Bends of Light

Lately—and I mean daily for the past week or so—I’ve been getting a signal about a specific point in time. Not a calendar date, but a more intuitive sensing of a transformation point along the continuum of being. That space in time where ending and beginning meld into a singularity. Neither is indistinguishable from the other, a nothingness that contains the totality of everything in potential. From that point, nothing is pointless; from within it, all points become possible destinations. It seems to be a coordinate-point of dimensional import… and we seem to be there just now.

So many things signal this moment as a triangulation of vectors of becoming. Where have you come from and what path are you finally finished traveling? Have you been heeding the hints that the time has come to leave some familiar structure of knowing, some comfortable modality of thought? I have, and after acclimating myself to the chill of baptism in new waters, I feel exhilarated at what lay ahead. Separation from what was leaves us open to the embrace of what is to be. Remember that you have the power, the right, and the ability to choose what you allow yourself to evolve into now. Cosmic hints are dropping all around you to remind you of this, if you pay attention.

Revisiting Lost Time

Last week, we did a big cleanup at home. Really got into the nooks and crannies to evict the dust from where it had settled over the winter. Books left unexamined for any length of time tend to be some of the toughest surfaces to clear of the stuff, so off the shelves came volumes of what might be considered forgotten lore. Among them, a book written by a favorite college professor, in which he had inscribed a passage from T.S. Eliot on the magical point where endings become beginnings.

It was a poignant thought to ponder back then, as I launched into the rugged postgraduate education of the real world. The late 1980s seemed a time of innocence. The eggshell of our collective becoming had not yet shattered with the level of global change we now face. Little did I know what lay ahead: sure I could conquer any problem, failing miserably time after time, healing, reflecting, forgiving, moving on.

Fast-forward all those years later, re-reading his scrawled inscription in that book, a loop in time felt neatly stitched up, and I handed the book to my son. Another volume dusted, another treasure passed along to another generation. I was pleased to sense how easy it was to let go of this Very Special Book, one of the few precious things I had carried so long. Long enough.

The Grace of Letting Go

Letting go should always be so easy, so graceful. Often, it isn’t. Often, change is a messy job, full of forgotten dust, paroxysms of sneezing and things awkwardly dropped on your toes. If only there was a way to make endings more fluid, less of a hassle, less traumatic.

There is. Remember the beginning that lay like a dormant seed within it. Let the light of your mind fall upon it. If there are tears in the pain of letting go, let them water it. Let your mind recognize that the life within the seed and the life that feels like it’s leaving you are one and the same. It is merely a transition, a transposition, of conscious awareness, when you strip all the details of circumstance away. Surrendering to this seems to allow the pain to flow in a molecular arrangement that accommodates a discharge of electrical flux, and a smoother current of lifeforce to sustain your wellbeing in the process. It feels more affirming of life.

Adjusting Perspective

Transformation is not about things coming to an end, plain and simple. This is only one microscopic flicker of light through the gears of time. Exhale. Release. Inhale and embrace what life is, and who you are becoming in the act of releasing yourself to it.

See this happening within the ebb and flow of separation and coming together that is the world’s song tonight. Celebrating the fullness of light within the darkness, celebrate what you are to become. The seed breaks its casing in the dark, knowing the light within it belongs to the light without it. Life’s reinterpretation of itself happens within that zero-point. Now, you get to choose.