12•12: A Threshold, Not a Promise
Your frequency is the glue to your reality
12•12: A Threshold, Not a Promise
December 12 arrives not as a cosmic command, but as an invitation.
Dates like this matter because we notice them. We pause. We listen more carefully. And in that pause, something honest can finally speak.
Rather than imagining a portal opening somewhere outside of us, I experience this moment as a threshold within the psyche. A place where an old inner chapter is ready to complete. Not because the universe suddenly intervenes, but because the soul grows tired of carrying what no longer belongs to it.
There is often a quiet exhaustion beneath our striving. Patterns we learned long ago to survive, to stay attached, to remain safe. Over time, these patterns harden into habits that limit us. We do not always recognize how much energy they require until we begin to loosen our grip.
What I notice now is a subtle shift from confusion toward clarity. Not dramatic. Not instantaneous. But real. Intuition begins to speak more clearly when fear is no longer running the conversation. We stop negotiating with old karmic loops, old relational roles, old inner agreements that once made sense but now feel too small.
This kind of ending is not loss. It is maturation.
When we release what has completed its work, space opens naturally. Space for more honest relationships. More meaningful connection. More accurate expressions of who we are becoming rather than who we were required to be.
Synchronicities tend to follow moments like this, not as signs to obey, but as reflections that we are paying attention again. Life responds differently when we meet it from awareness rather than avoidance.
Nothing here needs to be forced. Nothing needs to be manifested through effort. This is simply a moment to notice what is ready to conclude, to thank it for what it offered, and to step forward with a little more integrity, a little more trust in your own inner knowing.
The next chapter does not arrive fully formed. It unfolds as you do.
And that, I’ve learned, is how real change always happens.
written by Bren Littleton
original photo by B. Littleton
Tin Flea Press c 2025