By Carolina Oquendo

I didn’t remember how I got here.

One moment, I was somewhere else—maybe at home, maybe at work. And then, suddenly, I was here.

The house was old. Not ruined, not abandoned, but ancient in a way that made time feel layered. The wooden floor creaked under my steps; the walls lined with bookshelves stretching too high for the ceiling. A fire burned in the hearth. 

And there, seated on an old leather sofa beside the fire, as if he had been waiting for me, was the Master.

He looked the same as always—relaxed, timeless, exuding that maddening calm that had always unsettled me. 

I was confused, not necessarily scared but wary. Instead of greeting him or doing whatever I usually did when I was with him, I just silently looked around the room. 

He studied me for a moment, then gestured to the seat across from him. “Sit,” he said.

I hesitated, then shook my head. “No.”

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Ah. The resistance is still strong, I see.”

I crossed my arms, trying to steady myself. There was something about this place that made everything feel… exposed. The layers I had built, my own identity, felt fragile here.

“You’re ready, you know,” he said.

The words sent a jolt through me.

I scoffed. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but whatever it is, I don’t feel ready.”

He nodded, as if I had just confirmed something. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re playing the game.”

I frowned. “What game?”

“The game of pretending you’re not there yet, that you’re not ready.”

His voice was gentle, but it struck like a blade. I had been trying my best to ignore what he was talking about, but I couldn’t deny the truth behind his words. I couldn’t pretend anymore that I didn’t know what was really happening. 

“You are there,” he continued. “But the part of you that has spent lifetimes figuring things out, analyzing, processing—it needs to keep doing something. Otherwise, what does it have left?”

A pulse of irritation surged through me. “So what? I just sit and do nothing?”

He tilted his head. “What do you want to do exactly?”

I opened my mouth, but no answer came.

I knew the answer. But saying it felt like admitting something dangerous.

“I just want to know that I’m doing it right, that I’ll finish what I set out to do in this lifetime, and that I’ll finally get to live like a Master,” I said instead with clenched teeth.

The Master chuckled, shaking his head. “What do you think, your soul is stupid? You don’t need to tell it how to get there. It already knows. You already know.”

I closed my eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Then why does it feel like I don’t, that I’m just going around blindfolded, trying my hardest not to fall on my butt?”

“Because the human part of you—the one that has built its identity on intelligence, capability, figuring everything out—doesn’t trust that it’s already done.”

I felt something twist in my gut, a sensation somewhere between anger and fear. The air around us thickened, as if reacting to my unease.

He leaned back in his chair. “Let me put it another way. You’re not just resisting Realization. You’re resisting who you actually are.”

The heat inside me resurfaced.

“I don’t resist who I am,” I snapped.

The Master just raised an eyebrow. “No?”

Something sharp flared in my chest, something that had been buried deep beneath layers of intellect and self-justification.

“I have worked hard to get here, me! I’m the one who has done everything, who has walked this journey. I’m the one!” I said, the words spilling out before I could filter them, with more rage than I thought I could. “Why would I surrender it all to you?”

The moment the words left my mouth, the fire beside him roared, the yellow and red flames flickering wildly.

Silence.

The Master didn’t argue. He didn’t smirk. He just watched. And that was worse.

“Why does my presence unsettle you?” he asked softly.

The flames dimmed. My heart pounded.

I shook my head, trying to keep a resemblance of dignity. “It doesn’t.”

His lips curled slightly. “Why do you feel the need to be more than me?”

And I saw it.

The truth.

I had been fighting him. 

Not because I hated him. Not because I wanted power over him. I just wanted to be acknowledged. That I, my human self, was also wise, capable, relevant. Because if not—then what did that make me? What would be my purpose then?

I clenched my fists, struggling to hold onto something that was slipping away.

“This isn’t about proving yourself to others anymore,” he said. “You’re even trying to prove yourself to me. To the Master part of you.”

I looked away, staring at the fire. The flames had calmed, but they burned steadily.

“You’ve been fighting me,” he continued. “Fighting the part of you that is already there, because if you accept it, the need to figure things out ends. Then you believe the human part of yourself will disappear, or even worse, that it will become insignificant. And you don’t know who you are without it.”

“And of course the human doesn’t trust that,” he continued. “It doesn’t believe that it can just allow, just experience, so it fights. It tightens its grip. It thinks it needs to work harder, process more, earn it, and succeed. And yet, it doesn’t. That’s the trick. That’s what the human mind cannot comprehend.”

I sat there, my whole being teetering on the edge of something vast.

“Tell me,” the Master said, leaning in. “Are you willing to stop fighting me?”

✨AI Generated

The question hit like a thunderclap.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to.

But there was still something gripping, something hesitating.

He smiled knowingly. “That’s okay. You don’t have to force it. Just… notice it. The part of you that still resists. The part of you that still thinks it needs to hold on. Just see it. That’s enough.”

I swallowed hard.

For the first time in lifetimes, I didn’t have an answer.

And maybe that was exactly the point.

The firelight flickered against his face. The lights and the shadows started to play, morphing his features. 

And then I started seeing myself reflected there.

Not just a symbolic glimpse. His features were shifting, becoming mine.

I gasped, stepping back, but there was nowhere to go. The air shimmered, and it was like watching a veil drop—his eyes, his expression, even the subtle way he breathed, all of it was me.

Not an imitation. Not a reflection.

He was me.

I had been talking to myself all along.

The realization hit like a wave, knocking the wind from my lungs. My knees nearly gave out, but I didn’t fall. 

Then I finally understood. My human side had been trying relentlessly to be perfect, to have a perfect life, even though it always placed that “perfection” on the other side, on the side of the Master. 

But I was both the human and the Master. And neither of us was perfect; we just needed to be complete. 

The processing, the need to figure things out, to earn my way into Realization, to build that promised graceful life—none of it really mattered.

It was always about accepting all of me. The flawed, the brilliant, the wise, the doubtful, the powerful, and the powerless. The one who had tried to understand, and the one who had already arrived.

No battle. No need to be more. No proving. Just being.

My breath evened. My shoulders dropped. The fire softened.

The Master—I—smiled.

And then—

I woke up.

The room was still, its ceiling reflecting the first rays of light coming through the window, welcoming a new day.

The details of the experience clung to me, more real than any dream I had ever had.

The fire. The Master. The moment of recognition.

And then, the final whisper of a thought that wasn’t quite mine, yet completely mine at the same time—

You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be complete.

The words of the Master in this story are based on Adamus’ channels from:

Passion 2020 Series – Shoud 3

Merlin I Am Series – Shoud 9

Art of Benching Series – Shoud 4

Art of Benching Series – Shoud 5

Art of Benching Series – Shoud 6