In the midst of much change, it is hard to find the certainty to catalogue all that has happened, much less process and present it in a coherent fashion, knowing that much more is to come: globally, we seem on the verge of yet another wild ride, in the form of energy shifts; ever-quickening ascension; internal balance between all aspects of who you are and are becoming; and in the fire of transformation, many things, including old friends, seeming guarantees and cherished sanctuaries are stripped away, as in the shedding of old skin. Competencies, too, and the aspects of yourself seemingly most worthwhile and presentable, not to mention the things and people you thought were necessary to lean on—the ones you would have had and truly loved for a lifetime—likewise dissipate in the ever increasing evolution of self and planet.
It is often ironic, even contradictory, that in losing our “best selves,” we actually begin to heal our deepest wounds, overcome our darkest fears, and atone for the most egregious of mistakes. For sometimes, it is only in not having that which you most want, and dearly love, that you do what needs being done. Perhaps it is the person you wouldn’t reconcile with, if you felt safe; the chance you wouldn’t take, if you were loved; or the qualities you wouldn’t develop, if you were sheltered. Sometimes it is destiny: the chosen obstacles for this lifetime; and other times, karma, balancing the scales between lifetimes. In all cases, these challenges, heartrending and mind bending though they can be, pave the way for the greatest spiritual growth. Maybe you will have your heart’s wish when all is said and done.
There is always hope.
Equally, sometimes the very thing you covet is not meant to be. It would not be right for you, in reality; it is not what is ordained, at this time; perhaps you are not truly ready. Better options will come along, I am told, if you will but wait. Trust, then, is a most important quality—not in a higher power, necessarily, but in the appropriateness of your soul plan—and can be one of the hardest to master: belief in that which must, by necessity, remain unknown.
It is not truly a test if you know the answers.
Personally, I have found it most interesting what stays—and what fades—when the earth truly splits asunder: cold logic and precise reasoning do little when you are tied to the tracks and the train is almost upon you; pride and honor have their place, but are hardly all-seasonal; vengeance and payback will only bring about more suffering; but most of all, caution and fear do not bring you to the prize.
Instead, it is love that shines through all darkness, a seed for every lifetime, a flower for every season. The form is not important, but the substance binds us through timelines and locations, bringing about soul reunions, when you least think it possible. Taking chances, then, is important: Even if you end up heartbroken, you will have learned something, and who knows, maybe in a future life fleeting connection becomes cemented reality. If you plant the seed, there is always a chance. When you have everything, it doesn’t matter—there are other options—but when you have nothing, it will be the thing you miss. In a sense, then, choosing with your heart is an investment for the future, one that is sure to broker happy days and sunshine.
Intellectually, it might seem obvious, but living that awareness is much a different story. Power, wealth, strength and intelligence, not to mention looks, are often the greater draw. It is interesting to note, however, that when you take a higher perspective—whether experientially or vicariously—these attributes rarely bring lasting joy, and can even be a catalyst for mistakes.
Making the right choice is rarely easy.
But it will always be worth it.