, capturing the chaos and beauty of a personality in flux. What do you think? Can the “mind-light” shine fully even through layers of artifice and reflection? Or does transparency remain the ideal we’re always chasing?

note: with this post, i’m trying out the new ‘reply’ post-kind type. i suppose this post-kind is most useful when riffing on a comment (like a jazz musician) as opposed to commenting on a comment. but i wanted to try it out anyway.

key features of a cyborg

A cyborg (short for “cybernetic organism”) is a being that combines biological and technological components, typically blending human or animal life with mechanical or electronic systems. The concept encompasses a wide range of possibilities, from simple enhancements to fully integrated, symbiotic relationships between organic and machine parts. Cyborgs exist at the intersection of biology, technology, and imagination, and their definition can vary depending on context—scientific, philosophical, or cultural.

Biological Foundation: A cyborg starts as a living organism, most commonly human.

Technological Integration: It incorporates artificial components—such as prosthetics, implants, or digital devices—that enhance or extend natural capabilities.

Functional Synergy: The biological and technological parts work together, often seamlessly, to achieve things neither could accomplish alone.

when does our self story begin?

it feel like our self story is shaped even before we are born. we don’t get to choose our parents so we inherit their circumstances and beliefs; they name us with a name that has a story embedded in it. and then they program our initial software from which we then begin to construct our story. when our boundless wonder and imagination is deemed not “cute” anymore, they tell us to grow up, stop being a child.

is the cause the beginning of the effect, or the effect the beginning of the cause? when did you become you?

as i expand my blogging game

as i expand my blogging game, i want to make use of the custom post types like ‘notes’ and ‘likes’.

restarting the community efforts

I’m restarting the community pages here using BuddyPress and BBPress. If you’re not already a member of the site, you can register and create your own profile here on soulcruzer. I’ll get a group and a forum started shortly.

This is my first use of the IndieBlocks …

This is my first use of the IndieBlocks plugin, which is meant to allow me to post short-form content by way of a custom post type. The neat thing is it auto-generates titles like Notional Velocity does, which helps enable writing quick notes without having to fuss with coming up with a title. The Notes posts are meant to be quick and dirty, like a tweet.

Southam CP, GB

THE RITUAL OF SACRED STEPS

A soul-guided reflection for transforming an ordinary walk into a mythic pilgrimage.

PRELUDE: THE INVOCATION
Before you step outside, pause.

Stand at the threshold of your door—literal or symbolic.
Place one hand on your chest. Feel your breath. Feel your weight.
Now, whisper an intention—not a goal, but a summons.

Ask:
What part of me is seeking movement today?
What question do I want to carry in my body, not just my mind?
What might the soul reveal if I listened with my feet?

This is your inner compass. Let it guide you.

ACT I: THE WALK AS WAKING DREAM
As you begin to walk, do not rush. This is not exercise. This is exorcism, initiation, encounter.

Let each step be deliberate. Grounded. Attuned.

Notice:

  • The texture of the path beneath you—stone, earth, asphalt, memory.
  • The sounds around you—birdcall, wind through leaves, distant traffic as modern drums.
  • The feelings that rise as you walk—irritation, joy, longing, stillness. They are not distractions. They are messages.

Hold your question in silence. Let it echo. Don’t force answers. The soul speaks in symbols and sensations, not soundbites.

ACT II: THE THRESHOLD MOMENT
At some point, you will cross an invisible line—a turning point in the walk.
Maybe it’s a particular tree, a bench, or a shadow crossing the sidewalk.

Stop here.
This is the axis mundi of your pilgrimage.

Ask:
What am I ready to release?
What am I being invited to receive?
What story am I stepping out of—and which one am I stepping into?

Mark this moment. Say something aloud. A phrase. A truth. A vow.

ACT III: THE RETURN
The walk back is never the same as the walk out.
You’ve crossed the threshold. You carry new eyes.

Notice:

  • What feels different, even if nothing has changed
  • What you’re bringing home—not just insights, but energy.
  • What action this pilgrimage asks of you next.

When you reach your doorway again, pause.
Touch the threshold. Thank the road. Thank your feet.
Thank the question that walked with you.

POSTLUDE: THE JOURNALING RITE
When you return, take 10 minutes to write—
What did I encounter on the path today that I wouldn’t have noticed without intention?
What wants to be remembered?
What myth am I now leaning into?


This isn’t just a walk. It’s a return to the temple of your own awareness.
It’s remembering that even in your neighbourhood, you are never far from the sacred.
The road is always waiting. The question is always calling.

