Fulfillment in purpose
arise from giving form to meaning.
Fulfillment in meaning
arises from giving form to purpose.
The fulfilling of each strengthens both together
in form.
To know the fullness of meaning, receive its emotion.
Meaning is shaped by emotion.
It is the source and keeper of hidden knowing.
* * *
Fulfillment stirs when purpose breathes,
A vision held, a force that weaves,
Through time and thought, it finds its ground,
In shaping meaning, purpose bound.
And meaning grows where purpose lays,
A dance of light in shifting haze,
Each step a rhythm, each turn a call,
Together they rise, together they fall.
To know the depths, the fullness true,
Receive the pulse that moves you through,
Emotion, raw, its shape untold,
The keeper of the truths of old.
Meaning, born of feeling's flame,
A quiet spark, a whispered name -
Its secret rooted deep inside,
Where knowing and emotion collide.
Fulfillment lives in this embrace,
Purpose and meaning, face to face,
Each one gives form, and in the giving,
Strengthened by the act of living.
* * *
Once, in a quiet village nestled between the mountains and the sea, there lived a young artist named Julie. She was known for her paintings, though none of them were ever finished. She would start a piece with great excitement, only to abandon it halfway through, unsure of how to bring it to life. The villagers often wondered why Julie, with such talent, never seemed satisfied with her work.
One day, an old storyteller came to the village. He was a man with a deep, calm voice and eyes that sparkled with secrets of forgotten times. When he saw Julie he smiled gently and invited her to sit with him by the fire.
“You seem troubled, young one,” he said. “What is it that weighs on your heart?”
Julie hesitated, then spoke in a voice tinged with frustration. “I want my art to mean something. I begin with a feeling, but I don’t know how to make it real. I start with purpose, but the meaning escapes me.”
The storyteller nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, you see, purpose and meaning are not separate. They are two dancers, each guiding the other. One cannot exist without the other.”
Julie looked confused, so the storyteller continued.
“Purpose is the shape you give to your emotions, the form you create. But meaning, the depth, the truth behind your feelings, gives life to your purpose. Without it, your creation will always remain hollow. And without purpose, meaning will have no place to live.”
The young artist pondered this. “But how can I find both, when they seem so elusive?”
The storyteller smiled, his eyes twinkling. “The key is to allow them to grow together. When you begin a piece, let the purpose guide your hand. But as you work, listen to the emotion that stirs within you—feel it, hold it, and let it shape the meaning. When you understand the fullness of that emotion, the meaning will reveal itself, and the purpose will follow.”
Julie felt a stirring in her chest, as though the storyteller’s words had unlocked something deep inside her. She knew she had been searching for a way to merge her emotions with her art, to let her purpose and her meaning breathe together.
That night, she returned to her studio, a renewed sense of clarity in her heart. For the first time, she didn’t try to force her paintings into perfect shapes. Instead, she let the brush flow, guided by the emotions she felt in each moment. As she painted, she listened to the whispers of her heart, allowing them to shape the meaning of her work. She realized that each stroke, each color, was a conversation between purpose and emotion - a dance that created both form and depth.
By dawn, the painting was complete. It was unlike anything she had done before: full of life, of feeling, and of purpose. When she stepped back to look at it, she understood the truth the storyteller had shared. The painting was not just an expression of her emotion, nor just a design created with purpose. It was both - each strengthening the other, each feeding the other’s life.
And so, Julie’s art flourished. She no longer searched for meaning in empty spaces. She allowed it to grow from the deep well of her emotions, giving it the form it needed, and in return, her purpose became clearer with each brushstroke. The villagers came to her for paintings that spoke of truth, and Julie no longer felt the burden of unfinished works. Her art was complete, for in it, purpose and meaning danced together in perfect harmony.
From that day on, Julie knew that fulfillment in her art – and in life – came not from forcing one to lead the other, but from letting them grow together, hand in hand.
* * *
In the heart of a forgotten village, nestled between rolling hills, there was a woman named Monique. She was not known for any skill, nor for wealth, but for something far rarer—a quiet presence that seemed to awaken meaning in those who crossed her path. People came to her when they were lost, when they felt the world pressing in too tight, when their purpose seemed to slip through their fingers like the finest sand.
