Embodying Soul: A Return to Wholeness
Section 2: Chapters 13 & 14
Dear reader: These next chapters, first from the Soul Realm, and then from the Earth Realm, are all about authority. Both outer authority as in the people and systems who are in places of power, and inner, personal authority.
These chapters are also about Endless Curiosity’s relationship with authority — the outer kind. And just a hint—she doesn’t like it so very much.
A little longer read tonight with these two chapters together, so grab your drink of choice and enjoy!
Chapter 13: Robe of Authority
“Schand schill now, or wil never ged dis done!” Rasa says, holding a row of sewing pins in her mouth while pinning the fabric draped over my body.
“But Curiosa isn’t having any fun!” I argue playfully on behalf of my wolf, who is hidden somewhere beneath the piles of fabric scattered about the precipice.
“Jush one more minude,” my soul friend requests, placing a final pin. “Now, what do you think? Isn’t this the most gorgeous robe you’ve ever seen?” I stare at my reflection that manifests in a full-length oval mirror as I turn around. We have been so engaged in dialogue and adventure I had not realized how much more human I now look. I bring my hands to my face and rub them along my cheekbones and chin, down over my throat and shoulders, feeling the soft, supple skin forming over the bones. I comb my fingers through my chestnut hair then run my hands over my fully formed breasts and hips, enjoying the curves of my feminine shape.
The robe, which opens and closes with a zipper up the front, is made of satin and silk in shades of yellow — lemon drop yellow, gold crown yellow, champagne yellow, and wheat field yellow. It covers me from shoulder to toe and then some, being nearly three inches too long.
“Rasa,” I say carefully. “It’s beautiful. But I’m afraid it’s too big.”
“Why, what makes you think that?” she asks in an amused tone that worries me. I indicate the extra fabric hanging past my hands and feet, expecting her to take out her pins once again.
Instead, she seems all the more pleased. “I assure you that it is just right. Once you are in the Earth Realm, you will seek out mentors who can help you grow into your Robe of Authority.”
I slip the robe off, hand it to her, and observe, “Oh, so that’s what Authority’s role will be in my upcoming life? Usually Authority just tells me what to do.”
Rasa laughs, her hand slapping her knee, accompanied by thunder sounding and lightning flashing in the sky. Rasa’s laughter is clearly one of the universe’s favorite storms, one in which all the planets and life-forms love to participate. I, too, take this moment to enjoy the light show she creates through her own pleasure.
“Oh my, this is why I love you so much,” she says, as she finally wipes her eyes dry with a pink handkerchief. “But you are making a common mistake of conflating Authority with mentors, when there is quite a distinction. A good mentor will have your best interest in mind and will help you expand your personal authority, help you push past boundaries and limits, question your most deeply rooted beliefs — the ones Fear and Guilt will implant at a young age — and encourage you in your quest for greater truth.”
“And Authority?” I ask, even as I begin to fill in the pieces of this storyline.
“Authority is comprised of people tasked with keeping the status quo — whatever that might be. They dislike change and prefer to silence dissenters rather than listen to them. Authority’s job is not to help you grow but to operate the levers of power from which Authority benefits. Perhaps,” she muses, “with the insider knowledge they gain, these same souls will one day tear down the systems they now build up and sustain.”
“Oh, can you imagine a whole planet full of souls ready to tear down power structures and hierarchies?” I ask, my eyes sparkling as Curiosa howls.
“That day is surely coming,” Rasa replies with a knowing wink.
My soul body responds with a thrill of adventure, but then I return to the issue at hand. “Will it be clear which souls are mentors for me and which ones are the more worrisome authority figures?” I ask.
“That’s a good question for which there is no simple answer,” she replies. “These roles tend to shift as the storyline does. A good friend can be a mentor for a while, as can an authority figure. On the other hand, sometimes a human being looks or acts like a mentor but is actually working on behalf of Authority. The only way to discern is to ask yourself this question: Are they trying to keep me from my own Robe of Authority, or are they helping me grow into it? Even this question is not so easily answered, as intentions are complicated by ego. This intention-sniffing task can be delegated to your hungry companion here.” She nods in the wolf’s direction. “And delegation is all the rage in the Earth Realm these days, from what I gather. There is nothing Curiosa would love chewing on more than the intentions of Authority!” Rasa gives another thunderous laugh.
“She doesn’t respect Authority?” I ask. “Has she been harmed by them?”
“Yes, and so have you, if you recall,” Rasa answers. “But it’s not truly a matter of disrespect. Rather, Curiosa respects anything and anyone who lets her be herself and treats her kindly. The problem is that her nature is not tame but wild. Like any Earth animal born in the wilderness, she is not beholden to the hierarchical, authoritative structures set up by humans.”
