Because she’s not free, the finite player is empty of passion.
Passion is the province of the free. To be impassioned, you have to touch other people and liberate them. You can’t liberate anyone if you’re regarding everyone as a competitor in the game. The intimacy of touch requires total unconcealment. Unconcealment is the one thing that the finite player cannot afford, because it kills her seriousness and wakes her up out of the game.
To be serious means you suffer if it looks like you’re losing, and you exalt if it looks like you’re winning.
To play the finite game with seriousness means you try to make finite ends mean infinite things like approval and love. It means to place limits on approval and love, to constrain them.
“I will only approve of this world and myself and everyone else when I succeed in getting this specific finite thing,”is the unspoken rule of the serious finite player.
The outlaw is an outlaw because she’s stopped playing the finite game with any seriousness. She’s outside of its rules, outside of its laws.
The outlaw decides to give herself total approval at all times. She decides to regard herself as already having won in life, no matter what her circumstances look like, no matter how other people respond to her. Outlaw magic kicks into high gear the moment you decide that yours and everyone’s liberation is more important to you than winning, looking good, or being comfortable.
Outlaw magic is the ability to be playful with your darkness and terror, and with ours. It’s the willingness to cast off the tyranny of our judging and alienating egos and to step into the throbbing electric current that links us all, all the time.
When you’re standing wide-open in that current, strange and wonderful things happen…..Carolyn Elliott
toying with the great mysteries is really about alighting softly, like a dream…..like a night vision…..like the person we used to be long ago……exploring the dangerous unknown links us to the woods where we got lost……it’s ok there with moss down below and stars up above…..through the trees we can see…..
I have faith in our longing, in that blood red thread of soul-desire that is linked to the Life that runs through all beings. Oh, I’m not talking about the superficial craving sparked by fear- but the bone deep ache that is allied with Life, that can come upon us when we feel ourselves just going through the motions for days, whispering- “There is more than this to your being.” It calls each of us back to purpose, to that for which our soul took life here on this small beautiful planet. It begs us to live fully & deeply who & what we are. May our weekend make room for the ache to be heard. May the ache bring sweetness, not suffering. May we receive it with tenderness…….Oriah Mountain Dreamer
I used to think that to give myself permission to be messy is like telling the world my story, showing the world me, without roses and buttercups beside it, showered on top of it, or growing all the way through it. But I’ve recently been noticing that by being messy, I’m giving the world my story, me, in all my glory, all my sorrow, all my pain, all my beauty, all my discomfort, all my struggle, and all my wisdom. Because, to be messy is to show those roses and buttercups, and the horse shit—the compost—that’s covered on the ground beneath them in order to help them grow.
Because, to be messy is to offer it all rather than just the shiny, pretty bits.
To be messy is to be authentic.
To be messy feels like opening up my soul to the world. Opening up my heart in all her glory to the potential of abandonment and hate, neglect and betrayal, but also so much unconditional love, acceptance, and forgiveness.
To give myself permission to be messy is like offering the wounds and the defensive armour that is here around them, a band-aid of forgiveness, acceptance and the opportunity to be here with me, not living in the shadows, where they’ve become so able used to being. But somewhere my heart they now don’t need to be. Because life is safe, now. By sharing my dark and messy, painful and confusing, restricted and wild, emotional and physical experience, I feel a sense of freedom and understanding, and a decreasing sense of isolation. And I feel so much compassion—for myself and for the world……Amani Omejer