The quiet signals of bliss

The other day I snapped a photo of our cat in a field of chamomile.  His eyes closed, his nose taking in the scent of flowers, his body completely relaxed, I was reminded of that old phrase, “Follow your bliss,"  made popular by Joseph Campbell back in the 1980s. 

Back then, in my hurried youth,  I was inclined to roll my eyes at such a directive.  What is bliss anyway and why should I follow it?  I was too busy achieving goals and slaying dragons to take such a thing seriously. 

Yet over the years, I’ve come to look past the cliche’ and have found that this simple bit of advice reveals a convergence of biology, psychology and instinct, otherwise known as intuition. 

To follow one’s bliss is not merely to pursue pleasure.  Perhaps it requires tuning one’s self, like a musical instrument, to that which is deeply personal, profoundly universal and embedded in the architecture of life itself. 

Neuroscientists would describe bliss as a sustained pattern of dopaminergic engagement — a system of motivation rather than reward alone. Dopamine, often called (incorrectly) the pleasure chemical, is more accurately the molecule of intuition and pursuit.  It spikes, not when we possess the thing we desire, but when we discover ways to move toward it.  In this way, bliss is not a destination, but more like an arrow pointing through a forest of choices.

To follow that arrow requires discernment.  The modern world is clogged with counterfeit signals: advertisements, algorithms, short form reels and cultural approval all mimic the appearance of bliss, offering bright, shiny and immediate gratifications.  

But these short-circuit pleasures are distractions at best —and leave us feeling restless and malnourished.  

True bliss, by contrast, seems to require effort, practice, attention— even devotion.

The bristlecone 

pine

replies:

to root 

down 

into the desert 

earth

and twist, 

gnarled 

and arthritic 

like this

is no airy 

mystic bliss, 

nor the first 

word

in 

tenaciousness.  

Studies in psychology distinguish between extrinsic reward (like money, status and approval) and intrinsic rewards, which arise from the activity itself. 

When we are intrinsically motivated, the brain enters a state many would  call“flow.”  In a flow state, time dissolves, self-consciousness vanishes and action feels both effortless and exacting.  In such a state, we are neither bored nor overwhelmed, but rather precisely matched to our environment, much like a hawk riding a thermal or a river finding its gradient. 

In humans, bliss often appears in activities that refine perception, deepen connection or create meaning. The poet shaping a line, the scientist tracing a pattern, a dancer gesturing toward an  emotion,  the carpenter fitting a joint into place — each of these is participating in an ancient feedback system that rewards coherence. This coherence lives between inner capacity and outer action. 

Yet bliss is not always easy and not always comfortable. The word itself suggests ease, even ecstasy, but the path toward it can be marked by uncertainty and resistance. Following one’s bliss often requires deviating from established norms. Social systems favor predictability, not divergence.  The merchant culture favors materialism, not discovery.  To follow a deeply personal signal may entail friction, misunderstanding, doubt, even isolation.  

In my own life, following the call of poetry has carried with it a good deal of derision and ridicule from family members and even colleagues.  But the call to the arts and the following of bliss has also saved my life.  

Here the mysterious power of bliss emerges, for it is not simply a neurochemical state but a narrative one. To follow one’s bliss is to trust that the signal you feel corresponds to a pattern larger than your understanding. And although the journey feels deeply personal, it often leads outward toward contribution.  

When individuals engage deeply with what inspires or animates them, they tend to produce work or actions that resonate with others.  This is not only beautiful and mystical but structural.  A musician fully absorbed in sound creates music that organizes the listener’s own neural patterns. A teacher passionate about ideas transmits, not just information, but inspiration — making learning and curiosity contagious.  

Even the most introverted of us cannot escape the fact that we are made for connection.  

What you thought you lost along the way

hangs in the air like a prayer. 

May you find your way home

may the doors swing open wide

            from the out and the in

  side. 

Under a wide open sky

may you lose, may you find, 

may you know 

             in the core

of your weathered soul your old 

and your new sign

May every stranger on the path

become the one who  

                             stopped 

to hang something you thought

you lost in the air

               by a thread like an ancient

pagan prayer

              like some kind of 

elder

         warm-eyed

guardian was standing there.

To follow your bliss is not to abandon reason but to integrate it with your experience— and to recognize the body has its own wisdom. The nervous system will register alignment and misalignment in all kinds of subtle ways. A feeling of expansion, of breathing freely, of energy circulating may accompany any kind of flow state, any kind of movement towards one’s bliss.  

Conversely, chronic fatigue, tension, pain, disinterest or despair can signal disconnection.  

More important is to remember that bliss is not something you find and possess. It is instead a continual adjustment, an ongoing practice.  To remain in connection with that shifting signal is to listen to your own body, to move, to pause, to correct course.  

To follow your bliss is to take the long and winding road toward some unknown place— and to participate fully in the intelligence that animates both mind and matter.   

Perhaps the phrase, follow your bliss is not so much a directive as an invitation. 

I’ve come to believe that within each of us lies an inner guidance— not just a longing or a desire, but a kind of orientation.  

To follow your bliss is to trust that orientation— and to discover as you move, that the path is not paved or graded and can’t be found on GPS— but is made by the walking.

Wendy Videlock lives at the foot of Thunder Mountain. Her upcoming book, Desert Kin: Speaking Animal in the Southwest, will appear in late August 2026.  She serves as poet laureate of Colorado’s Western Slope.