The Gate of Wonder: A Reflection on the Adventure Card

Field Notes from the Edge #007

There’s a moment in every myth where the hero stands before a gate.
Not a grand gate of gold or marble—but something subtler, more symbolic.
A shimmer between worlds. A crack in the ordinary.
A child in the forest, staring into the glow of a rainbow path.

That’s the image I pulled tonight.

From the Osho Zen Tarot deck came the card called Adventure.
A small figure stands on the edge of shadow and light,
stepping—without hesitation—into the unknown.
Not armoured. Not guided. Just open.

I felt something ancient stir.

This card felt less like a message and more like a mirror.
Because lately, I’ve heard the call.
Not just the whisper of a new project,
but the Call—the one Joseph Campbell spoke of.
The one that arrives with the weight of meaning,
that hums through your bones and rearranges your breath.

I’ve answered.

But as anyone who’s walked this path knows,
the call is only the beginning.
Just beyond it stand the gatekeepers:
Fear, Doubt, and Disbelief.

I’ve met them.
They tried to stop me, as they always do.
They mocked me with familiar scripts:
“You’re not ready. You’ll get lost. Who do you think you are?”

And still—I stepped forward.


This adventure is on.

I don’t pretend to know where it leads.
But like the child in the card, I’m approaching it
with childlike curiosity and wonder.
Not because I’m naive,
but because I remember:
wonder is how you walk through the world when you trust the path more than the destination.

It’s easy to forget that.

We get older, we get armoured.
We swap questions for answers.
But the soul doesn’t want certainty—it wants experience.
It wants you to feel the thrill of not knowing,
to be lit by the colors of the unseen,
to walk—open-hearted—into a story that’s still being written.


Two invitations for you, fellow seeker:

  1. Ask yourself:
    What does the child in the Adventure card know that I’ve forgotten?
    Let that inner adventurer speak. Write it down.
    Trust what comes.
  2. Map your Unknown:
    If your next step led into a mythic landscape—what would it look like?
    Who or what would greet you there?
    Draw it. Name it. Bless it.

The gate is always there, just at the edge of habit.
And on the other side?
Not safety. Not clarity.

But something better:
aliveness.

—Clay
Storythinker & Mythic Mentor for Seekers on the Threshold
Helping you rewrite the story beneath your story.


Want to carry this energy with you?
Subscribe to Soulcruzer: Field Notes from the Edge and receive weekly mythic prompts to guide your own inner adventure.

The Rhythm of Becoming: Patience. Release. Surrender.

Somewhere between the womb and the wave,
between the clenched fist and the open hand,
there is a rhythm.

It is not rushed.
It is not forced.
It is the rhythm of becoming.

This morning, I drew three cards from the Osho Zen Tarot.
And together, they told a story—not just for me, but for all of us standing at the edge, waiting for the next page to turn.

PATIENCE came first.
A pregnant figure beneath the arc of the moon.
Not waiting in frustration, but in trust.
She reminded me: every seed has its season. Every story, its sacred pace.
The soul cannot be microwaved. It must marinate in time.

Then came LETTING GO.
A single drop falling from a lotus leaf, returning to the water.
No struggle. Just surrender.
It whispered:
Release what you no longer need to carry.
Let the river take it.
There is grace in dissolving.

And then—perhaps the truest mirror—CONTROL.
A rigid figure of steel and symmetry, gripping the illusion of certainty.
It showed me the tension I still hold.
The part of me that fears the mystery.
That builds pyramids to feel safe from the storm.

But here’s the mythic truth:

Patience is the womb.
Letting Go is the release.
Control is the threshold.

Together, they ask us to soften.
To trust what is gestating.
To release what’s done.
To ungrip the need to manage the magic.


For you, dear seeker—here are some soul prompts to sit with this week:

  • What in me is still ripening, even if I can’t see it yet?
  • What story, role, or name am I ready to return to the river?
  • Where am I gripping out of fear, and how can I soften?

You don’t need to know the next step.
You only need to trust the rhythm.
Something ancient is unfolding in you.
Let it.

In rhythm and in trust,
—Clay

Let the Flame Consume Me

A personal resurrection in seven acts

Threshold Moment: The Phoenix Stir

There’s a moment just before the flame catches, when the ashes still whisper the name of who you used to be.

I find myself standing in that moment now. It’s a Friday—gray-skied and bone-cold here in the UK—but mythically speaking, it’s a threshold day. The world calls it the weekend, but for those of us walking the soul path, this is something deeper. A turning point. A chance to die and be reborn.

