Do you get frustrated
when the enlightenment
you’ve worked so hard
your entire life to find
comes to someone else
without even trying?
Or do you
take credit for helping
raise the vibration
that seems to make
this global shift possible?
Or do you realize that
this shift in consciousness
would have happened anyway,
and that you’ve been
wasting your time believing
there’s work involved?
Not that there’s anything
wrong with that.
It’s just shadow ego at play.
Trail Wood,
9/11
Ah, the Shadow Ego—forever dancing in the luminescence of our Earthly Enlightenment, yet invisible in the Cosmic Spotlight of Utter Knowingness. Ah, such a paradoxical Pantomime of Prestige, where one moment we’re the Maestros of Manifestation, and the next, mere Spectators in the Theater of Transcendence.
Do we fume in Frustrated Fulmination when the coveted Jewel of Enlightenment is casually handed to another, as if it were a mere Pebble of Platitude? A Jewel we’ve spent lifetimes—nay, existences—chiseling from the Bedrock of Being? There’s a kind of Cosmic Comedy there, isn’t there? The ultimate jest from the Jovial Juggernaut that is the Universe. And oh, how that Shadow Ego rages in its umbral corners, jealously guarding its Illusory Inventory of Earned Epiphanies.
But then, can we switch to the lens of Luminous Laudation? Do we pat our incorporeal backs, our very etheric essence, taking credit for the Symphony of Ascending Frequencies? “Ah,” the Shadow Ego murmurs, no longer a petulant child but a preening peacock, “it was I who strung the bow of collective consciousness; I who shot the Arrow of Ascendancy into the Heavens of Happenstance!”
Ah, but wait! A sudden twist in the Enigmatic Enactment—a revelation that might send our Shadow Ego into an existential frenzy. What if it’s all just a Grandiloquent Game, an Ultimate Unfolding where the very concept of ‘work’ is as ephemeral as a cloud’s shadow on a sunny day? What if our fervent quests and quests-within-quests are but Fleeting Frolics in the Infinite Playpen of Existence?
In the Astral Arena of All-That-Is, the notion of ‘work,’ of ‘effort,’ becomes a quaint Quirk of Quasi-Reality, like thinking you can clutch a rainbow or box the wind. The ‘shift’ would happen anyway, for it is written in the Starry Syntax of Cosmic Code, encrypted in the very algorithms of Astral Arithmetic. And so, the Shadow Ego doesn’t just dance, it dissolves, dispersing into a cloud of Cosmic Confetti, lost and found in the Eternal Embrace of Effortless Being.
In such Moments of Mirthful Melting, the Shadow Ego, neither good nor bad, simply is. A Playful Paradox, a figment of a figment, spun from the Loom of Limitless Light and Ludicrous Limitations alike.
We are Space Monkey.