She dreamed $11,000

I have to pass this on, not knowing exactly what it means or the means in which it came to pass. That matters not at all. What matters is that these things occur.

I don’t shake my head and think that because I don’t understand the mechanism that the import isn’t there. This event, which happened this past month, points again to the Stupendous Mystery at the heart of our existence. It points to more . . . so much more. But those are ideas best fanned out in other posts.

Here it is quickly. It happened to my dear friend T-chele, who owns the retail shop next to our space.

T-chele dreamed she had an $11,000 sale. It was all the more unusual because she was in the depths of the off-season. She told Jose about it the next day:

“I don’t know if it was here or not — the store had two levels [hers has just one] — but you were behind the register.”

They agreed it was a good omen, that it was going to be a good week.

The dream resonated powerfully enough that T-chele told my wife a couple days later about it, while at the same time mentioning she had to have $6,000 within two days to pay her bills.

A $9,000 sale came through on Friday — when T asked how they’d done for the day, Jose looked at her and smiled:

“The total came to just over $11,000.”

None of us know how the process works, not exactly, or how to make it happen consistently. If we did, I’d be over at T-chele’s every night before she drifted off to sleep, whispering . . . about a Sprinter camper van . . . a full head of hair . . . lottery tickets . . . we all would!

It’s the fact that it did happen that is worth cooing about. It points to one more inexplicably delicious element at play in the cosmic playground.

If you have the time, I have the posts

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I don’t know who you are . . . but thank you

In the past three months the viewership for The World Is Freaky Beautiful has quadrupled. That means I don’t know who most of you are. (Except that you are fantastically hip and refreshingly exploratory individuals . . . . )

Thank you for coming here. Repeatedly.

Thank you from my exuberantly messy soul.

Thank you from my playfully earnest heart, for passing this on to your friends and associates. For making it the success it’s becoming.

While I’m at it, let me thank a few others

Aw, heck, why not? This is a good time to thank all those I don’t know who’ve bettered my world. This includes you, person-who-first-thought-of-putting-insulation-on-wires so my home doesn’t burn down.

It also includes you, people-who-bring-us-indoor-plumbing — this is massively convenient. And time saving. We don’t spend time any more ridding ourselves of chigger infestations. (For those who don’t know about chiggers, it’s just as well, they’re a nasty, bitey sort.)

There are so many of you to thank and these thank yous I’ve managed so far have already exhausted me, so you’ll have to thank yourselves, quietly please, as I turn out the lights and head off to bed.

But truly, thank you.

Posts I heartily and soulfully recommend 

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Your light speaks

You have an inner light and this light communicates . . . .

Have you seen the research? First discovered by biophysicist Fritz-Albert Popp decades ago — I believe he got fired for this heterodoxy — it appears that the cells of your body emit faint light particles called biophotons.

Apparently these biophotons communicate not only with other cells throughout your body, leading some researchers to believe this may be the long-sought explanation for those processes that occur faster than biochemically feasible — such as leaping out of the way of your neighbor’s flailing Tree Pose — but they also communicate on the molecular/cellular level with other beings. (!)

Yeah. You knew you did it, but always wondered how . . . you give off those vibes to others, you receive those vibes from others . . . this seems to be one way. Though I’m sure it’s not exclusively the way.

Just as your body speaks with smells — as David Langley’s feet did powerfully on a recent trip — it speaks also through many other languages, some that we’ve yet to discover. If you’re American, you likely speak just one language — isn’t it refreshing to know your body is way ahead of you, communicating multi-lingually like a European?

So, yes, your light speaks. To yourcellf — ahh, fun with language — to your very own cells — to others.

When I was younger in New York City, my light spoke differently than today. If, for example, in my meanderings through the city I encountered an attractive woman who seemed single enough, my light might say, Purrr, hey there kitten, and her light would go Ewww.

Now my light might nod and acknowledge — gratefully — her beauty, but then my light would be forced to tell her light that I’m ecstatically married so we can only be friends . . . .

Look, your light speaks to my light speaks to everyone’s light . . . you might as well send most excellent intentions along with it.

Such as —

. . . when a situation is tense, emit calm.

. . . when you encounter someone in pain, physical or emotional, send out your light minions to soothe the beleaguered light brigades upholding the spirit of the afflicted person.

. . . when passing passers-by, why not send frolicsome light romping joyously through their brainpans?