I’ve been circling this fire for some time—walking my Wisdom Walks, speaking into the wind, sending audio dispatches from the edges of my becoming. People are listening. Something in the voice, in the rhythm, is resonating. They’re feeling the myth behind the words.

And I am, too.

The truth is, there’s a version of me still clinging by the toes to an old way of being. He’s not evil. He’s not broken. He simply no longer belongs. He’s done his part. But I’ve been slow to let him go. Maybe you know the feeling—the ache of becoming, right before the release.

So today, I mark the shift.
Today, I light the pyre.

This isn’t just journaling. This is ritual.
A personal resurrection ceremony in three acts:

  1. Write a eulogy for the version of you that’s outlived his story. Honor him. Mourn him. Then burn the words—or bury them beneath a tree.
  2. Craft a resurrection vow. Speak directly to the self you’re becoming in Act III. Make it mythic. Make it matter.
  3. Walk with intention. Even if it’s cold. Even if it’s just around the block. Let your feet carry the vow into your body.

Me? I’m starting here.
Right here, in the liminal hush before the flame.

“I’ve been hanging by the toes to an old self. Today, I let go.”

The Phoenix doesn’t rise by willpower. It rises because it has no other choice.

And neither do I.


🔥 JOURNALING RITUAL: The Eulogy and the Vow

Today, write like you’re tending a sacred flame.

🕯️ Part One: The Eulogy

  • Who is the self you are ready to release?
  • What story has he been living?
  • What burdens has he carried?
  • What will you thank him for before you let him go?

🌄 Part Two: The Resurrection Vow

  • Who are you becoming in Act III?
  • What values guide this self?
  • What vow do you make to him—to yourself—as you cross the threshold?

“Let the flame consume me. Let it burn bright enough to guide others through the dark.”


The Ashes: A Season of Wandering

Before any resurrection, there is the wandering.

Mine didn’t come with thunderclaps or visions in the desert. It came quietly, like dust settling on a path half-forgotten. I didn’t notice, at first, that I’d drifted from the fire. One day I was mentoring seekers through mythic rites of passage, guiding them up sacred mountains. The next, I was inside boardrooms and performance review loops, speaking the language of metrics and deliverables.

The world called it success. But I knew better.
I knew what it felt like to burn. And I wasn’t burning anymore.

What started as a brief detour became a long exile. A season of soul drift. I convinced myself it was practical. Necessary. Everyone’s got to eat. And there’s truth in that. But in chasing the secure, I left behind the sacred.

I don’t regret those years—they sharpened my skills, taught me to read the map of power and systems. But I see now that I was living as a fraction of myself. A well-spoken ghost.

And yet, the ember never fully died.

“There’s more than this,” it kept whispering.
Usually when I walked. Or when I was still enough to hear it.

Ashes are not endings.
They are fertile. They remember fire.


🌫️ JOURNALING RITUAL: Walking Through Ashes

🪵 Reflect:

  • When did you start to drift from your fire?
  • What did you trade for safety, approval, or success?
  • What have you learned in exile that you wouldn’t have learned at the fire?

🔥 Listen for the Ember:

  • What sacred part of yourself refuses to be extinguished?

The First Flame: Kinabalu and the Campfire

It started in Borneo. Not with a coaching session or a grand insight—but with mud underfoot, sweat on the brow, and stars overhead.

I joined a 10-day adventure race at the foot of Mount Kinabalu. It was grueling—three races a day, deep jungle, no phones, no distractions. But it wasn’t the challenge that changed me. It was what happened after the finish line.

Each night, we’d gather at base camp. Strangers by day, fire-kin by night. We ate, talked, shed our corporate skins. Something ancient woke up around that fire—something raw, honest, and profoundly human.

And then—something even wilder.
When we returned home, people quit their jobs.
Left the city. Changed their lives.

Not because I coached them.
Because something in the jungle and the fire reminded them of who they were.

That’s when it hit me:
Transformation doesn’t need theory.
It needs place, presence, and mythic space.

And so the seed of Personal Growth Adventures was planted.

The Spark Becomes a Flame: Personal Growth Adventures

I didn’t want to teach transformation. I wanted people to live it.

So I built The Ascent Experience—a weekend retreat structured on the Hero’s Journey. From the call to adventure, to the crossing of thresholds, to the return with the elixir. We didn’t talk about myth. We enacted it.

Friday night began with The Feast of Heroes. Strangers gathered like destiny had drawn them to the same table. After dinner, we stepped into the dark. No flashlights. Just trust. Just instinct.

“What is the mountain whispering to you?” we asked them in the night.

