If it’s “uncompleted”
I measure friendships based on depth of the connection. I may have known you for 25 years but if we can’t get into something deep together, we don’t really know each other. And I’m bad at pretending. Thankfully I found a few solid souls along the journey in this lifetime who remind me of the truth and I speak to, bounce ideas off of, or commiserate with when either of us need guidance. I know they are real because they didn’t leave when my karma hit me. In fact, they gave me empathy which allowed me to cultivate empathy for myself. This is a rarity, a gem.
One of my best friends is a great healer. She had been my nutrition client for years, though we always, even from the start spoke about emotions, the mind-body connection, and energy. For years I tried talking her into accessing her healing abilities to help others but she wasn’t ready. It was a deep shame and hiding complex that kept her scared. She thought she wasn’t good enough or that other people would drain her and leave her worse off. Eventually, she stepped into her power and got registered in a healing trade.
She didn’t just go to school to learn her trade. She also found her karma. She fought through the school year in a program full of deceit, war-like encounters, political hierarchies, exhaustion and heartbreak. The coronavirus hit just as she graduated and finally freed herself of the karma in order to venture on her path in the way she felt was most peaceful and authentic for her. She said she felt she did it all for nothing. How could she work with clients in a life of quarantine? There wasn’t a happy ending to her struggles; a reward, if you will.
In my book, I detail an encounter with my twin flame. He was pursuing me around the house in order to force me to stay in the relationship despite me wanting to leave. I was backed into a corner in my bedroom and he grabbed my arms as tightly as he could. His eyes shifted into a deadpan stare. The pretend empathy vanished. He began to push me. I didn’t know if I was going downwards into the floor (which it felt like), or if I would end up smacking the wall behind me but I knew I did not want to be on the ground with this person towering over me. The lead-up to this moment was full of really terrible emotional abuse. I had been called every name they could think of. I had been told I was mentally insane. I had been told I was dangerous. I had been told they would take away the most precious thing from me. I had no one but myself and I had been convinced “myself” was a deranged person. I didn’t even have myself to trust.
“Did I bring this abuse on myself? Was I really such a disgusting person that I needed to be pushed, shoved, and grabbed? That I really was a whore, a bitch, a homewrecker? They could be right,” I thought.
I steadied my feet and pushed back on their chest to force them to release their grip. I also grabbed their shirt collar and pulled because I knew they wouldn’t want their possessions damaged. I had never been in a physical altercation. I had been spanked; I had been hit with a belt or a spoon or a hand. I had been shoved by them before, but I had never fought back. I couldn’t believe they put me in a position where I had to physically defend myself against them. This time, I was disgusted.
After a few tries, it worked. It didn’t “work” to release them because I am stronger than they are, or because they gave up or came to their senses, or because my daughter witnessed it. It worked because as I did that — as I exerted my power over my present- and past-lifetime perpetrator, I decided I would not be beaten or harmed today if I had any say. They hadn’t thought of my daughter and that disgusted me.
And upon that admission, a booming black spark shot between our eyes. We were face to face, head to head, though they towered above me by a good 8 inches.
Upon the release of my personal power, it felt like a blip in time.
We both blacked out, still standing there and fully conscious, just unable to see. The only thing I can relate it to is an orgasm. When your mind goes blank and you aren’t thinking of anything. Because you can’t have an experience that requires your subconscious mind while you are having conscious fight or flight thoughts. Except, this wasn’t pleasurable. It wasn’t painful either. It was black and it was blank. The only message it seemed to convey was, “You finally did it! Goddamn, finally, woman!!!”
Because this person was also afflicted by this black spark, they were completely disarmed and stopped pursuing me. I was free, at least for the moment.
Leading up to this, I had been given many intuitive images and messages about leaving. Trust me when I said I was trying. I told the other person, I was honest, I admitted I was miserable and saw that after too long, they still would not meet me half way. They didn’t even seem to like me. I thought I had been doing the right thing by putting in more effort. That is what the culture tells us to do. That if you don’t keep trying, you are selfish. The divine had shown me that my efforts would get me nowhere. This person was unable to meet me halfway because this was not love. It was the first time I realized how miserable the energy of fake love made me.
There was one intuitive image in particular that I haven’t openly shared. These things are really special to me and people discount them since they cannot be proven and since anything supernatural gets your mental health called into question. But when a message shakes your soul or changes you forever, it cannot be forgotten. It was an idyllic image much like out of the Wizard of Oz. The lush green grass, the brilliant blue sky, and a golden brick road that eventually came to a high brick wall. There was no golden brick road on the other side of the wall. A stopping point. A point you were led to. The wall was decorated with bouquets of flowers, happy balloons, and my daughter’s smiling face. “The marathon is over. This is a good decision for your daughter, she will be happy,” the divine promised, “Now leave the karma.”
If I had known what would come after, I may have never chosen the red pill. In retrospect, I am so glad I did. But I do not know that I would have thought myself capable of leaving my narcissistic handlers and all that it entailed.
For years I lived in shame knowing that I caused irreparable changes by asserting my freedom. I believed the repercussions were my fault alone. That’s what I was told, of course. Eventually I realized that I should have never been abused in the first place. And if being abused caused me to react to the abuse and desire to leave it no matter the cost, that was my right, not my downfall.
The ending to these kinds of stories aren’t always happy from a 3D viewpoint. “Okay, I did the hard stuff, now I get the good stuff” isn’t accurate. It’s more like, “I did what I came here to do and I am healed and I am proud of that. That’s my prize.” Giving up the final desire for the happy ending is pretty essential. It’s a bit like making peace before death. You did what you could, if you didn’t, you learned from it and will never do it the same way again, and the ending isn’t always magical. Sometimes just the fact that it’s the ending point tells you about the effort you put in.
Would an honorable military sergeant prolong a mission just so the soldiers can rest and have fun before coming home? Or would they end the mission because you want to get out as fast as you can before the enemy realizes you have struck again before leaving or retreated? If the mission has been completed, there is no reason to seek some other happy ending. The sense of a happy ending equaling a completion isn’t how the divine operate because happy endings don’t necessarily indicate something has been accomplished. False happiness is the antithesis of progress.
The death that surrounds us at the moment will not feel like a happy. The loss of human rights will not seem like a completion point. The fear and anxiety or apathy does not feel like a job well done for humanity and those who assisted in the ascension process thus far. But if the higher ups have determined the work is completed for this round of the process, then accept the command knowing you did what you could, as did everyone else. Sometimes the end looks like the middle but that’s because in the big picture it is the middle, and in the small picture it is the end.