Last week, I had a dream. I stood in a wide-open field with my smartphone in hand, but only one app worked—the map app. A single red “X” marked the treasure, and the cursor shifted with my every turn. Finding the X, I started to dig with bare hands in the sandy earth, until I struck something. An ornate, jeweled, ancient-looking box.
I pulled from the sandy ground and opened it; inside it was empty, lined in red velvet but bottomless. An infinite emptiness as dark as the night sky.
Of course, the dream had a treasure of meaning. It felt like it held an invitation to go inward. To go down.
In The Republic, Plato tells the Myth of Er, where souls, before birth, are shown a range of lives. Each chooses its path, and with it, a soul-companion guiding spirit—a daimon—is assigned to walk beside them throughout life. The daimon remembers what we came here to be, even as we forget. It doesn’t command, control, or protect us from making mistakes. It whispers. Through dreams, longings, synchronicities, and disruptions. It guides us not up, but inward and down—into the soul’s slow unfolding.
We live in a world obsessed with growing up and going up—achievement, progress, success, optimization. But the soul doesn’t climb ladders, corporate or otherwise. It burrows. It spirals inward. It seeks what’s been waiting in the dark. Even the parts of ourselves we’ve buried.
I’ve had countless conversations with friends, clients, and colleagues in midlife that recount an inner stirring. A yearning for more meaning and purpose. While the outer story may carry all the markers of success, some deeper craving stirs inside.
I often speak of root, sap, and soil in my work with leaders and organizations. The roots are the core drivers—why we exist. The sap is the people, your community, and your culture—what flows and connects. The soil is the environment in which growth happens, much of which is out of our control.
Some of the soil we can tend—our values, behaviors, and how we relate. We can add nutrients, compost old beliefs, and make space for belonging. But other forces—societal trends, the market, environmental shift, social tides, unpredictable change—like the weather remain beyond our reach of control. Still, we can cultivate what matters most.
In today’s technology-centric world, maybe it’s time to redefine it. What if technology includes how we each uniquely interface with the world? We receive intuitive downloads—notifications from invisible places. We form intricate inner networks of insight, emotion, and meaning. These systems—soulful, relational, intuitive—ask for attention. For listening.
Midlife is the turning point—when the upward climb gives way to depth. When the proving gives way to presence.
Rilke knew this. In The Book of Hours, he writes:
I live my life in ever-widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one,
but I give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years,
and I still don’t know: am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?
These are spirals of becoming. They deepen as they widen.
The daimon remembers. And the work of a beautiful life—and a beautiful business—is not to keep going or growing up, but to grow faithfully inward.
So here’s your permission slip to dig.
Follow the roots only you can tend.
Let the treasure box reveal its vastness.
This is your birthright treasure.
And it has been patiently waiting for you all along.
-Steven
From creating artwork to studying Depth Psychology and training in Somatic Experiencing, MEA alum Steven Morris is an ever-curious brand and culture-building expert, best-selling author of “The Beautiful Business,” and seeker who’s served 3,000+ business leaders at more than 275 companies — discover more at: https://matterco.co/