Monique had always felt the pulse of life. It was not an overt thing, not loud or demanding, but subtle, a hum beneath the surface of every moment. It had been there since she was a child, when she would sit under the great oak tree, eyes closed, listening to the wind and the whispers of the earth, feeling something vast stir deep inside her.
She had never known exactly what it was—this force, this call—but it was always there, pulling her toward something greater than the smallness of her days.
One spring morning, as the sun stretched golden across the village, a man came to her door. His name was Aric, and he was weary, burdened with a weight that none could see, though it was plain in his eyes.
“I’ve lost my way,” he confessed softly, stepping over the threshold. “I don’t know what my purpose is anymore. Life seems… meaningless.”
Monique smiled and motioned for him to sit by the fire. “You are not alone in that, Aric,” she said, her voice a gentle echo of the wind that passed through the trees outside. “Everyone seeks purpose, though not all know how to find it. But we are all connected by something far older than we realize.”
Aric frowned. “I’ve tried everything—work, family, even prayer—but nothing stirs that feeling of meaning. It’s like the world is empty.”
She nodded slowly, taking a deep breath, as if drawing in the world itself. “Meaning,” she said, “does not come from seeking to fill an emptiness. It arises from embracing the feeling that moves us from within, the pulse of life itself. Let me show you something.”
Monique stood and walked to the corner of her humble cottage, where a loom sat quietly in the shadows. She pulled it into the light, and with careful hands, began to weave. She worked in silence for a long while, the rhythm of the loom clicking with each movement. As Aric watched, the pattern began to emerge—a tapestry of shifting colors, threads intertwining, each one part of a greater whole.
“The threads are like purpose,” she explained, her fingers dancing over the fibers. “Alone, they are fragile and scattered, but when woven together with meaning, they form something greater than the sum of their parts. Each thread must meet the others. Without purpose, there is no shape to the tapestry; without meaning, there is no beauty. Both are needed.”
Aric watched, entranced. “So, purpose is not something we seek outside of ourselves?”
“No,” Monique said, her hands steadying the threads. “Purpose is the pulse that stirs within you, guiding you forward. Meaning is the way we understand the dance between feeling and knowing. Together, they rise and fall, like a song that is always playing if you only listen. They give us form, and in giving, they give us strength.”
He looked down at his hands, the weight of his doubt lifting just a little. "And the emptiness I feel... that’s just part of the dance?"
“It is,” she said softly. “In the quiet, when you can’t see the path, trust that the rhythm is still there. The steps you take, even in the dark, are part of the whole. Meaning will find you when you stop searching for it outside yourself and begin to listen for the pulse that has always been inside.”
Aric’s eyes softened, a quiet understanding stirring in him. He had been seeking so hard to fill the silence, to find the answer in places and things. But now, it was as if the silence itself had become a part of him, not something to fear or fill, but something to embrace.
Monique finished her weaving, stepping back to reveal the tapestry in full—a scene of vibrant trees, skies of gold and blue, a horizon stretching out beyond the frame. It was not just a picture. It was a living thing, a symbol of every movement, every choice, every quiet turn of fate that had shaped its creation.
Aric stood in awe. “It’s beautiful.”
She smiled, a knowing glint in her eye. “You, too, are part of something beautiful, Aric. You are the thread, the dance, the rhythm. You are the meaning, as much as the purpose. And when you move with it—when you let it carry you—fulfillment will rise in you like the dawn.”
And so, Aric left Moniqe’s cottage that day with a different heart—a heart that no longer sought to escape the emptiness but to find meaning in it, to listen for the rhythm that was always present, shaping his path. He had learned that purpose and meaning were not things to be chased, but forces that lived within, waiting to be woven into the fabric of his life.
In the years that followed, he would return to Monique often, though not with questions of purpose. Instead, he would sit beside her as she wove, watching the threads intertwine, learning that the dance was never truly over. It was a rhythm that echoed through the days, a quiet and constant pulse, guiding him onward.
* * *
Bridging the gap between divine omniscience
and mortal awareness.
Find your truth. Know your mind. Follow your heart. Love eternal will not be denied. Discernment is an integral part of self-mastery. You may share this post on a non-commercial basis, the author and URL to be included. Please note … posts are continually being edited. All rights reserved. Copyright © 2025 C.G. Garant.
