I sometimes wake up thinking about this line:

“If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you; if you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.” –Gospel of Thomas

The Gospel of Thomas is, I suppose, the Pete Best of gospels, but this verse is fab on its own.

Maybe it’s when I’m going to sleep, actually, that this thought tugs at me most often. That moment when the distractions fade, when the screens are put away, the noise quietens, and there’s a gap of clarity. Did I just sleepwalk through another day? What is keeping me from giving my best, being my best, bringing forth whatever is real and true and somehow essential within me?

“Destroy”, though? Maybe Thomas was being dramatic. Or just poetic enough to emphasize how high the stakes are for living your life timidly or lazily. (Or is laziness really just fear also?)

What is within me that I need to bring forth? It could be this—my attempts at figuring things out by trying to express them.

Or it could be the effort to more consistently make genuine connection with others, to truly see and hear the people around me, rather than slip sliding through human interactions as if we’re all just fine with the default thinness of most conversations.

Or maybe it’s just that I need to more regularly fully occupy my tiny portion of space and time in the universe—to be “bigger than my body gives me credit for”. To uncork the full measure of my life force. To be present. To be awake and aware. To shine.

I know that I sleep better when I’ve been more physically active during the day. My body was put to use, and rest comes easier and is more satisfying. We were made for movement, engineered for exertion. The full use of our physical powers brings a primally satisfying repose.

Similarly, my mind rests easier on days when I’ve employed it to some purpose and been creative and productive, or at least wrestling with some challenging ideas or bit of writing, and not just a passive consumer of glowing bits of transitory nothingness on some screen.

Or if I’ve had just one heartfelt conversation, even one moment of true rapport, the emotional momentum of it can carry me through the day and elevate every other interaction for hours.

“Caution is the devil” said William Blake. The devil is that force, that resistance, that’s keeping you from expressing or doing what only you can say or do.

It doesn’t matter whether there’s even someone to receive something from what you’ve got to give. Bring forth what is within without concern for some sort of “success”.

Your time is short and getting shorter by the day. If not now, when?

Wake up. Be who you are. Give your gift.