Seeing One's True Essence

Seeing One's True Essence

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Seeing One's True Essence
Seeing One's True Essence
Your Soul Is In Your Keeping Alone
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Your Soul Is In Your Keeping Alone

Cam Martinez's avatar
Cam Martinez
Apr 13, 2025
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Seeing One's True Essence
Seeing One's True Essence
Your Soul Is In Your Keeping Alone
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Crafted with Open AI’s DALL·E 3

There is a pivotal scene in Kingdom of Heaven that continues to echo through my life. King Baldwin, cloaked in dignity and illness, tells Balian:

"A king may move a man, a father may claim a son, but remember that even when those who move you be kings, or men of power, your soul is in your keeping alone."

He continues:

"When you stand before God, you cannot say, 'But I was told by others to do thus,' or that 'Virtue was not convenient at the time.' This will not suffice."

I first encountered this line when I was faced with a decision to leave home. To embark on my own journey, as my own man. My wife and two dogs beside me.

At the time, it struck me as one of those grand declarations noble characters make in films—weighty, well-written, and dramatic. But it lingered in the background of my thoughts, a sort of unshakable echo. As I matured, experienced difficulty, and faced real choices that demanded more than reaction, I realized that line wasn’t merely cinematic. It was instruction. It was truth.

It’s not about kings or battles or honor codes. It’s about agency. Sovereignty. A deeply personal sense of accountability at the level of the soul.

I left home with those words etched into me—not out of defiance, not because I was bold or certain, but because I realized staying would mean forfeiting my authorship. I would be choosing to live a version of life written by someone else, dictated by fear, tradition, or obligation.

And that realization was enough to move me. I had to make the decision. It couldn’t be inherited. It couldn’t be borrowed.

The responsibility of my life, and the outcome of it, had to belong to me.

And the same is true for you.


The Illusion of Blame

There’s something oddly comforting in handing off blame. We do it all the time, even subtly. We explain away behavior by pointing to our upbringing, our job, our partner, or the social context we’re navigating. We say, “I didn’t have a choice.” Or, “If you’d been in my situation, you’d have done the same.”

But the soul isn’t swayed by those arguments.

It doesn’t care who told you what. It isn’t interested in whether the timing was ideal, or if other people were being difficult. It doesn’t keep score based on fairness or external pressure. It keeps a much quieter, more exacting record.

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