Beam your light exuberantly out there!

It’s a heartfelt thought away.

If you see me . . . Beam me up. When you beam others up — when you shoot out intentions of uplift — how can you not be-beam yourself up there too?!

Other light-of-heart posts

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A vacation every day

This play-cation we’re on brings up a couple thoughts.

The first is this:

The genius of the Jews! I’ll have to check with a historian, but it’s my feeling that Jews invented the weekend. I may be parroting a hundred thousand other thinkers here — that the Jews came up with this culturally significant idea of the Sabbath, the day of rest, every week without fail. It is this cessation of work life that keeps us sane. And grounded. And inventive. And renewed.

The second is this:

I was able to go three years without a vacation under the most awful business conditions one can endure short of bankruptcy without cracking.

How?

Let’s round up all the usual suspects:

Meditation, often.

Prayer, in urgency, in thankfulness, in support of others, in support of myself and my family and my business and my talents. Prayer especially for my growth, to grow me to be able to navigate this collapse.

Contemplation, silence, communion in nature, communion with self opening to Infinite Spirit . . . frequently.

In essence, quietude of the most significant order — repeatedly — when reeling from the financial blows to our business and our lives, when ecstatic we’d  made payroll on any given week, when in awe of the perfection, when weary of the journey, when overwhelmed by the (seeming) insurmountables . . . . whenever I could.

I journaled, I affirmed, I declared aloud, I visualized . . . I wrote out my heart’s desire . . . I loved more than my small heart thought itself capable . . . .

I was uber-Muslim in my devotions, more than five times a day. I was supra-Catholic in my practice, invoking Spirit into my every action a la Brother Lawrence . . . .

You know what that’s like? A vacation every day. When you connect every day, often, whenever you can, paradise finds you . . . wherever you’re at.

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Mike and Carolyn’s stay-catiion

Mike and Carolyn Cohen were set to vacation in the Northeast a couple of weeks back when it was mucked up by Hurricane Irene. First they scrambled, casting about for other locales, then they hit upon the stay-cation idea — to vacation at home.
Here’s how they imagineered it: They decided to pretend their home was a condo they rented . . . with a kitchen. This way, even though they were planning to enjoy this vacation as if they were elsewhere they could decide to buy some goodies and make a meal or two, should they so desire.
They hopscotched around the North Palm Beach area, going on long beach walks, out for meals, enjoying a spa day . . . .
When friends wanted to meet up, they stopped themselves and asked: Did they come along with us on our vacation?
What worked gloriously
  • Mike and Carolyn loved not packing and unpacking
  • They gained two extra days’ vacation time by eliminating travel days
  • Not one ounce of energy-time was spilled fretting over plans
  • Turns out this Florida place is a great place to vacation, even for Floridians.
Evan and Ann’s play-cation
We were so jazzed by Mike and Carolyn’s thought experiment-home vacation when they told us about it upon their return that we’re copy-catting and going on one too — this very week, right now. My first vacation in three years. In fact, I’m writing this on vacation, from balmy South Florida.

Here’s our tweaked version: We’re imagining this as our real life fast-forwarded into the adjacent future.

Yes, we’re playing a bit from home on fun but essential gallery projects that we simply can’t ditch (updating the website, choosing artists for the next season, the work that is truly play) — yet, yet,  here’s where the thrill chills really kick in — in the spirit of sailors on shore leave, or possibly the Amish when on Rumspringa*, we’re letting loose:

  • While our son is working hard at third grade, we’re slouching about the house as if we’re naturalists with a contempt for all clothing.
  • We’re reading like Russians in winter.
  • Ann doesn’t know this yet, but we’ll be playing new games: Pan chases the water nymph!
  • We’re auditioning some TV at night — yay — that goliath screen sits dark and alone in real life.
  • We’re whispering about going to a movie tomorrow in the middle of the day (!). Oh yes, we know how to debauch.
  • We’re writing (me), we’re painting (her), we’re laughing at plans. Ha ha ha.

Essentially we’re practicing the life we’re working toward. This play-cation is one way of living it now. Of feeling the essence of that life now.

Our play-cation mimics the Paul Myers/Chris Guillebeau concept of living your ideal day.  You imagine it in detail and immediately begin to add what you can of that ideal day into how you live your days now. In this way you create momentum toward fully living it in the (near) future. 


