An intricate plan...
I am starting to sense my ego’s weary relief as it finally grasps that it is not responsible for controlling the universe, destiny, or any of the world at large. At a time in my life when so many things seem to be up in the air, my ego’s usual response would be to stress, worry, panic, scheme, and attempt to control things to its own desired outcome; the outcome that it believes to be the best result for it. Having always identified itself as something that is separate from God, it has spent a lifetime attempting to manipulate and influence its own path through life; a classic delusion of the little-self thinking that it’s actually in charge. It has failed to accept that life just is, and that there is a grand and intricate plan held in place by an infinite cosmic intelligence; a plan that's only aim is for the soul to progress and remember itself.
An intuitive wisdom
When we begin to tire of the ego’s insecure and chaotic insistence, we hear instead the quiet, sweet words of our own soul, urging us on and reminding us of our true path. Imagine, then, the sheer relief that comes from free-falling, from allowing life to simply be rather than trying to fight it or resist it. We can begin at last to trust the story that is playing out before us. How can we not trust it? If I look back over my own life so far, I see a lifetime filled with exhausting battles; the sheer mental effort of attempting to force a river to flow in directions other than where the natural flow was headed. All my little-self ever did was charge from one misadventure to the next, absolutely certain that it held all the answers in its mind, totally unwilling or unable to trust the soul’s direction. Time and time again, it would stubbornly dismiss the ancient, intuitive wisdom that subtlety nudged at it, in favour of its own opinions.
The road home
We know, now, that we are ready to ignore the ego’s subjective guidance, for there is a road that leads directly to home, and the soul will carry us there in the perfect current. The ego has marched us down many side roads and dead ends, veering off at sudden tangents as we discarded faith in favour of fear. We thought of ourselves as small when we were actually giants. We locked ourselves in cages while our souls waited patiently for us to join them on the outside. We don’t have to meander anymore, not when we realise with all of our hearts that the soul is our true identity and the ego a mere red herring. We need to forget about what the little-self wants. It demands immediate reunion (yet at the same time contradicts itself by running away from it). It requests promises and cast iron assurances before it will take any leap of faith. It insists on being healed/fixed/cured before it can even dream of allowing itself to be loved. It has a delay button for everything yet craves instantaneous gratification.
We could spend a lifetime waiting for these cures to happen or we could just recognise that this contrived little-self is not who we are. The soul is the wise and honest parent here; it is strong, truthful, and ever-loving. The ego is the petulant toddler. It manipulates. It stamps its feet. It screams and demands and sulks til it grows red in the face. It yells and beats its drum provocatively inside our heads, but we don’t have to give into it, just like we wouldn’t give in to a real child’s tantrum. Our task is not to control or suppress the ego but to sit back and watch patiently as it grows weaker. We witness with interest as its cries diminish and weaken into occasional whimpers, until exhausted and defeated it sleeps once more. We simply let the dramatics pass. That’s all. We let it pass and then in the hushed silence we become aware of the truth. We hear it as a knowingness in our heart. We feel it as a sweet sensation that floods our flesh and our bones. We recognise it by its natural yet instinctive effortlessness.
The illusion of time
We realise that we are exactly where we are meant to be at any given moment of our lives. We can’t be elsewhere other than where we are, either physically or spiritually. Destiny will run its perfect course. It always does. We can’t waylay it or control it, but that doesn’t make us pawns in a game, because how can we be pawns when we wrote the script? And since there is no time but the illusion of time, then didn’t this whole lifetime already play out in full? It has already happened. We just believe it to be happening. The images flicker by one by one, in order that we experience a sense of movement and time passing. Destiny means, then, that our soul already knows every word, every choice, and every decision already taken by us. This paradox doesn’t remove free will, because it was and is our will. This is our dream, and it is a dream that has already been dreamt. This is how and why we know snatches of our future. This is the reason that our soul is so insistent in its faith. Our soul will not steer us wrong and neither will it steer our twin wrong, for everything has ever been, and will always be, right.
