It is the plight of the wayshowers to battle the winds of time, to clear the path for those who follow. There are no victims here; we choose our own adventure in every breath, between every heartbeat. When we opted for the skills and senses of the uncommon and elevated, we invited the necessary process of training and refinement. We all have our strengths, and we all have latent abilities and understandings that will have a time and place and worldly purpose. The cycles and spirals of this dance will make certain of it.
We may choose accidents or circumstances, the unexpected or methodical. It doesn’t matter. Each of us carries a brilliance unto our soul that fits intuitively, perfectly, always. The machines of this world have been drumming and pounding and beating it down, but, we too had a hand in their design . . . We are rhythm masters and employ all things as reasons and rudiments to explore in front of, and behind the veil.
We may indeed observe the darker of ages as a stumbling stone, that we all fell over and were injured by — as linear perspective may limit the scope and grandeur of the big story — yet it all, given the sheer vastness of forever, has occurred not only overnight, but in less than the blink of an eye, and even a fraction thereof.
We seem quite willing to accept the plodding pace; the history as it’s been recorded, and to take to heart that which is merely superficial. This has the effect of instilling a doldrum and melancholy, dowsed and weighed heavy with neverendingness and woe.
But we forget that our scale and reality allows for the pull to a seemingly dark extreme, only to prepare for a massive shift to its opposite; as we graduate the lessons of our own design and manifestation, we know how it all serves us. All of it.
We can expend much energy in blame of the seeming iniquity of the tripping place, and those apparent fools who fell in the same way for countless generations before. Our pain needs a drum to beat, and we will continue to look “out there” for enemies and prophecies . . . Until we welcome it home; until we assume the grace to embrace our fragments and dislocated selves, we remain unwhole; wanting; shaken; unsafe, defensive and incomplete. . .
We are here, now, to recapitulate and amend the story. Everywhere is evidence of the shift, and acceleration into a lightness of harmony, as the elastic coils and pulls us from the depths of the extinct into the extant spirit.
Time is irrelevant, as is its impatience and literal fatigue wrought upon us. This has always been a feeling place, where love has no bounds.