Soul (Sole) Purpose
How I Spent Months Writing My Cosmic Story Only to Realise the Punchline Was Maya (The Grand Illusion)
Let’s start with the obvious: sole purpose sounds like it should be a shoe brand.
Something minimalist. Ethical. Probably too expensive.
Sole Purpose: walk your truth in handcrafted vegan leather.
But for much of my life, I didn’t think of soul purpose as something you wore .. I thought of it as something you were. I imagined, somewhere in the before my before, my soul at a kind of cosmic HR desk, solemnly signing an invisible contract, promising to fulfill a grand mission I couldn’t remember, but innately felt obligated to complete.
And so I went looking for the fine print.
The Search Party (Starring Me and My Overthinking Brain)
It started with the previous story I wrote…. A Journey of Truth Through Four Lands and One Self. I searched in people. Places. Patterns. I found them too!
I turned every coincidence into a cosmic clue. Every silence into a sign. Every pull toward certain places, certain ancestors, certain questions into proof that I was close.. so close to unlocking “the mission".. Should I choose to accept it (In this lifetime!)
The search wasn’t theoretical either. It took me places. Across oceans, deep into ancestral histories, into the labyrinth of my own lineage.
I mapped and re-mapped my story, convinced my purpose was hidden somewhere in the debris of time. And somewhere in that whirlwind, the story started veering into unexpected territory.
What was supposed to be a simple reflection on purpose turned into a deep dive into ancestral healing, generational trauma, and (because why not) my actual family tree …A sprawling, tangled thing reaching back nearly 400 years.
Below is the family tree.. and the soul purpose highlighted in pink going back 7 generations
At some point I became convinced I’d spotted who I was (and even my dog is) in a past life. (I still am!)
No guarantees, but if I did find myself lurking in the 1700s, I promise I’ll report back. Possibly in the forests riding a white horse being taken away by theives (Yes- that girl is actually exactly 7 generations on my exact lineage..- go figure!)
The Oxford Detour (Or: How I Almost Wrote a PhD on This)
What started as a reflection quietly morphed into what can only be described as an eight chapter book. (in my notes app) Or a thesis. (Let’s not talk about how many Scrivener folders are involved.)
I’m not saying I almost applied for a PhD in it, but I did, at one point, google the relevant advisors deadlines.
In the past two months, it’s intensified: visions, synchronicities, places, people. The universe winking at me like we shared some cosmic inside joke. I wandered (metaphorically and literally) through Jung’s archetypes, Einstein’s space-time, Kafka’s dread, Kerouac’s restless roads. I stood in museums, convinced the Smithsonian was leaving clues about my past lives in its display cases.
The Quantum Clue
But like any good quantum particle (with a Chemical Engineering feather to add to it) the closer I looked, the more uncertain it became. I’d try to pin down my purpose, and it would fuzz at the edges, like the universe politely reminding me I wasn’t supposed to collapse the wave function just yet.
Maybe the soul contracts exist … but they’re not shackles. Maybe they’re more like entanglements across space and time: connections that tug at us, sure, but leave us free to choose our own spin.
And maybe, just maybe, the purpose was never hidden. Never out there. Never encrypted in some sacred scroll.
It was here. To grow whole within myself. To show up fully ..NO heroic mission required.
And after all that? The universe smiled .. and handed me the same punchline it’s been offering all along:
Just be here.
The Maya Angle (AKA the Punchline I Took Months to See)
It was all maya’s game. The beautiful, shimmering illusion letting me believe I was on the verge of solving something huge, when really … the sacred was always in the ordinary.
Like this ….
Maya’s Mercy
माया कल्पितदेशकालकलना
The dream of space and time, unfolding in your kitchen.
A curl of smoke dances in mid-air,
not bound by laws of time or space.
It loops, twists, and vanishes
unconcerned with beginnings or ends.
Beyond it, the ordinary unfolds:
a ticking clock,
a sink filled with yesterday,
shelves holding glass,
and the illusion of permanence.
This is Maya
the tender veil that cloaks the Real
in the rhythm of the unreal.
This is Maya
the mother of illusion,
who spins space into structure,
and drapes time in choreography.
She lets you believe
that time is linear,
that form is solid,
that moments don’t dissolve
into one another
like incense into breath.
She is the dream we take for waking,
the breath we forget is borrowed.
She paints permanence over the perishable,
but always leaves a crack…
just wide enough
for wonder to slip through.
But if you pause just here —
you’ll feel it:
The sacred in the sink.
The divine in the dust.
The infinite disguised
as a kitchen.
That, too,
is Maya’s mercy.
Footnote (because… of course)
So yes, this whole thing took me across galaxies, libraries, emotional pinboards that would terrify most therapists(and probably still will). But the joke was on me: the sacred was always in the sink. The divine was always in the dust. The infinite? Disguised as a kitchen.
Will i write about what I saw..continue to see.. found? Possibly…probably…as fiction…no My relaity has turned far more interesting than that…but yes to protect some people- lets say fiction
(No, I’m not high. Yes, I still overthink this at 4 a.m. (because I sleep at 9 pm)
And no, I didn’t apply for the PhD. yet but I might!
Coming soon (maybe) in the Sole Purpose series
🌿 The Soul Contract Table (And Other Cosmic Furniture)
🌿 The Ancestral Threads (How Deep Is Deep Enough?)
🌿 The Map That Was Always You
About This Space
I write from where the untamed soul walks barefoot .. between the seen and unseen, between the ephemeral and the eternal, between surrender and search. This is a space for those who wander not to escape, but simply to be. Where every step is both question and answer, and where love teaches us to lose ourselves, so we may finally be.
This is where stories unravel and reweave. Where time pauses long enough for you to catch your breath… and possibly, find yourself.
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