The rollercoaster. Anyone who has spent any time on the Ascension path will be intimately with this monster that seems to dominate our lives. I blogged about this some time back in Welcome to the Ascension rollercoaster, remarking that there wasn’t much to be said about the ‘up’ side of the journey. But…

“The downhill slopes are another matter. We stumble around in a sleep deprived zombie state, our minds numbed, bodies battered and feelings raw. We become hypersensitive to criticism. It’s easy to get dragged into vicious and stupid arguments. Road rage wells inside us at the slightest provocation. Bridges and matches look like a brilliant combination and a devil-may-care feyness can lead us to spur-of-the-moment damaging actions.”

When does the damn thing end?

The Ascension rollercoaster is not exactly fun. Yet my earlier blog failed to ask the obvious question: when does the damn thing end?

At the time, I didn’t have an answer. Now I do. The rollercoaster stops when it can’t go any faster.

The Ascension rollercoaster has an unusual dynamic. It flushes out our deep emotional pain. Because we’re not used to this, initially, even small amounts of pain feel overwhelming and unbearable—as if we’re on the limit.

As we ride the rollercoaster, our capacity to handle pain gradually increases. As it does so, the rollercoaster speeds up. The time lapse between major emotional shocks decreases. The strength of those shocks increases. The process has been likened to birth contractions. Yet our perception remains the same—we’re on the limit. The rollercoaster always feels like it’s going as fast as possible.

Birthing process

However, like the birthing process—which Ascension definitely is—there’s an end point, a destination. The smaller the time span between the ‘ups’ and the ‘downs’ of the rollercoaster, the closer you are to its end. So keep an eye on that (if you have the energy).

Like the birthing process—which Ascension definitely is—there’s an end point, a destination. The smaller the time span between the ‘ups’ and the ‘downs’ of the rollercoaster, the closer you are to its end.

Late one afternoon, quite recently, I reached a place of deep joyfulness. Then I felt tired and went to bed early. At 10pm that night I had the biggest nightmare in 30 years of recurring nightmares. The swing from total joy to total nightmare was extreme—yet, completely unexpectedly, I woke up barely aware that I’d had a nightmare… another extreme swing. The rollercoaster couldn’t go any faster.

A few days later I realised what had happened: I’d been spat off the end of the rollercoaster. After two decades, it’s a weird feeling. I’m deeply grateful to this process that has delivered a whole new me into a whole new world. Yet I can’t say that I miss it. When it spits you out, I doubt that you will either.

Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash