This perspective

I stand alone.

Whitewash the world
reflects back a blank canvas,
And I paint the vibration
of my thoughts upon it.

My thoughts create
the people and the grass, 
the sky and the gravity, 
the hunger and the sadness,
the ultimate whine of emotion. 

My thoughts create my fears, 
intense and longing, 
wide-eyed and full, 
brilliant and decadent. 

My thoughts create
and I am unmade and lost in them
for they consume me, 
mountains pile on me stretching into infinity
for every want ever desired and not, 
every decision done and discarded, 
every possibility sits upon me, 
weightless until the weight of all of them crush me
slowly in the illusion of their reality. 

And I am unmade and become them,
so buried beneath myself created ideations
I am relegated to ideation itself, 
and my thoughts create more of me, 
all in aid of trying to find me.

And thus I am unmade. 

Light,  however,  glimmers periodically. 

The people I created with thought
walk and talk
with will of their own, 
as if their holographic construction
evolved into actual sentience, 
and I interact until I perceive them as the reality. 

And then I love and hate them, 
worry and coddle them, 
feel the persecution of them,
until I am buffed by their own thought forms
and I am further unmade.

Then light gleams, a single clear ray. 

I fall in love, 
and she is so bright
inside my closed eyes,

the lightness fills my soul
and it shines out my chest, 
between my breasts, 
and I am momentarily whole. 
For a moment I am
by the infinite mountain
of thought debris. 

And I shine, 
and I glow, 
and I absolutely expand
into a feeling of airiness. 
I feel as if I were light and air.  For a moment.

For a moment. 

She is there, 
just not here, 
here she is dense,  a creation,
and one that hurts even as it
brightens me,  inspires me.
She looks like a creation of this world, 
and I see her with open eyes
And thorny flaws
and skin so precious a color I want to weep at the sight of it
for it is so precious to me. 

I enjoy her smile, 
bask in the light it throws, 
and I revel in each and every
gentle gesture she makes
towards me. 

And I am undone.  I unravel, 
I literally unwind all the ropes of
pain and anguish
each infinite whim and thought
conjured to bind me, 
and it feels like falling, 
but I am mere whittled away, 
for a moment at a time,
into what I was, 
until my creation overpowered me.

And that is how you see heaven I think, 
see past the illusion,
see beyond your own minds expression, 
and glimpse the other side. 
Glimpse the next realm, 
another reality,  the other world. 
The other’s world. 

I felt God when I I looked upon her, 
eyes wide open and tightly shut,  and. . . 

. . .   And I think for a moment she saw me,
from her own world,
from beneath her own infinite mountain, 
from her own living grave,  I think she saw me. 

And I was with her in some timeless place for a time.
Until we let the thought forms
back in and they distracted us
into separation. 

The world is whitewashed
beneath the paint and
peeling paper and
splattered beginnings,
heeded endings. 
The world is empty
and I mask the emptiness
with imagination painted like
so much acrylic scree
stuck to the thing. 

And the people are just people, 
extensions of me only
as they are mine mind
come to life. 

Until I saw one and chose to see, 
loved one and chose to disclose.
Until I opened my eyes to
the illusion of the mountain, 
so infinite
and heavy
and imaginary.


Because: Illustration

I let myself sleep in with a dream lover.


This morning I woke up with a thousand worries and nothing to actually do but dwell on them. Or, shall I say, I was meant to wake up thusly. And I did wake up, facts the same. However, on the edges of sleep and waking, just before when I was to open my eyes, I was dreaming. And the dream was not going pleasantly.


There was much disarray and fighting being done, the character who was me made some mistakes, and when I realized I had control I bade her apologize. Or rather I apologized, now taking up the role which I already lived there, giving care and love back, turning negative into learning and positivity. I’ve been doing that a lot lately in my waking state so it was easy to do in my dreams now.


I did apologize and received an armful in return. A naked and desirable and dominating armful, with a pretty sinful mouth and wicked fingers. And the dream followed that line of thought to it’s very satisfying conclusion.


Why am I telling you of such personal intimacy? Because: Illustration.


