The Ides of March: the Insistence of Ego or the Insistence of Heart

Since I taught British lit for quite awhile, I can’t help but make reference to the Ides of March. Will Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar portrays a man, well, really, many men who move according to ego, erecting their own plans in opposition to the Spirit who moves in all things. Ends up bad — that’s why they call it a tragedy. That’s what always happens when humans are motivated by ego and not spirit, not their hearts.
When we move according to Spirit, we are just that — in accord. We flow with life, with nature, and with our own hearts as motivation and source — (not ego like Brutus, Antony, et al in Julius Caesar). Just this morning, I could not help but notice the flow of life all around me, the insistence on a natural progression. The birds insist that it is Spring — cardinals, robins, wrens, crows, doves. The new, green grass insists that it is Spring, adding inches in a week’s time. The weeds insist, too, as they pop up between sidewalk and asphalt cracks everywhere. The brilliant burst of color in the crocus, hyacinth, and daffodil delight our eyes.
All of these were waiting for the right time to spring forth — pun intended. We hold, analogically, the seasons of life within us, and the life and visions and purposes that have been maturing inside, developing, feeding, gathering strength during dormancy — they are waiting to sprout forth. “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV). Now, for nature those times are set; for us, though, we are always in a cycle of our own making. When we move according to the heart, we transition through those seasons and prosper, and just like the weeds, grasses, flowers, and birds, we thrive.
I saw a quote this morning by Brené Brown that I thought was relevant: “When you own your story, you get to write the ending.” I don’t buy the whole when you’re young it’s springtime, blah, blah, blah. Right now, for me, regardless of age, I am in a springtime phase, and it is the way I will write it — not based on anyone else’s evaluation. I am the only one who knows my own heart, and a new life has been building and is just now beginning to peep through, waiting to shoot new life in all directions. Whether anyone else sees that or not, I don’t care. My story. My ending. And I think I have a number of stories left to include in this anthology of my life.
I’m in a springtime story right now.
What season is the story of your life in right now?
Who is authoring that story — your heart or your ego?
I sincerely hope that you are writing your own ending according to the insistence of your heart. I hope that the grass and flowers and birds of your heart are insisting on making You known to a world needing You.
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