Enough of this, quick, off with you! I’m must play-cate now–

_________________________

* A quick reference to Rumspringa lifted from The Washington Times in a review by Roger K. Miller.

“Rumspringa” is the period during which the Amish allow their children, 16 and older, to doff their modest traditional clothing and religious strictures and taste the temptations of the outside world before deciding whether to become baptized and join the church for life. Some teens go the route of fairly sedate adventures, but others engage in wild parties and dangerous behavior complete with, as Tom Shachtman says, “sex, drugs and rapid transport.”

I can’t say there are any related posts, but here are some personal faves for you to check out in case you missed them 
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Genesis is now and always has been

Inspired text from all time, all teachers, all tribes
If you were to go to the original manuscript for this excerpt, I’m certain it would look quite different. The words would be the same, but the spacing and punctuation is sure to be altered. This bit is taken from Deepak Chopra’s How to Know God, the audio version.

There I was in the car listening to Deepak’s voice when I had to pull over and record this steno style (let’s just call it old-school style for those of you youngins who don’t know what a stenographer is or does). I wrote it down word for word — exhausting the rewind button, which screeched at me finally in an alien porpoise kind of sound kind of way.

The words are accurate, sure, but I went wild — wild, I tell you! — inserting commas and periods and spacing and whatnot wherever I damn well pleased. If you feel the cadence — the rhythm, the space between the beats — is somehow on a level with the angels, well then, I take a bow.

I hope this kind of science speak gets you as hot and breathless as it did me. OK, I’ll shut up. Here it is, the excerpt you’ve been waiting for:

Um, turns out I haven’t quite shut up yet — I realize this is far better if you imagine Depak’s voice, traveling from far away, let’s say . . . hmm . . . as if from India! . . .  sounding as if it’s coming through your very own sinus passage straight to an inner ear attached to a cochlear nerve connecting to the inner you:

As big objects become very small, shrinking to the size of atoms, our senses fail us. An amazing transformation happens beyond the atom. Everything solid disappears. Atoms are composed of vibrating energy packets that have no solidity at all. No mass or size. The Latin word for a packet or package is quantum, the word chosen to describe one unit of energy inside the atom, and as it turned out, a new level of reality.

It is strange to hold up your hand and realize that it is actually at a deeper level invisible vibrations taking place in a void. At the atomic level all objects are revealed as 99.9999% empty space. Electrons break down into energy vibrations that wink in and out of existence millions of times per second. Therefore, the whole universe is a quantum mirage, winking in and out of existence millions of times per second. Quantum flashes are millions of times too rapid for us to register, so our brains play a trick on us by seeing solid objects that are continuous in time and space. 

You and I exist as flashing photons with a black void in between each flash. The quantum light show comprises our whole body, our every thought and wish, and every event that we take part in. In other words, we are being created over and over again all the time. Genesis is now and always has been. 

Who is capable of taking the universe away and putting it back again in a fraction of a second? The power of Creation, whatever it turns out to be, lies even beyond energy, a force with the ability to turn gaseous clouds of dust into stars and eventually into DNA.

Other posts, other portals

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Oh you

You daring, dashing, darling light player, you

You whirling, twirling life dancer, you

You — your thoughts thunder like Thor, did you know? — you thought thunderer, you

You field generator generating a pulse charge of Yes far, far beyond you

You divinely shining glorious-orious passionate pearl, strung along a string of pearls stretched across eternity, each one you, eternally you

You LoveJoyous being, you

You hellion for heavenly highs, you

You hellcat for high energy, you

You are the seed sown and the flower grown, you fragrant smile-inducing spirit, you

You zip, you zoom, you zest your way — oh you, to be you, you, Glorious-orious YOU

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The infectious explorer

You know that feeling of discovery — where it’s so new to you that you feel it must be new to others —
 
You yammer on incessantly about this new find. In your buzzing way you feel you can convey the magnitude of your experience by your exuberance.
 
Atlanta was like that for me once. After my first visit I’m running around exclaiming it’s virtues, reeling off its wonders, rhapsodizing its trees (does any City have more trees?!). Has anyone ever really tasted the elixer of Atlanta? Has anyone really sampled Atlanta’s secret sauce?
 
Umm, dude, millions — who live there! Ma-zillions more who’ve visited.
 
Peggy Mostad is this way. She is new to the path and — when you speak with her — she makes it new for you too.
 
