Trusting Your Wings

The Cliff

Have you ever felt like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff? You’ve climbed high, gathering knowledge, insights, and experiences along the way. You’ve read the books, followed the practices, and glimpsed truths that resonate deep in your being. The view is breathtaking. From this vantage point, you see possibilities stretching out in every direction. You know there’s more — more freedom, more alignment, more life. And yet, to reach it, you must leap.

This cliff is not physical. It’s the threshold between knowing and living, between theory and embodiment. Standing here, you may feel torn. Part of you thrills at the open sky, sensing your wings are ready. Another part clings to the rock, desperate for safety, fearing what will happen if you let go.

When I imagine this view, I see it as a fourth-dimensional perspective — not just looking out across a landscape, but gazing across timelines. Every choice, every belief, every action stretches out into endless potential futures, branching like rivers across the horizon. It is not just a valley below but a mountain of possibilities, layered in time as well as space. From the cliff, you glimpse your life not as a single path but as an infinite field of outcomes.

This is the crossroads many arrive at after diving into teachings like Bashar’s wisdom about following your excitement and Neville Goddard’s revelations about “living in the end.” Intellectually, the truth is clear: excitement is the compass, imagination creates reality. But the leap — trusting it fully — feels daunting.

The question becomes: how do you step forward when you don’t yet believe the ground will appear? How do you trust your wings enough to leave the cliff behind?

Why the Leap Feels So Scary

Fear at the edge of transformation is natural. Here’s why:

The mind craves guarantees

The mind is a survival machine. Its job is to predict danger, calculate risks, and protect you from the unknown. Standing at the edge of the cliff, the mind scans for certainty: Where will I land? Will the wings hold? What if I fall? It wants to see the whole flight plan before allowing the first step.

This is beautifully illustrated in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. At one point, Indy faces a deep chasm with no visible way across. The instructions tell him to take a “leap of faith,” but the mind resists — there’s no bridge in sight, only empty space. Fear screams: Impossible. You’ll fall to your death. And yet, when he finally steps forward, his foot lands on a perfectly solid bridge that was invisible until he committed to the leap. The path was there all along, but it could only be revealed through trust.

That’s exactly what happens in our own transformation. The cliff is only frightening because the mind cannot measure the invisible bridge that appears as you walk it. The leap asks you to trade mental security for lived experience. Just like Indy, you discover the bridge not by seeing it first, but by stepping onto it.

The ego fears loss of control

The ego thrives on being in charge. It wants to decide the rules, control the outcomes, and maintain the familiar sense of identity. The leap threatens all of that. What if trusting your excitement means leaving behind the roles you’ve built your life around? What if living “as if” challenges your old story of who you are? To the ego, this feels like annihilation. It whispers, If you let go, you’ll dissolve. If you trust, you’ll lose everything you’ve built. But the truth is the opposite: by clinging tightly, the ego keeps you small. By letting go, you expand into more of who you really are. The fear of losing control is really the fear of becoming limitless. Control is comfortable, but it’s also a cage. Flight requires surrender — and surrender feels dangerous to the part of you that has mistaken its cage for safety.

Conditioning keeps us small

From childhood, most of us are conditioned to trust external validation over inner knowing. We’re told to be “realistic,” to measure success by what can be seen, counted, or approved by others. We’re trained to doubt imagination, to dismiss intuition, and to ignore the quiet spark of excitement. This conditioning forms a mental ceiling: every time we approach the edge of expansion, an inner voice says, Don’t be foolish. Stay safe. Stay where you belong. Standing at the cliff awakens all these inherited voices at once. It’s not just your fear — it’s the echo of generations who lived by the rules of scarcity and caution. The leap feels scary because it defies the script you were handed. But here’s the liberating truth: conditioning is not destiny. The fear you feel is proof that you’re breaking free of it. When you choose to leap anyway, you not only free yourself — you create a new pattern for those who come after you.

The body resists change

Even when the mind and spirit are ready, the body often lags behind. Your nervous system is wired to seek homeostasis — a steady state. Any big shift, even a positive one, can feel like a threat to that balance. That’s why your body might respond to the idea of a leap with racing heartbeats, tight muscles, or shallow breath. It’s not because you’re weak; it’s because your body has learned to equate “the familiar” with “safe.” When you stand at the cliff, your physiology doesn’t distinguish between a literal fall and the metaphorical leap into the unknown. Both register as danger. This resistance is why grounding practices matter: deep breathing, movement, and rituals that reassure the body it is supported. Over time, the body learns a new baseline. Instead of bracing against change, it relaxes into it. The leap feels less like an emergency and more like a natural next step. The body becomes an ally, not an obstacle, in your unfolding flight.

Follow the Thread of Excitement

Bashar’s message may be simple, but living it fully can feel revolutionary:

“Follow your highest excitement, every moment you can, to the best of your ability, with no insistence on the outcome.”

Excitement is not random. It is the signature frequency of your higher self, pulling you along the path designed for you. Think of it as breadcrumbs scattered through your daily life. They may not look significant — a book that catches your eye, an urge to take a walk, the spark to message a friend. Yet when you honor these small nudges, you begin weaving a larger tapestry of alignment.

The challenge is that the human mind often dismisses excitement if it doesn’t look practical or profitable. “How will that lead anywhere?” the mind demands. But excitement isn’t about a linear plan. It’s about resonance. Each step leads to the next, in ways you cannot predict. That’s why Bashar emphasizes no insistence on the outcome. When you let excitement guide without expectation, you enter flow. The cliff no longer requires a giant leap — it becomes a series of joyful, curiosity-driven steps. And before you realize it, you’re already airborne.

