Finish Line


The pulse and the prayer meet and merge. The gush of winds pushing and pulling at the finalities of this year as if to shake the remains of it off. Out. Away. To make sure it is gone. Seconds before the finish line. Whatever your plans were this time, whatever it was that looked so promising. All the ignited adventures and the synchronicity that finally flowed and made you feel that all was afloat. Postponed. Delayed. Cancelled. A force bigger than you laid the entire world down at your feet. Wait here indefinitely, dear soul.

It seemed unfair and merciless at first. It threatened to turn you into stone. Stone like conditions were crawling in your blood, up your veins, touching your heart, the frozen state and the eternity ahead with no lust for even tomorrow. Praying for better days, praying for grace and the only response was a void of silence, whispering back a whole lot of nothing. Unaware that you had closed yourself up so much, that you couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel, weren’t receiving news from that void where all creativity went on, birthing all your tomorrows, but you just hadn’t arrived yet.

All the promises that had to fold are still potent. They are still waiting to be fulfilled. The state of hibernation and going to sleep, just as you wished for, was curiously also granted. That’s the coping mechanism, the shield put up while repeating and thus manifesting 'please, please let me not feel any of this, as I shall surely lose my mind completely, and I need that mind for later.' Catching the tiniest flicker of hope at the bottom of the Pandora’s box that was and had to be opened. Holding on to lOve, what else is real? The scizophrenia of debating between the head and the heart, while a thousand real and unreal dreams replaced awake day consciousness that just seemed too unbearably eventless.

Cleansing. Releasing karma. Denied further access until work done. Not just yours. Collectively. The contracts to which and whom you are bound.

The pulse finally caught up and merged with the realization of that. The withheld adventure, that just waited for better timing, but was never gone from creation.

All the promised things are still there. It just waited for better timing. I know them, as my pulse finds its natural pace, as I stretch and wake from hibernation, strangely off cycle, as with everything else this mad year. There can be Springs in Autumn, the portals may be opening and seeds ready for casting into a welcoming womb of darkness. Aiming for exactly that pit where it needs to fall and latch onto. This time. The prayers are pure, the vows are honest.

As we ask to be released, to be delivered onto the only present that truly honors us, did we honor and thank the energetics of this year, that took away our momentum with all its golden opportunities, and asked us to patiently await our turn to shine, till we moved beyond theories of duality and contrast, waves and unwaves and come back onto a state of Oneness within ourselves.

A sacred state, that transcended all the becoming, all the consequence of past, all the cause and effect, and reminded us to just shine. Just being us. Shining from within to the without. To forget the tears, the suffering, any pain, anything that kept us from knowing, we have a different purpose for being. And to come into the knowing of honoring that- and that’s all this journey is about. Now.

Just to shine from the depths of our souls. And then, go make those miracles now. Go on. Go do all that promised. It is all still waiting right there.

Image credit: Butterfly Nebula, by Nazim.

​© 2020 by Camila Reland

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