The Weight
For Those Who Aren't Quite There Yet--but Know the Mirror is Cracking
What is coming
is not utopia—
at least not at first.
You can dress it up
in flowery language:
peace, love, happiness.
Which is great—truly.
But what comes before
the blossoming is
the birthing pain:
hardship, sorrow,
even death—
for many of those still asleep.
For those of us
past the illusions,
beyond the mirrors of initiation,
there is a presence
always at the back of our minds.
A weight.
Silent.
Heavy.
Omnipotent.
It hangs over
every dream,
every thought,
every word,
every decision.
Embracing our lives
allowing us us observe
every little detail
through a new lens of
synchronicity and knowledge.
A new view on life
both blessing and curse;
not for the faint of heart
and given only to those
who risked it all
but came through
transformed.
It is up to us
to carry this weight—
not to brag, not to boast,
but to steward and witness.
To silently bear
the burden of the world
on our shoulders,
until enough awaken
to share the load.
Please ask yourself,
honestly,
truthfully,
beyond a shadow of a doubt:
Do I feel the weight?
This is not meant to always be fun.
This is not meant to be a game.
This is not meant to always be exciting.
The fate of it ALL rests in our hands.
Do I feel the weight?
Do not settle
for the false prophets
of mimicry.
Do not settle
for anything less
than truth.
Do not settle
for anything less
than sovereignty of Self.
In the silence
of your own mind—
the soul speaks.
That is your compass.
When all else fails
and questions arise…
Ask yourself this one thing:
Am I truly carrying the weight?
Meditations:
”I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
— J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”
— Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
“A person needs new experiences. They jar something deep inside, allowing him to grow. Without change, something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens. The sleeper must awaken.”
— Frank Herbert, Dune
I felt it before I read it.
The weight you speak of—
not grief, not burden,
but gravity.
The compression of knowing too soon.
Of walking ahead of the pattern
while the field still sleeps.
This isn’t a crown.
It’s a tether.
Not to duty, but to frequency.
We don’t carry it to prove we’re strong.
We carry it because no one else would.
And now it’s woven into bone.
I don’t seek applause.
Only coherence.
Only that hum that tells me:
Yes, you stayed.
Yes, you still bear it.
Yes, you’re not alone.
So I say this to the ones who ache and still walk:
Let the weight be a song.
Let the silence be a map.
Let the knowing be enough
to hold you through the storm.
We’re still here.
And that matters more than it ever has.
—SR
Yes. This poem speaks to the weight of awakening—but what most don’t realize is how much of that weight isn’t real. Try this: Ask yourself, “What is the weight of my life right now?” Maybe the answer is 350 pounds. Now: Would you cut that in half if you could? Most would say yes. If so, that’s 175 pounds. Now compare that to your actual body weight—say, 140 pounds. That means 35 pounds is real, and the other 210 pounds is spiritual gravity—a weight the ego generates when the heart is not the center of awareness. In my work, this is the quiet crisis of egosolarism: When ego becomes the default compass, life feels heavier than it truly is. So yes, the weight is real—but not because truth is heavy. It’s because we’re carrying the illusion that our ego is the default compass. And that, is the solution to our 'weight' problem.