Our arts, our occupations, our marriages, our religion, we have not chosen, but society has chosen for us. We are parlour soldiers. We shun the rugged battle of fate, where strength is born. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
My rational mind often seeks to make sense of things. However, too often I opt for looking for the 'fatefullness' of a situation rather than seeking intellectual honesty. Looking for that fateful meaning, I yield the genius part of myself. The genius doesn't know the boundaries placed upon me by 'fate'. The resistance is the toothless accuser that constantly reminds me of my limitations. My dreams, imagination, and intuition are the tools of the genius. What do I create today?
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I totally connect with the line: The resistance is the toothless accuser that constantly reminds me of my limitations. That is so true but I never thought of it in that way.
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