Rasa smiles at me and adds, “When you and your ego have grown enough together to wear this Robe of Authority, just call for it. It is my commitment to you that it will be ready in time.” She folds the robe and tucks it inside her tote bag.
Chapter 14: Putting Skin in the Game
Unlike many of my classmates, who were sad to leave the comforts of high school or nervous about their future, I was relieved to be done. Thirteen years in the same school system meant that I’d built up a reputation whether I liked it or not. I was anxious to escape, but I didn’t know what I wanted to do next.
I didn’t have any mentors to go to for advice during this transitional time other than running coaches, who knew only my ambitious side. At a Career Fair when I was a senior, I had felt drawn to the less tangible fields of psychology and philosophy, but I knew these disciplines were not really career paths for me; they were too emotional, uncertain, and undervalued. While my dad was supportive, his advice was colored with phrases that sounded like my own Guilt — phrases like “earning worthiness,” “building up a reputation,” and “proving myself in the world.”
But I wanted to live my life like one of the Choose Your Own Adventure books I loved while growing up, interactive books that invite readers to participate in the story by making choices for the protagonist and thereby determining the ending. As a child, I had read and reread these books, feeling empowered to choose my own adventure. By the time I graduated, however, I had settled for books that had predetermined plots and endings, and though college itself was a fresh start, I had chosen a college located safely just across the river from Fargo. I fear I might have unconsciously seen that storyline through, if it weren’t for a lunchtime conversation with a friend during my sophomore year. After sharing my thoughts on classes for the upcoming fall semester, she let me in on a secret, which by the rebellious shine in her eyes, she’d been dying to tell me.
“I won’t be here next fall,” she confessed.
“Why not?” I asked, wondering if there was some problem in her family, or with her boyfriend, though such explanations seemed unlikely.
She leaned in and said, “I’m transferring to the University of Minnesota next fall.”
“What?” I said, surprised at such an odd decision.
“I got into the business school there,” she explained, glowing with courage and confidence.
“Tell me more,” I replied.
“Well, for one thing it’s a more prestigious school, which means better opportunities after college. But also I think living in The Cities will be fun — there’ll be new places, new people, new adventures!”
At the mention of new adventures, I felt my belly flutter, my fingers tingle, my heart lighten. I knew by then these feelings meant yes. I asked, “Will you live on campus?”
“I don’t know yet, I was thinking of getting an apartment.”
“Do you need a roommate?” I asked, grinning at Curiosa, who was suddenly by my side.
Granted, the world boasts far larger cities than the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. But to someone who had lived their whole life in Fargo, The Cities might as well have been London or Paris. I thought finally I’d be able to transform into anything I wanted, out from under the watchful eye of Fargo.
“Four-lane highways! Drugs! Gangs! Crime!” a familiar-sounding voice asked.
“And who might you be?” I inquired.
“I’m named Logic,” the voice insisted.
Another vaguely familiar voice chimed in, “You’ll have to start over, meaning college will take five years instead of four; you’d be throwing good money out the door.”
“And your name is?” I asked.
“They call me Reason,” he huffed.
“I see right through you, you two. You are not Logic and Reason but Fear and Guilt. You have two choices: come along or stay behind,” I chided.
“Well, maybe we could stay behind,” said Fear, shrugging. “It’s not too late to go back to something more secure!”
“You know, this will be very difficult for your mother,” reminded Guilt.
I sighed and replied, “Guilt, please don’t make this about whether or not I love my parents. My mom is excited for me, and my dad would’ve loved an opportunity like this.”
“Okay. Pack up — or better yet, don’t bring any of the past with you. We’ll be starting over,” I said.
“Well, what should we do about these things?” Fear asked, holding up my runner’s clothes.
“I’m done with running, so we won’t be wearing those anymore.”
My two earliest emotions, so accustomed to leading the way, slunk away. But Curiosa growled happily, her pupils wild with possibility. While she rolled on the floor with pleasure, I felt strong and empowered. I was finally going to choose my own adventure, not for a fictional character in a book but for my own life.
A few months later, with my credits transferred over and my car packed door to door, we drove to The Cities. I cranked the radio up loud. Curiosa stuck her huge head out the back window, lapping up the fresh air. Neither of us spared a look in my rearview mirror, where the small town I’d been born and raised in shrunk away to nothing. And Fear and Guilt? I didn’t hear a peep from them during the entire drive. I likely assumed that I’d vanquished my childish emotions for good, but I now know that they were busy reinventing themselves and making plans for their future, just like I was.
***
After another graduation, this time from the Carlson School of Management at the University of Minnesota, I was no longer running but was prepared to “kick butt” as a businesswoman in the corporate world. It didn’t much matter who I worked for as long as there were opportunities for advancement.
