You Are a Vessel of Genius

In the final session of my Write What Spirit Whispers poetry workshop, the room was completely full—every chair taken, bodies leaning forward, notebooks open, the kind of quiet that only comes when people have spent hours listening inward.

For two precious hours, we had accepted the same simple invitation: to get quiet, listen deeply, and write what rises.

Not what we think we should say.
Not what sounds clever.
But what Spirit whispers.

And everyone in the room—from the first time writers to the lifelong poets—wrote something poignant, startling, and powerful.

To close the workshop, I was challenged to share something I hadn't planned and I was moved to read a poem I wrote entitled, Let Me Be Your Vessel.

Let me be your vessel

Of wisdom and of love.

Let me be your poet

Inspire me from above.

I will tell your story, in my special way.

Keep whispering words of insight

‘Till my dying day.

 

When I finished, the room filled with an audible gasp.

It wasn’t the kind of reaction that comes from applause or praise. And, I was surprised because it's a simple poem. Then what occurred to me is that this poem is more of a prayer. And I'm not the only one it speaks for. The response in the room was the sound of recognition—like something ancient had briefly surfaced in the room and everyone felt it at the same time.

Moments like that remind me that creativity doesn’t originate only in the busy, thinking mind.

The great psychologist Carl Jung described the psyche as having layers.

First, there is the conscious mind—the part of us that plans, analyzes, and narrates our lives.

Beneath that lies the personal unconscious, where our memories, experiences, and forgotten impressions live. Sometimes when we write, a line rises from here—something personal, surprising, perhaps long buried.

But deeper still is what Jung called the collective unconscious—a vast reservoir of shared human symbols, archetypes, and wisdom that transcends any one person. It’s the place where myths come from, where ancient stories echo across cultures, where something universal moves through an individual voice.

When we write from that place, something different happens. The work no longer feels like something we make. It feels like something we receive. This is what we practiced in the workshop: learning to step out of the way just long enough for something deeper to arrive on the page.

And that is what Let Me Be Your Vessel is about.

Not the poet as performer or clever arranger of words, but the poet as sacred vessel. An open channel through which something larger can speak.

This idea matters not only for artists, but for leaders as well.

So many leaders today are navigating relentless demands, uncertainty, and the quiet weight of responsibility for others. Burnout has become almost an expected part of leadership. The constant pressure to produce, decide, and perform can exhaust even the most resilient among us.

But what if part of our equilibrium comes not from pushing harder, but from stepping aside?

When we allow creativity, reflection, or spirit to move through us—whether in writing, thinking, or simply in moments of silence—we reconnect to something deeper than the day’s demands. We remember that we are not meant to carry everything alone. We are part of a larger current of wisdom, intuition, and shared human experience. Unleashing what wants to express through us can become a form of restoration. A way to steady ourselves in a tumultuous workplace and an even more tumultuous world.

I’ve begun to wonder if the most powerful thing any of us can do—whether we are writing, leading, teaching, creating, or simply living—is to gently move the ego aside. To listen, trust, and to allow the divine will, however we understand it, to move through us.

Because when we do, the work that emerges doesn’t belong only to us anymore. It belongs to all of us. And sometimes, in a room full of people, you can hear it in the sound of a collective breath.

We are a vessels of genius. And our greatest act of courage is allowing it to show.