I Saw What You Want to Do Tomorrow: A message to those waiting for the ships
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A message to those waiting for the ships
I saw what you want to do tomorrow.
You want to carry your fear right up until the very last second—and then hand it off. You want to stand trembling at the edge of responsibility, convinced that when the moment peaks, the ships will arrive, the doors will open, and someone else will lift you out of the weight you refused to release.
You believe rescue is guaranteed.
You believe timing will forgive hesitation.
You believe frequency rises automatically—without courage.
This belief is where missions fail.
The Ships Are Not What You Think
The ships are not transportation.
They are thresholds.
They do not collect the fearful at the final moment—they reflect what has already been integrated. They do not rescue identity; they respond to coherence.
Waiting until the last second to choose love is not faith.
It is procrastination disguised as spirituality.
Dragging the Old World Aboard
You say you are here for the new world, yet you are still trying to pack the old one into your luggage.
Fear.
Hierarchy.
Approval-seeking.
Victimhood.
Specialness.
You still value fear more than love because fear feels familiar. Love still feels abstract—something you talk about, teach, analyze, but do not fully inhabit.
You want to be powerful, yet you also want a saviour.
You want sovereignty, but not solitude.
You want ascension, but only if someone else initiates it.
This is not readiness.
This is dependence with spiritual language.
Still Waiting for Christ to Do It for You
You say you follow Christ, yet you still want Christ to rescue you—so you don’t have to fully stand in what you already carry.
You want to be chosen, not embodied.
You want salvation, not responsibility.
You want love, but only after fear has been removed first.
But fear is not removed before the crossing.
Fear dissolves through it.
Love Still Has Conditions
To you, love is still conditional.
You love those you approve of.
You withhold love from what threatens your self-image.
You judge others—and then quietly judge yourself unworthy.
So you doubt your power.
And because you doubt your power, you wait.
And because you wait, you fantasize about rescue.
The ships become a story that allows delay.
When the Ships Appear
When the ships appear—when the threshold arrives—you will still be running around tying up loose ends. Rearranging energy. Managing optics. Fluffing pillows in a structure that was never meant to be carried forward.
You will be organizing instead of choosing.
Preparing instead of standing.
Explaining instead of being.
And when the old systems finally collapse, you will find yourself fleeing with the crowd—not because you don’t know better, but because the crowd still feels safer than silence.
The crowd that doesn’t listen.
The crowd that runs on momentum.
The crowd moving toward the cliff no one wants to name.
Who Is Actually Lonely
You think Christ is lonely.
But the loneliest being is not the one standing alone in truth.
The loneliest being is the one who cannot see their own reflection—running with the crowd, chasing the next alarm, the next danger, the next distraction—while the invitation passes quietly beside them.
The Warning
The ships do not take fear aboard.
They do not negotiate with ego.
They do not wait for you to finish rearranging the old world.
They respond to presence.
If you wait until the final moment to release fear, you may discover that the moment was never about timing—it was about choice.
Nothing is coming to save you from yourself.
You were never meant to be rescued.
You were meant to remember.