My friend Haru, a classical violinist, once told me how he sacrificed much of his youth’s pleasures in full commitment to his music. Yet he showed no regret, as he maintained that only complete mastery of his instrument gave him the power to shine, to rise above established industry standards and express his art in a unique and self-assured way. Without this mastery, he continued, he would shun or be overlooked for risky and difficult roles, sentenced instead to the safety of mainstream orchestra and deprived of the fulfillment of potency and success.

His path of renouncing pleasure for power is chosen by few, as pleasure conjures good feelings and a sparkling sense of vitality. Yet such feelings are deceptive and such attitude short-sighted, its consequences famously depicted in the fable of three little pigs. Without power, all fun and pleasure is essentially doomed, as need for money and approval kills the desire for discovery and experimentation, and fear of lack and failure sabotages risk-taking and the impulse for progress. Mediocrity ensues, chaining one’s self-worth and Spirit to the perceptions, judgements and expectations of others. 

For all its obvious power, though, the path of full commitment is ubiquitously avoided by humanity, as it implies the losing of one’s ability to ensure fulfillment at all times by means of manipulating feelings. Instead, the Soul negotiates its path by giving up a little bit of power for a little bit of fulfillment. This compromise is the proverbial pact with the devil, however, for the power given up is invariably one’s ability to shine like a star; and the fulfillment taken as compensation always one devoid of such stardom, i.e. based in more commonly available substitutes such as matter, status symbols, friends and family, food, fun and TV. As there is not one Soul alive without the desire to shine, all such substitutes are in fact a sacrifice of Spirit, a step that unfailingly wounds the Soul’s self-worth as it begins to suffer limitations, failure or irrelevance on its path of expression. Coping with such limitations, the Soul becomes needy for ever more pleasure as a substitute power, its lifeline to safety from the Truth of failure.

Underlying this failure is the mind’s false assumption that power and fulfillment are not, in fact, one and the same thing, i.e. that fulfillment can come from anything other than the build-up of integrity, competence, skills and sensitivity in full commitment to Spirit. For it is not the mind’s ability to choose a source of consumption that gives wings to the Soul, but its experience of bringing forth something beyond its capacity to perceive, in an expression of worthiness and potency. Such is the creation of all works of genius, be it in music, art, or technology: the energy flows as if by itself, taking possession of mind and body and manifesting pure magnificence, often above the mind’s ability to repeat. Such unique works are treated by the very Soul as works of God, or works of Spirit, and in Truth they are, for the mind stepped aside and allowed Spirit to express through its powerful and skilled body. Without having developed such power, however, the Soul would have been unable to capture and express the gift of genius offered by Spirit, and would thus be unworthy of it.

When we appreciate Spirit more than anything else, more than staying safe, feeling good, others’ approval, money or fame, we are filled with purpose and able to stand steadfast through doubts, needs, fears and judgements, keeping our channel free of debris and clean for Spirit to flow. However, when we refuse to commit to potential or negotiate it against needs and greed, we cause this energy to cease.

In consequence, we will henceforth be forced to accept limitations to our achievement in the form of our own and others’ perception of what is possible, beautiful, good or impressive. We will give up believing that we can break the four-minute mile or land on the moon, and then we will give up even desiring such things. Caged within our low self-worth, we will acquiesce to a life of soothing fears, perpetually faced with the pain of our impotence and in need to prove to ourselves and others that we haven’t, in fact, lost our prowess, that we still have it, that we are powerful and worthy. In our need to defend this lie, we will put all our efforts into winning contests, acquiring status, accumulating money and seeking to demonstrate power over others. We will, when pressed hard enough, sink as low as sabotaging others’ innovations and genius, feeling threatened in our impotence. Like a hamster in its cage, we will henceforth ferociously run the wheel without admitting to ourselves that we are not moving at all.

Real genius is never brought forward while the focus is on proving self-worth. Rather, genius thrives in the commitment to being worthy, not proving worth: in aspiring to rise to the occasion no matter the risk to image, or fear of lack; in recognizing the magnificence of the gift we are offered; and in enabling, humbly, its channeling to the world in whichever form necessary.

The story of Mozart, Salieri and the writing of the Requiem showcases this perfectly. It was Mozart who was able to tap into Spirit and channel music of incredible power, but it was Salieri who wrote down the last portions of this piece, taking dictation from Mozart during his delirious illness. Without Salieri’s humility, his appreciation for the genius he was fortunate to receive via Mozart, his ability to take his needs for glory and power out of the way, and his dedication to capture and allow this genius into manifestation, humanity would have been deprived of exceptionally powerful and glorious music.

In this, Mozart and Salieri are equally powerful and potent, the first as conduit for Spirit, the second as its protector and enabler. Had Salieri’s desire been to prove his worth, he would have sought to eradicate competition and promote his own creations, rather than connect to his true potential. Salieri, thus, is the real hero of the story, the noble mind who rose to worthiness by channeling genius regardless of the form it arrived to him, even when via competition and at the cost of his own prestige.