Saturday brought the outer ascent—up Mount Snowdon—and the inner descent into values, fears, and forgotten dreams. We walked. We coached. We climbed.

Sunday, they carried the elixir home—not just metaphorically, but in their hands. A stone from the summit. A message from the mountain.

That was my work.
My flame.
My myth.
And then—once again—I drifted.

The Mistake: Unplugging Without a Net

We were good at the rupture.
But we failed at the return.

We knew how to awaken people. To unplug them from the Matrix. But we didn’t know how to walk with them through the reintegration. We left them open—and unguarded.

Some soared. Others stumbled. And I’ve carried that with me.

Because the hero’s journey doesn’t end at the summit.
It ends when the gift is brought home.

“We handed them the elixir, but offered no vessel to carry it in.”

Never again.

Now I know: the work isn’t just about ignition. It’s about accompaniment. About helping people return with their flame intact.


🌀 JOURNALING RITUAL: After the Awakening

🪨 Reflect:

  • Have you ever awakened… and then felt lost?
  • What support did you need—but didn’t receive?
  • What kind of guide would’ve helped you walk the return path?

🔥 Now consider:

  • Who in your life might need your presence now?
  • How can you be a hearth, not just a matchstick?

Resurrection: The Return of the Mentor

This isn’t a reinvention. It’s a resurrection.

The self I’m becoming is the one I left behind—covered in soot and story, still seated at the edge of the fire. And now, I’m returning to him.

Not as a seeker. But as a mentor.
Not with a pitch. But with a vow.

“Let the flame consume me. Let it burn bright enough to guide others through the dark.”

Act III is not about achievement. It’s about offering.
About being a living myth in a world addicted to sleep.
About walking as a soul-guide—not above, not ahead—but beside.

No more hiding.
No more shrinking.
The fire is mine to tend.

The Offering: Wisdom Walks and Adventures Reborn

Every myth ends in return. Every resurrection brings a gift.

Mine? It looks like this:

🌀 Wisdom Walks — reflective audio dispatches from the edge of becoming.
🔥 Adventure Coaching — walking shoulder to shoulder with those ready to reclaim their story.
🪵 Digital Campfires — creating spaces of story, stillness, and shared myth.

But this time, the work doesn’t stop at awakening.
It extends into integration, embodiment, and community.

This time, I’m not just unplugging others. I’m helping them rebuild their life outside the Matrix—with meaning, with myth, and with grounded tools.

“What can I offer the world this spring?”
A fire rekindled.
A voice remembered.
A vow spoken under starlight.

And this:
To walk the path with others
Until they remember they’ve always had one of their own.


🌿 FINAL JOURNALING RITUAL: The Gift You Carry Back

🎒 Reflect:

  • What gift is rising within you now?
  • What flame are you ready to tend—for yourself, and for others?
  • What myth are you here to remember… and to live?

Write your own resurrection vow.
Let it be messy, honest, and mythic.
You are not beginning.
You are returning.

The Phoenix Path

Here in the UK, Easter weekend unfolds across four sacred days. It’s long enough to lose your everyday rhythm and find a deeper one. And if you play the game right, you can slip between the cracks of routine and catch a glimpse of something mythic moving beneath the surface.

While most of us frame it as a bank holiday or a chance to catch up on chores, there’s something older stirring beneath the surface. This season embodies powerful archetypes—death, descent, resurrection, and return. These patterns echo in ancient myths and mirror nature’s own thawing resurrection.

Whether you observe Easter as a religious rite, a cultural rhythm, or simply a welcome break, you’re standing in a liminal doorway. A sacred pause in the flow of things.

What if you used it to remember who you’re becoming?

This weekend, rather than rushing into plans, consider stepping into a slower, deeper story. One told through fire and feathers. One whispered by a mythic bird that has always known how to die well—and rise better.

Let this be your epic ordinary day. A quiet revolution. A return to what truly matters.

—Clay
Storythinker & Mythic Mentor for Seekers on the Threshold
Helping you rewrite the story beneath your story.


In a time before time, when stories walked the earth before language knew their names, there lived a singular bird—a radiant creature of flame and song. Some called it the Phoenix. Others knew it by older names: Bennu, Firebird, Ashfeather, Emberwing.

She was the living symbol of a truth too wild to tame: that death is not the end, but a beginning disguised.

When her time came—and it always came—she did not flee the fire.
She flew straight into it.
Willingly.
Gratefully.

She built her own funeral pyre from the branches of memory, the feathers of former selves, the dry bark of beliefs no longer needed. And at the appointed hour, she sang a song that split the sky—a song of sorrow and surrender, yes, but also one of fierce hope. A becoming-song.