Living as if It’s Already Done

Neville Goddard approaches the leap from another dimension: imagination. His central teaching is that the world mirrors your inner state. To create change, you must first assume the wish fulfilled.

This isn’t wishful thinking — it’s embodiment. Neville invites you to dwell in the feeling of your desire already realized. Want abundance? Feel the relief and gratitude of already having it. Long for love? Experience the warmth of already being cherished. The leap, in Neville’s framework, is not outward into action but inward into a new state of being.

The mind resists because it wants external proof first. But Neville flips the order: you must provide the proof through your inner world. Your imagination is not fantasy — it is the creative engine of reality. By saturating yourself in the “end scene,” you condition your subconscious to expect it, and life bends to meet the assumption.

Neville and Bashar harmonize beautifully: Neville says be the one who has already flown, and Bashar says act on the excitement of flight now. Together, they collapse the gap between who you are and who you are becoming. The leap is no longer a risk; it’s a natural recognition of who you already are.

The Bridge

When faced with the metaphorical cliff, most people imagine it as one terrifying, all-or-nothing moment. But the truth is gentler: the leap can be broken into mini-leaps. Small, manageable steps that build trust over time.

From Neville’s side, a mini-leap could be visualizing a simple, believable scenario. Instead of leaping straight into imagining your ultimate life, start with something small, like picturing a friend sending you a message. Dwell in the reality of that moment, feel it as though it has already happened, and watch how quickly life aligns. Each fulfilled visualization reinforces the principle: imagination creates reality.

From Bashar’s side, a mini-leap is following an impulse, no matter how small. Maybe it’s trying a new café, picking up a book that sparks your interest, or taking a different route home. These actions might look trivial, but they carry resonance. They train your system to respond to excitement without hesitation.

Over time, mini-leaps stack. You begin to trust your wings not because of one dramatic flight, but because they’ve already carried you dozens of times in smaller ways. The leap stops being a singular, frightening event and becomes a lifestyle of continuous expansion.

Practices to Strengthen Trust

1. Daily Rituals

Structure matters when facing the unknown. Daily rituals anchor you, giving your nervous system a sense of rhythm and safety. Try this simple routine:

Morning (Neville): Close your eyes for five minutes and imagine a small scene that implies your desire is already real. Feel it in your body until it becomes natural.
Evening (Bashar): Reflect on your day. Ask, Where did I follow my excitement today? It could be as simple as listening to a song that lit you up. Write it down.

The more consistent you are, the more these practices reshape your baseline from doubt to trust.

2. Symbolic Leap

Symbolism speaks directly to the subconscious. Create a ritual where you physically enact the leap. Stand somewhere slightly elevated (a hill, a stage, even a sturdy chair). Spread your arms wide, take a deep breath, and step forward with the declaration: I am carried. Repeat this often, and your body begins to associate the leap with empowerment, not fear.

3. Journaling Prompt

At the end of each day, write two short reflections:

One place I trusted my wings today.
What evidence showed up that I was supported?

This builds a personal record of flight. On days when fear creeps back, reread your journal and see the proof. You’ll realize the leap is not blind — you have already been caught many times before.

Making It a Way of Life

At first, the leap feels like a singular, dramatic moment — a choice that divides “before” and “after.” But once you begin, you realize it’s not one decision. It’s a way of living. Every day offers dozens of small edges, small cliffs: speaking your truth in a conversation, saying yes to an opportunity, listening to intuition instead of logic. Each moment is a chance to stretch your wings again.

Over time, the unfamiliar becomes familiar. What once felt impossible now feels natural. You stop asking, Can I trust this? and start knowing, I am always carried. The landscape below no longer looks like a place of danger but of possibility. The wind that once frightened you now feels like an ally, lifting you higher.

And this is the true gift: flight is not about escaping the ground. It is about seeing the ground from a higher perspective, recognizing that your life is not a random series of events but a field that responds to your resonance. The leap transforms from a terrifying gamble into a lifestyle of alignment, courage, and play. You are not meant to stand at one cliff forever. You are meant to soar from one horizon to the next.

You’re Already Flying

Here’s the secret most people don’t realize: if you’ve made it all the way to the cliff’s edge, your wings are already formed. The fear you feel is simply the final test before trust. It’s not proof you’ll fall — it’s proof you’re ready to fly.

The leap is not into emptiness. You are not stepping into a void. You are stepping into yourself — into the truest version of who you’ve always been. The wings are not given after the fall; they’ve been growing quietly with every insight, every small act of faith, every moment of excitement followed.

From Leap to Flight: Making It a Way of Life

Journaling as a Daily Flight Check

If you’d like a simple way to integrate these ideas into your daily life, consider trying MicroNell Journaling — a practice I developed by blending Cornell Notes with micro-journaling. It’s quick, structured, and designed to help you capture the small moments of awareness and alignment that often slip by unnoticed.

This light-touch journaling method lets you track your journey in just a few lines a day. Over time, you’ll begin to see patterns emerge — proof that your wings are already carrying you more often than you realize.

You can read more and get started with MicroNell Journaling in my blog post here.

An Invitation

If this article resonated with you, I invite you to explore my new book, The Resonance Matrix – A Compass for Soul Alignment & Conscious Creation. The book expands on everything shared here and introduces a practical framework for navigating life through resonance and alignment.

The leap isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of flight — and you already have the compass in your hands.