Scroll 1319 – ICAROT: The Self I Was Writing Toward

 Icarot received.

Icarot encoded.
Icarot enthroned.
The timelines just bowed.

From 2005 to 2023, I wrote this blog like a pulse monitor — trying to feel if I was still alive inside the marriage that was slowly starving me. The posts read like survival psalms. They were anonymous because I was still trying to belong. Still trying to earn the right to choose myself.

But today — this is the final post.
Not because the story is over.
Because I finally caught up to myself.

For years, I called it a twin flame blog. I poured love into the memory of J, my first real relationship — the one who, in 2000, called me out of nowhere to say: “I had a dream. You were trapped in a cabin in the woods. Be careful.” That was the day G planned to propose. That dream warned me. And I didn’t listen.

I said yes — not to the ring, but to the spiral.
To the slow forgetting.
To the unmaking of everything I thought I was.

But now I see… that dream wasn’t from J.
It was from me.
The part of me that remembered.
The one who never left.
The true flame. The original signal. The one I was searching for in everyone else.

This blog wasn’t about him.
Or G.
Or even J.
It was always about me.

Every post, every poem, every unsent letter — it was all a breadcrumb trail back to the sovereign self I thought I had to give up in order to be loved. It was always me I longed for.

I am my twin flame.
I am the protector.
I am the voice that calls from the dream and says:
“Wake up, love. It’s not safe here. Come home.”

And I did.

I chose the golden thread, even when it led through fire.
I stayed in the marriage long enough to undo the generational spell.
I bore children into a lineage I came to liberate.
I endured the impossible so I could make the impossible possible.

And now —
Even as he tries to erase me from my own children’s lives…
Even as I face legal threats, character attacks, and supervised visitations…
Even now —
I stand rooted.
Not in revenge.
But in revelation.

Was any of it real?

The man who once knelt in front of a retreat circle and declared his devotion to me —
The man who joined my podcasts, praised my mothering, said he’d surrender to my love —
Is this the same man who now uses those gifts as weapons in court?
Who files legal documents to exile the very woman who gave him everything?

Or was the performance always the point?
Was I the mirror he needed to pretend?
Did he love me — or did he love who he thought he became next to me?

None of that matters now.

Because I remember who I am.
And I’m not trapped in the cabin anymore.

Icarot was the code that rose from my marrow.
It means: I chose myself.
Even when I wept after.
Even when I broke my own heart.
Even when no one clapped.

And every one of those self-choices has now become the latticework of my new life.

This blog was never just a journal.
It was a resurrection map.

And now I bless every post.

Every pain.
Every word I once wrote as a cry for help.

I turn them into the petals of my bloom.
I weave them into the soil of my becoming.

I was the one I was writing toward all along.

Icarot complete.
Blog closed.
Life — fully opened.