riding the leopard

on following aliveness

"But you must be ready for it. The goal is to live with godlike composure on the full rush of energy, like Dionysus riding the leopard, without being torn to pieces. A bit of advice given to a young Native American at the time of his initiation: ‘As you go the way of life, you will see a great chasm. Jump. It is not as wide as you think.’"

— Joseph Campbell

The Greek god Dionysus is often depicted riding a leopard just as you and I might ride a horse, the leopard leering with wide eyes and gaping teeth. For Campbell, Dionysus is associated with wild & dangerous divine energy. He represents that same vibrant nature within ourselves, the manic rush that sometimes seizes us on the dance floor or in the midst of a creative project.

But Dionysus’ leopard is not tamed. She has not been made docile. This is not a relationship of “discipline”, of taking that wild energy and turning it into something “productive.” Rather, it is a relationship of cooperation and surrender. At any moment, the rider might be ripped to shreds. But that energy is what makes the relationship sacred.

In my own life, I’ve often tried to have it both ways. I wanted that ferocious aliveness, that generative zest for life, and I also wanted precise control. For me, this looked like:

• having an exciting idea for a novel and immediately trying to turn it into a balanced five-act structure, with a schedule for completing it

• enjoying the process of writing an essay and thus deciding to commit to writing one every few days

• finding a new workout routine that’s fun and trying to “optimize” it for maximum “impact”

In each case, I was trying to turn a leopard into a horse. I wanted to take that initial excitement—ephemeral, visceral, vibrant—and turn it into something controlled, tame, and fully within my grasp. I wanted certainty and direction, but in doing so I lost the spark of aliveness.

Iain McGilchrist, speaking of the Greek playwright Aeschylus:

Aeschylus was, then, a Dionysian; not just in the technical sense, but in the Nietzschean sense. His intuitive and imaginative art, ambiguous as himself, 'the ambiguous god of wine and death, came to him via divine inspiration, announced to him in his sleep, and was inextricably bound to the world of religion and its mysteries. As Sophocles said of him, 'Aeschylus does what is right without knowing it'.

How does it feel to imagine “doing what is right without knowing it”? Part of you likely finds that relaxing, but another part is probably protesting: “but how would I know?” How can I be certain of the outcome if I haven’t properly analyzed the path ahead? How can I live in ambiguity, when certainty is safety?

Well, the point is that it isn’t safe. It won’t feel totally safe, because the moment it does, you’re no longer riding the leopard. The tension is the point. What you give up in certainty, you gain in aliveness.

Riding the leopard doesn’t mean throwing all sense away in wild abandon. Rather, it means shifting our priorities. Rather than leading with our analytical minds, and trying to map out the path ahead, we lead with our intuition. We follow what makes us feel energized, enlarged, expansive, and we let our rational minds make small adjustments along the way. We trust. We surrender.

Today, how can you follow what feels most alive for you? How can you give that vibrance a little space, take the leopard out for a few laps, surrender just a bit more to that Dionysian energy? What does it feel like? What does it give you?

With love & appreciation,

Scott

P.S. if you’d like support in following what feels most alive for you, check out my 1:1 coaching. 🍊