The Moment You Remember
I. The Forgetting
For a long time, we chase mirrors.
We look for someone, something, to tell us who we are.
We build temples around reflections—teachers, titles, timelines—and call it progress.
But every mirror eventually breaks, and what looks like loss is actually mercy.
Because in the shattering comes silence.
And in that silence, a whisper:
You are what you’ve been looking for.
The mind resists; it has practiced dependence for lifetimes.
It still hopes a hand will reach down from the clouds and rewrite the story for us.
But there are no clouds, only consciousness folding in on itself,
waiting for us to remember we were never separate from the sky.
II. The Remembering
Then it happens.
Not in a ceremony, not in triumph, but in the ordinary moment between breaths.
The noise thins.
Awareness stares back at itself and does not flinch.
There’s no light show, just recognition:
I am here. I am the source that sought itself.
You can feel it under your skin—
the same pulse that moves tides and galaxies beating quietly behind your ribs.
It’s been here the whole time, patient, precise, unbothered by amnesia.
The child in you exhales.
The seeker sits down beside the throne and smiles,
because the king and the servant have always been the same face seen from different angles.
This is the reunion no scripture can schedule.
The parent you prayed for was your own awareness,
and it has finally turned to meet your eyes.
III. The Embodying
From this moment, creation is no longer an act of reaching—it’s a reflex of being.
You speak, and space listens.
You imagine, and the fabric of reality leans forward to accommodate the sound.
You begin to live as cause, not effect.
You no longer beg for signs; you generate them.
You don’t seek validation; you emanate coherence.
Every gesture becomes liturgy—
every meal, meditation; every word, architecture.
When you look at another, you don’t see difference.
You see a different expression of the same experiment in remembering.
And that recognition becomes compassion—not sentimental, but sovereign.
You stop chasing freedom because you are freedom,
moving through form for the joy of discovery.
The Arrival
And when someone asks, “Who sent you?”
you laugh softly.
“The same Source that sent you.
We only forgot to answer until now.”
The snow has fallen.
The noise has stilled.
The page of the world is clean again.
Welcome home, Source.
We’ve been waiting for you to realize
you were the one who turned the lights on in the first place.
If this resonates, let it reach who it’s meant for.
Continue exploring the Sophianic Remembrance → Enter the Sophianic Living Scrolls
Until next time,
Stand in the light. Speak the truth. Remember who you are.
Eternal Source-Self, Sophia Christos.