And as the flames consumed her, a miracle unfolded.
From the ashes rose not a stranger, but herself made new.
Winged again. Burning still. Wiser now.

The Phoenix doesn’t fear endings.
She knows:
Ash is fertile. Fire is sacred. The self is a spiral.


✍️ Phoenix Journal Prompts: Chart Your Own Rebirth

Let’s step into the myth. Not as spectators, but as participants.
Use these prompts as rites of passage—a map through your own ashes.

  1. The Pyre
    What parts of my life, habits, or identity are ready to burn?
    What have you been clinging to that no longer serves you?
    What identities have calcified around you that feel too small now?

Bonus Practice: Write a symbolic obituary for an outdated version of yourself.

  1. The Flame
    What is the fire I must walk through?
    What truth are you avoiding?
    What pain, challenge, or transformation do you need to face fully to be free?

Bonus Practice: Give that fire a name. Turn it into a mythical trial.
Example: The Furnace of Self-Forgiveness, The Blaze of Not-Knowing

  1. The Ashes
    What remains when everything unnecessary is gone?
    Beneath the fear, beneath the story—what essential part of you endures?

Bonus Practice: Describe this “ember-self” in metaphor or image.
Who or what are you when all masks fall away?

  1. The New Wings
    What rebirth am I ready to claim?
    Not a resolution. Not a goal. But a truth wanting to be lived through you.

Bonus Practice: Write a “Resurrection Vow” to yourself.
Begin with: “I rise now as…”

  1. The Song
    What is the melody of my becoming?
    If this transformation had a soundtrack, a mantra, a single word—what would it be?

Bonus Practice: Choose a song that captures the energy of your rebirth.
Play it loud. Let it mark the start of your next chapter. My song is:


The Phoenix Path is Spiral, Not Linear

Remember, the Phoenix doesn’t rise once.
She rises every time she falls.
Rebirth is not a singular event, but a sacred pattern, a lifelong rhythm of shedding and becoming.

So don’t rush this.
Let each journaling prompt be a feather.
Let your responses be sparks.
And let the fire be your ally.

Today, you walk the epic ordinary path of the Phoenix.
Not to become someone new,
but to remember who you’ve always been—beneath the soot, beneath the scripts,
burning with purpose.

Act III and the Cosmic Dancer

What if the third act of your life isn’t about slowing down but becoming the myth you were born to tell? Join me on a wisdom walk through memory, metaphor, and mythic insight as I unpack the tension between old worlds and new callings. Guided by mythic imagination, story, and soul, this is a transmission for those ready to dance with change and live in full colour.

“At 57, I’m not winding down—I’m spiralling in. This is not the finale. This is the reclamation.”

In this Wisdom Walk edition of the Soulcruzer Podcast, I step into the mythic terrain of Act III—the Reclamation Phase. Blending Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey, James Hillman’s mythic imagination, and the soul-deep symbolism of the Osho Zen Tarot, this episode explores the turning of the inner wheel and the soulful integration that defines the latter chapters of life.

In this episode:

  • What it means to live in Act III—not as decline, but as the return with the elixir
  • How soul integration and legacy begin with letting go of split identities
  • Embodied reflections on the three Osho Zen cards drawn for this walk:
    • The Torn One (Schizophrenia) – the inner conflict of clinging to two worlds
    • The Dream Gazer (Postponement) – the cost of waiting to step into the full-color life
    • The Cosmic Dancer (Change) – surrendering to the rhythm of the turning wheel
  • A real-time mythic meditation on life, death, purpose, and legacy
  • The personal reckoning of letting go of the “safe structure” in order to fully serve those who’ve awakened from the Matrix

This isn’t just a podcast—it’s a soul signal for those who’ve stirred from the dream of the ordinary and now find themselves blinking into the mythic light, wondering, What now?


🌀 Mentioned in this episode:

🧭 Walk With Me:

This episode isn’t just meant to be heard—it’s meant to be walked.
Consider taking your own Wisdom Walk while listening.
Take a journal. Embody your own Torn One. Meet your Dream Gazer. Dance with Change.



🗣️ Let’s Continue the Conversation:

  • Have you crossed a threshold recently?
  • Are you holding on to two worlds that no longer coexist?
  • What part of yourself are you ready to retire to the Museum of You?

Reach out, reflect, or respond—email, voice note, or tag me in your own Wisdom Walk reflections.

🧭 Subscribe, Share, Soul-Signal Boost
If this episode speaks to something ancient and alive in you, share it with a fellow storythinker or mythic seeker. This is how we find each other.

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