The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.

John Muir

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For better or worse, I am a product of privilege—the privilege to grow up with loving parents, to live in a safe community, and to have the freedom to explore my interests on my terms. My parents are Catholic, each in their own way, but I never felt pressure to be so myself. Even as I went to CCD and church on Sunday, my identity was never tied to my beliefs about God or my willingness to be Catholic. I will always be grateful that I was free to meet religion in this way. As I have studied and continued to learn about religion, I have confronted the trauma, fear, and anger that defines so many people’s experience of God and the church. I have also wrestled with the power and influence religion holds in people’s lives. When I think about and practice my spirituality, I do so with freedom and agency. This has allowed me to engage diverse religious traditions from a place of curiosity and openness – asking myself what I can learn and open up to without feeling that I need to fully subscribe and profess my belief. I wish everyone had this freedom. But, I have to accept that not everyone does – and, also, that not everyone shares this same interest and desire. 

I am committed to a way of engaging and speaking about religion and spirituality that is available and accessible to all. I don’t believe spirituality is about discovering something beyond or outside of ourselves. Instead, I see it as encouragement and support in opening up to an inner experience of the divine – to the presence of God within. As such, I have found myself naturally drawn to mysticism, which I would define here as a direct experience of or union with God – the soul, the All, the silent observer, or the Ground of Being as Paul Tillich describes it. I don’t feel particularly attached to any one of these labels. I do recognize how I feel comfortable using each of them almost interchangeably, whereas others may not. This reflects the way I choose to engage words and concepts, or at least try to. Each one prompts something within me, bringing to mind an experience or idea that seems to point me in a direction I want to move – towards the divine and/or loving presence and/or beauty and/or the soul. It allows for a focusing of attention, an awareness of the energy and light within.

Rather than attempt to provide a final definition of a loaded concept like God or the soul, I try to allow for nuance and ambiguity. I make an effort to remember that the descriptors or labels I use, the experiences and texts I draw from, are not end points. They are new beginnings. They evoke something in me here and now – something that seems to matter deeply to me. The fact that I can’t neatly describe or formulate what that something is does not lessen its power. It strengthens it. I can’t escape this awareness I have developed in my life that we are always on the edge of so much more, such depth and possibility, love and understanding, intimacy and healing, presence and connection. What holds us back? Or, in other words, what pulls us out of the flow? What gets in the way? Something is always lost when we move from an experience in a given moment to our reflections on and memory of it afterwards. Something is also lost when we are immersed in an experience and then suddenly pull ourselves out of it – thinking about something we have to do later, something we wish we said, or maybe a response we are waiting to give.

I say all of this to contextualize the way I have come to understand what it means to live from the soul. Which is really to say that I don’t exactly know what I mean. That is why I write and read. That is why I love to talk about these ideas and hear from others. I recognize how the words I use to make sense of the world and my experiences, despite their limitations, are powerful. They remind and evoke. They point my attention in a specific direction. When I think about the soul, I think of kindness and presence and love. I think of openness and curiosity. Play and childlike wonder. Lightness and warmth. Smiles and laughter. I think of a way of being that I aspire to in every moment. To be curious, not judgmental. To celebrate the interconnectedness of life. To embrace that we are all equal beings. We come from the same source. We are all made of the same stardust. We each have our hopes and dreams, our regrets and failures, our strengths and weaknesses. In my eyes, when I live from the soul, I follow the way of Jesus and Buddha – meeting each person and all parts of our shared world with love and humility.

Living from the soul inspires me to open up to beauty and interconnectedness, celebrating the webs of connection that we are all immersed within. It reminds me that, in Thich Nhat Hanh’s words, “We are all leaves of one tree. We are all waves of one sea.” This is a powerful realization. For me, it leads to an awareness that there isn’t anywhere else I need to be. I only need to open up to what is available here now. David Whyte reminds me of that when he says everything is waiting for you. It brings to mind what I have come to understand as the unifying message of every great prophet and spiritual teacher – that God and Heaven or enlightenment or nirvana are not destinations to aspire to, but states of being to tune into and open up to. This is the practice of living from the soul. It is an effort to be human in the way that a bird flies through the sky or a dog chases after a ball. Not thinking about the act. Just being it. In To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee writes, “People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for.” When I live from the soul, I choose to see our interconnectedness. I look for the webs of connection running through and around me. I feel love and joy for this one precious life, for the opportunity to express the fullness of my being and to celebrate the light in all life. I join in the play of the universe knowing it is play. I choose to play the game, remembering and embodying as best I can this felt sense that we are all God in disguise. 

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Reclaiming Our Soul