Suddenly, I believed I could manifest anything and my imagination began running wild. A little too wild. I couldn’t decide what I wanted. My mind vacillated between this and that, rampant with possibility. Like a cartoon character, my feet spinning uselessly beneath me, I tread a hole in the street of action and burned up an entire Sunday (funday) bouncing off ideas.
I love the word “manifest”. More specifically, I love how we’ve taken the word from it’s “original” meaning of demonstrating or showing to making things happen. My mortal self clings to this notion of control. I am not so cynical, however, that I don’t believe our mindset influences our behavior and our behavior influences our outcomes, but skeptical enough to understand that I can’t manifest the blooming of flowers. Heck, I am continuously surprised at how remarkably challenging it is to “control” the one person I am purportedly able to “control”. Despite a decade of practice, my emotional reactions still take me by frustrated surprise sometimes.
Still, I allowed myself a brief feeling of power and a gloating grin when I got the Wordle in two tries. As if, just for a moment, there was a tiny crack in the universe and I slipped through briefly to a plane of unlimited manifestation.