One afternoon I saw a posting for an internship, called the number, and a woman named Kathy told me briefly about the kind of work available — something about insurance, CEOs, and deferred compensation. I didn’t really understand what she was talking about — I’d never studied these topics in my finance classes — but I trusted that it would all make sense once we sat down for an interview.
“So does this sound like something you’d be interested in?” Kathy asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “I’d be happy to come in for an interview.”
“Well, this sort of is the interview,” she said, laughing.
It was almost too easy. Like Clark Kent entering a phone booth and emerging as Superman, I slipped out of the temporary but necessary skins of a college student — jeans and T-shirts — into those of a businesswoman — pants suits with matching pumps, purchased on a shiny credit card.
My company designed deferred compensation plans for highly compensated executives of large companies who always “maxed out” of their annual allowable pre-tax 401(k) savings, leaving them few other good options for pre-tax savings. The plans allowed these men to defer percentages of their salaries or bonuses in exchange for either variable or fixed interest, depending on the plan. These plans were funded with Corporate Owned Life Insurance (COLI). Each executive who opted into the plan had to undergo a thorough physical exam and apply for life insurance that was owned by the corporation, which was the beneficiary of the life insurance policy. This arrangement was a win-win-win-win for the executive, the corporation, the insurance company, and us, too, through proceeds received for administrative fees and commissions paid to my company’s principal partners. There was so much winning, in fact, that eventually the IRS tightened the tax laws.
The creative people at the top of the pyramid designed the plans, while as an intern, and eventually a full-time administrator, I was responsible for entering, organizing, analyzing, and tracking the data for each client, running monthly and year-end reports, and calculating the payouts upon death or retirement. But the systems we used to track the data were not nearly as creative or flexible as the people who designed the plans, requiring regular manual checks and balances.
When I finally understood what kind of company I worked for, I explained my job by saying, “I help rich people get richer.” It wasn’t exactly what I would’ve chosen, but it was a job that paid $25,000 a year, and I told myself nothing else mattered as long as it paid the bills. Besides, my working environment was one to envy.
The headquarters for the company was in Los Angeles. Our branch in Minneapolis was a small satellite with eight to ten employees, so we were less like co-workers and more like a family. Because I was the youngest and newest, everyone became a mentor to me. I had a man who could help me understand confusing interest calculations, a man who could write Excel formulas that ran quicker than mine, a woman who could help me fine-tune my client communication skills, and Kathy, a hands-off supervisor who was more than willing to explain to me for the hundredth time the difference between whole and variable life insurance policies. The patriarch of our family, Steve, was a jovial and charming man in his mid-forties who reminded me of a showered-up, dressed-up, trimmed-down mountain man. He seemed to see right through me from the start — reading unasked questions on my face, gauging my confidence by my body language, knowing when I understood something and calling me on it when I was only pretending. Being seen this way was humbling and a little intimidating. “Hi, Keri,” he’d bellow playfully whenever I tried tiptoeing past his office for no other reason than not wanting him to bellow, “Hi, Keri.” Depending on his mood, which was fluid and affected all of us the same way the gravitational pull of the moon affects the ocean, he’d either go out of his way to make me more comfortable or point out my discomfort, making my face burn. Because Kathy was between us, I didn’t have to go to him often, which was a relief. But whenever I did, even though it was hard I always walked away a little smarter and wiser.
Steve set the tone of our office, and it was one of work hard, play hard. It would be pin-drop silent all day, and then suddenly at 4:30 p.m. he would send a joke through email, and we’d hear laughter rolling from his office. Soon it would be like a club party, everyone replying to the email, someone yelling their response from down the hall, and then we’d all convene at one person’s desk before going home for the day, still laughing.
Once I got to see him on the big stage in Los Angeles, where to me he reached superstar stature. He was unintimidated by the powerful men higher up the hierarchy, his presentation style was relaxed, and he didn’t fill empty space with ums or uhs. He was a role model for anyone interested in public speaking, and was savvy about more general things, too — like packing. Once I traveled with him by air to meet with a client. When we arrived, he waited with me for my luggage at the baggage claim, while using the time to offer me tips on how to pack a carry-on next time.
Under his tutelage, we were all empowered and given space to grow. He was the mentor I’d always dreamed of. Life, I thought back then, was no more complicated than a simple barter system: I put some skin in the game, and in return I would grow. I had indeed chosen my own adventure. I just didn’t know it would soon include an orientation to corporate ladders. Had I known, I’d probably still have anted up. What is life about if not taking some gambles along the way? There have been many things about me that have changed over the years, but one attitude has remained unchanged — deal me in.
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