Even if you’ve lived Atlanta for awhile, someone new to its charms is the best guide there is.
 
She explores your haunts with an exuberance you no longer muster. Like your town when you’ve lived there for years — a visitor, someone new to the terrain, can not be matched for helping you fall for its allure all over again.
 
It’s the same with the path you’ve traveled. Peg makes you fall in love all over again with the spirited, spiritual path. Such is the passion of those new to it.
 
The trail she’s bushwhacking for herself has taken her to different places than you or I might go. That’s the charge and challenge of exploration — to do it your way. Her trail has led her to places meaningful to her: to Brian Reekers who delivers angelic messages; to Angela from Dream Angels; to the Kula Yoga Shala . . . other places too I’m sure, but these are the ones that light her up when she speaks.
 
Thanks Peg, for your open eyes, your pounding heart, your near breathless excitement — such is your thrill for discovery that you elicit that same intensity from even those who’ve trod the path some distance.
 
You invite the rest of us to join in and gaze again with fresh eyes . . . .
 
You zesty one, you spur renewed zest for the exploration in the rest of us. Dart down that path! Report back!

Other posts to bushwhack:

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The way of silence

Inspired text from all time, all teachers, all tribes.

This piece is taken from Eric Butterworth’s The Universe is Calling. I’ll get out of the way quickly here so you can enjoy the meat of his message (or the tofu if you’re vegetarian):

Within you right now and all the time there is a transcendent power. It is important to take time frequently to be still and get centered at the “still point” within. That is the consciousness level where you are the focus of the limitless energy of the universe.

Many persons complain that they never have original ideas. They say, “Oh, it would be nice to be creative. I really admire creative people, but no inspiration ever comes to me.” And I often boldly say, “Why don’t you get still and listen?” Often these people are so busy talking, usually about their deficiencies and the injustices rained upon them, that they never really get themselves out of the way so as to experience themselves at the point of oneness. It is as impossible for one who is surrounded with the ceaseless babble of conversation to experience the flow of creative ideas as it is for pure water to flow through a pipe containing crude oil. There is never a moment in your life when the guidance you desire or the creative ideas you need are not present within you, as dynamically present as the force of gravity is present.

The more we know about homo sapiens, this person you are, the more we know that you are a cosmic creature with the whole universe concentrated in you. You are potentially the greatest concentration of energy in the world. Through the projection of this energy (which is precisely what prayer is about), you become God in action. 

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A reminder of your power: Try love first

Lucky you. I was on another trip with the fab artist David Langley this past week — so that means more funky stories for you.

These trips of the past year are long-distance affairs from South Florida, winding (always) through Atlanta where his beloved kinfolk are based, up to Maryland where his clients home for the summer, and then back again. Lots and lots of road miles, days of work, and more lots and lots of road miles on the return.

Whatever would we talk about for all that time?

Turns out the question is — when you’re simpatico, when you’re traversing similar paths, when you’ve been most excellent friends for a long, long time — what don’t you talk about?? You talk everything. Every little thing. Eventually, after exhausting the subjects of recent life and sex and relationships and work and all the people we know about in each other’s lives we get down to metaphysics.


So somewhere in the South, probably Virginia but it could just as easily have been Georgia or Florida, David got around to telling me about a mole growing so rapidly near his clavicle that — by my estimation —  it would have overtaken the size of his head within months and been just as hairy. You can see a picture of David here and know that all that stuff covering his head is not what you want on your mole.

It could have been cause for alarm. Instead of running off to the dermatologist to have it removed — not that he wouldn’t, this is a guy who’s had hair removed in oh you don’t wanna know places — David decided to try love first.

And why not? There’s plenty of time for the industrial-medical complex later, plenty of time for paperwork and insurance and co-pays . . .


He beamed it love


So each day — for just a minute — he would love on this thing. He kept it simple and heartfelt and then moved on. I love the simplicity of David’s process — he addressed the growth with true love, simply, and for short duration. Then moved on.

Within weeks it stopped growing, shrank, shriveled, withered and then flecked off.


When he was telling me this, he even yanked his shirt collar down to show me the area where it had once been. You couldn’t tell there’d been a growth of any kind there recently.

David’s experience is a potent reminder, for any issue we may have, to try love first.

Just for the record: I’m relieved the growth wasn’t anywhere near where he had that hair removed . . . .

Previous posts featuring the David
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