Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
William Shakespeare • The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1
This fine speech, written by a facet of St. Germain, has never made more sense than now, as we’re moving from awakening into self-realization. The aspects, who just a moment ago were pestering demons and a very real pain in the neck, now – after decades of integration – are like spirits melting into thin air. They were nothing but actors, just like Adamus always said.
Those limitations of mass consciousness, that once seemed as towering and dusty as the glass ceilings of skyscrapers or the marble pillars of ancient temples, are crumbling into nothingness. Even more perplexing is the dissolution of the human identity. This identity, many times reborn, that so stubbornly clung onto its own definitions, amounts to nothing but a dream. How can so much history disintegrate into nothing but translucent memory?
It’s surreal; I feel like I’m attending my own funeral. The funeral of the human identity. Not just the personality that I’ve portrayed in this lifetime, but the spiritual seeker who obsessively strode through lifetimes in search of enlightenment. Much like a weary human drifting into sleep at nightfall, I find myself slipping out of my human form. I slip through the tightness of the human mind, through of the gravity of emotions, and out of the density of the body.
I find myself standing on the edge of waking and dreaming: The many experiences of the human identity still vivid in my memory, yet I feel a distance to those experiences; was it ever more than a dream? I recall a time (not so long ago), when that human perception of self was not just real, but the only reality. A time when I felt imprisoned in my own illusions, when that identity was wrapped skintight around me. It wasn’t all bad, at times I even revelled in it. There was something intoxicating about the contrast that can only be experienced in a state of duality. I think incarnating on Earth is a bit like extreme tourism for angels who are hooked on adrenaline. But even that gets boring eventually.
So here I am, watching the funeral of my old self. It’s like watching rain pour on a watercolour painting, blurring the outlines. The rain of consciousness releasing each form from its fixed state. Although the rain is refreshing, every drop hitting the painting feels like a small death. The human tried so hard to control its contours, but the rain of awareness is merciless. Every grand experience and every meticulous detail concocted by the human is sooner or later drenched in the compassion of soul. The nice picture with clear outlines and well-rehearsed realism is now just a puddle of color and a puff of smoke. A big smudged mess – and they call this allowing!
As I experience this inner DreamWalk, sensations of sadness pass through me, for I know deep within that I will never return back to that old human state. Not like before. The sadness is interlaced with a sense of relief and lightness. Breathing into these sensations, I reflect on what it means for the human identity to die. It’s not like I killed my humanity, just to be clear. I’m still grumpy in the mornings and grumpier when I have PMS. I’m still addicted to tea, cake and paperback books. I enjoy sharing a laugh with a friend and I feel sadness when a relationship ends. It’s not like my mind or heart or body is dying; what’s dying is the limited identity. I’m letting go of existing in a pre-AND state.
The irony is that I tried to kill this human ego for a long time, trying all kinds of ways to get rid of the human imperfection. The neediness, the anger and especially the self-doubt. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful. But who exactly was in such a rush to kill the ego? It wasn’t my soul or my I am-ness. It was the human, who had such a hard time accepting imperfection. The human who was afraid of its vulnerability. Might sound obvious, but for me it was one of those “Aha!” moments: Oh, the human never gets enlightened! I don’t need to manage my self-realization. The human can do nothing for realization except relax and stay out of the way. (Right, that took 8 years to sink in. But who’s counting…)
Turns out you can’t willpower your way through integration. What I can do is allow All that I am, even beyond labeling. It’s not me, being a human waiting for enlightenment. I just AM. It’s so intensely simple. I am. Doesn’t even matter what; I am human, divine and everything in between. What’s dying is the need to define myself, because I know that I am. I exist. Needing to define myself came from a place of doubting in my existence.
It raises an interesting philosophical question: Can the human stay alive without its identity? Well, my heart is still beating and my mind is still thinking. Clearly, I’m still human. AND… it’s not the same as it was before. It’s like a method actor who is aware that he’s just an actor, not really the character. Is he really a method actor if he’s aware of all those other layers beyond the character he’s playing? I’ll leave that up for debate.
There’s a lightness that comes with remembering that the experience of the human is just that: an experience. Like a dream passing through my awareness. I still get visitations from aspects, like the infamous aspect of self-doubt, but it’s not such a big deal anymore. When self-doubt comes around for a visit, I invite her in, “Hey, what’s up? Wanna come in for tea and cake? I AM-presence and master-self are here too, why don’t you join the party?”
All is well. Not because all is perfect, but because there’s space for All that I am. I am big enough to hold within me self-doubt, wisdom and divinity – and there’s space left for cake, too. I will always mostly remember that human identity with fondness and gratitude, but I’m also ready to go beyond. All that Shakespearean drama was fun for one or two thousand lifetimes; now I prefer sipping tea and exploring the sensual and limitless lands of And.
Kim is a psychologist, writer and consciousness explorer. For her master’s dissertation, she studied how dramatic techniques can be applied to facilitate the process of integration after trauma (think of Aspectology and Act of Consciousness combined). Kim can be reached through her website: www.kimseppala.com