Bound in chains
My little-self has led me a lengthy and deceptive dance. It has limited my twin too. It has bound him in chains and defined him as weak, doubting his ability to awaken or recognise that his soul is the truth and his fear a lie. It has smited miracles and kept us both caged, for one cannot be freed alone. We shed our chains together or not at all. My twin is strong beyond limitations. He is all truth, power, and beauty, and now is the time to acknowledge and embrace our mutual courage and bravery; our divine right to cast off the mantle of illusion and know who we are. All along it has been the little-self that was a bound, bruised, and brain-washed prisoner, while the soul soared in freedom.
When my twin went away, he was the strong one, but it was a false, brute strength. He used the might and the wrath of the ego for the guise of protection; a trembling child hiding behind a shield of blustering and rage. In the face of such a force, I grew weak. I forgot his truth and wonder; I forgot that I knew him, and I crumbled. I descended into hell as I succumbed to fear, despair, and doubt. The ego had us both in the palm of its hand but in very different ways. But now I can stand tall. Now I can shine in my true right. I am the fearless one, the loving one, the truthful one. I will not bow down to the ego’s voice of entrapment any more, for I understand that when I hear that voice with its incessantly cruel and doubtful edge, that it is the very same voice of fear that my twin hears, or you hear, or anyone hears. It is one voice that speaks to all of us. But it is not the truth.
My twin will remember himself. He will blaze forth and illuminate the earth with his incandescent beauty. I know this, and I know it fiercely, because from the moment he found me again in this lifetime, he showed me the truth of who he was in so many ways. He showed it to me in the inspiring and tender maturity of his heart. He showed it to me in the gentle and exquisite passion that bled from his words and wrapped themselves around me like a velvet cloak. He revealed the effervescence of his colours to me in poems, letters, and stories; in the pure cadence of his love, and in his absolute devotion of me. And then, once more, in his gift of parting. So I will not fail him now.
It grows so very dark before the dawn, and I believe this is the final test of awakening. That just when you think there is nothing but light, a ferocious blackness descends on you. Every, single, negative trait of the ego rears its head in one last ditch attempt to lull you back into its murky depths and have you kneel at its feet subserviently. Let us not bail at the final hour, when all looks to be lost. This is the precipice on which we cannot falter. This is the invitation we have been waiting for. The darker it gets, the brighter we have to become. We mustn’t turn from the onslaught, but welcome it. Welcome it all: the sadness, the shame, the anguish, the desperation. Hold the dark emotions as tenderly as you would your twin, because the ego is looking for a different response. It wants us to fight or flee. But by fighting the darkness we make it real, and by fleeing from it, we invite it to pursue us. So instead of cowering and hiding from the assault, I let the teachers in. I let them be.
A thousand lifetimes
The blackest fears are the ones we most need to face; the secret ones that we try to suffocate and ignore. They goad us in the early hours of the morning so that our throats tighten and our bellies knot. We fear that the stars may somehow slip out of kilter and keep us apart from our twin; that reunion may never happen. But look deep inside your heart and you will find you have an answer to that possibility, as I do. Because even if that were so, I would still be one of the lucky ones, I would still be blessed, just as you are, because he found me. He found me and he loved me enough for a thousand lifetimes. He loved me like any woman should wish to be loved, and for that I shall be eternally grateful. And after the dawn breaks and the fears move on, I find that I am still here, and I am, as I have always been, pure light. And in those crystal clear moments, I hear my true voice; the voice of the universe. And it doesn’t whisper to me of separation, unhappy endings, or sad things. It talks to me only of miracles and stars aligning; of bravery, courage, and truth.
Keep the light on
I can feel a shift coming on. I feel the split of who I am and who I am not more than ever before. Magic invades my life. Songs play as they have always done since my twin left, at such mystical, sacred times; songs that tell our story, songs that hold our names, songs that plead with me to keep the light on. And I listen.
In one of his last letters to me my twin wrote the following words; ‘If you talk out loud to me, I will listen. Somehow, it will filter into me. You can tell me your fears, or tell me you love me, and I will know.’
And now, as I sense his battle, as I sense his utter turmoil and despair, as he free-falls through the darkest night he has ever known, I whisper from my heart to his, the only words he needs to hear, the only words that are good enough; I love you. I love you. I love you. And he knows.