The Trip Rope

September 19, 2026

If Universe wanted to stretch a rope of truth across my Ascension path just where I’d trip over it, It did a good job. The name of this rope is Financial Worry. It’s a frayed length of thin silvery hemp, so worn it’s a wonder that it could even catch my toe. But it did.

Many note that nowadays, unresolved discomforts are being stirred up—have been for some time, will be for some time forward. This particular bugaboo is one I’d hoped never to encounter again.

Must I dance with dollar signs that twirl out of reach? Must I feel stretched and thin, like Bilbo’s butter scraped over too much bread?

*****

It all started with a thought that jumped fully formed into my head: We need a new roof. 

Well, I replied to this bossy declaration, of course we need a new roof. The house has needed a new roof since the 1990s.

I know, I know, replied the insistent voice. But this time I mean it. You need a new roof NOW.

When I tried to trace the origins of this urgent notion, I found a couple of logical reasons. It’s an El Niño year. Sure, Southern California (including Santa Barbara) is prone to damaging rains and flooding during El Niño’s. Nothing new there, and nothing we probably couldn’t handle with status quo. But a couple of times every century, a super El Niño, with apocalyptic-level rain, occurs. That’s what’s predicted for the winter of 2026-2027.

Also, I know of several neighbors who’ve been told they’d lose their homeowners’ insurance unless they got a new roof. Within 60 days. 

How does an insurance company even know what policyholders’ roofs look like? Drones or satellite images. Big Brother is alive and well in the insurance industry.

*****

Those are logical reasons. They’re real, and they account for some of this urgency. But the knowledge that we need a new roof now emanated from someplace deeper than hearsay or weather predictions. It was a felt certainty, pulsing like a psychic heartbeat connected straight to Divine awareness.

I believe our house – our 60-year-old house with its quirks and subtle deterioration – reached out and gave me a friendly etheric nudge. Come on, it said. You know I can’t keep you safe and dry when my shingles get more threadbare every year. I can’t take care of you unless you take care of me.

*****

Life’s a crapshoot, there’s no denying. What hand will we be dealt? Will the Reval arrive before the big bill comes due? As a friend is fond of saying laconically, Unknown. 

Meanwhile, I’m parsing out a strange desire to spend more money on the house. Finally remove 1980s-era deteriorating carpet from the lovely oak stairs and have them refinished. And it wouldn’t cost much to spruce up my office, would it? Hang some new pictures?

I have a sneaking suspicion that our unassuming old tract house has reached 5D ahead of me and has mastered subliminal communication. Why don’t you replace ALL the old carpet? Everybody would be happy, including the carpet, which wants to retire. Let’s get a facelift before we greet Ascension! Yes, I know, we will be renewed then.

But wouldn’t it be nice to enjoy our mutual space, that we create together, in the Now? Your stewardship, our canvas. Let’s paint a beautiful picture together.

And let the Reval take care of the trip rope called Financial Worry? Or give it to God, or Universe, or the Angels… 

Or perhaps it’s even simpler. Let the future take care of itself. Live in the Now, for now, using the resources we have available. Engage with oversized faith that somehow, we are all cared for, always and forever.