Because how we feel affect what we bring to ourselves, so says the Law of Attraction, to which I subscribe. I have been worried of late. Worry bordering on they way one wiggles a loose tooth with their tongue despite the twinge that brings. I’ve had two things on my mind. Money and love. Heavy subject for any one mind but for me I find usually love wins out as more pressing.


If you read my blog you might have found the last few posts dripping with ennui and pathetic pining; even I am tired of feeling heartbroken, but we write what we know. And I have known worry; since all the other good things in my life swiftly coalesced into awesomeness so straight went my attention the the lingering negatives. Number one being my recent ex; the heart ache more poignant due to her making contact a few weeks ago. And number two:  Money. Money has been a pressing issue, or rather the lack and lateness of it. I’ve been expecting several checks. My worry has been keeping me from them.


Abruptly I find all my attention focuses solely on this imaginary lover, this dream lover. It isn’t that she is perfect, she is not, it is that I crossed a bridge in that dream. In a dream where my worldly worries and learned fears remain far from mind, I felt no need to hold back. I gave her trust, which I hardly do when awake; trust is one of my issues. And I did wake feeling a little cured of that. The dream was enough that when I did wake I felt, it feels, as if I truly woke in a lovers arms. As if I truly spent the morning there. My brain literally stuttered when my mind wanted to worry the negatives while I sat the toilet after rising deliciously late from my bed. And the worries which had been hounding me seemed not so great. Their import lay far behind me. So too, in fact did the missing of my ex, and I spent the morning happy instead of worried. Completely happy. No effort to be that way, no forced and gritted teeth willing myself happy. Just natural happiness.


Immediately I get a call. The check has been delayed but here’s some money to tide you over til it arrives. For the holidays. Shall we drop it off for you?  What’s your address?


Talk about hand delivery. And instant manifestation. Instant gratification even!


Amazing. It is truly and simply amazing what can happen when you get out of your own way.  This is what can happen when light and love divine does get let in. I remember speaking to myself as I lingered on the edges of sleep. I was scolding myself, in a caring way. I told myself to accept the money coming my way. I hadn’t yet. I hadn’t believed it was mine. I had been awaiting belief until it was in my hands.  And then I did so deliberately; I let myself accept the money. And then I worried not. And then it came.


Ask. Accept. Believe. Allow. Receive.


… Or something to that effect.


Law of attraction in action. Deliberate creation.


Thank you Universe for your infinite kindness. Thank you for being there for me even when all my doubt is in play. Thank you for always always giving me what I want, whatever I want. Thank you for … being. Your existence is precious to me; I see us as one and the same. As I thank you I thank myself.  As I care for myself I care for you. As I bless you I bless myself. I am grateful.


I bless myself with light and love. I bless myself with pure source energy.




Because: Illustration


I want you to know that I am free.

I wear the shackles willingly.

In fact I put them on myself.


I, who locked this infinite

presence into a devil’s shell,

a wind up toy. Twist twist and

let it dance to the drums,

making merry on a flute

which creates worlds,

don’t let it die,

don’t let it stop,

don’t let it go,

just make it play for eternity

for your prurient entertainment.


If the drums stop

you will die.


And when he comes to wind you up,

the one who doesn’t know you,

but cares so much

about not letting you die,

don’t let him for he can’t break you free,

neither can I.

Only you, little rabbit,

only you can twist tune into rainbow

and ride it high.

And when you die,

you never did,

just the shell turned to stone of man

shape and countenance,

not devil, not pan,

any longer.


And then, he reaches into me,

tears off the scabs from my heart center,

pulls off the shutters,  

pulls open the stained glass

and bades me see.

A tree.

In the middle of me.

She is dry, not enough

wet to the soil, which remains

far too light a hue,

and not enough light,

from divinity.

Clearly the dry brittle tree

Is me.

And so add water, darker soil,

expand the cage,

open the crown

and let in such bright.


And then you’ll see the chains,

they wrap round my wrists in shackles,

On my left: knowledge,

On my right: perception,

And on my ankles,

The right: attachments,

and the left: my soul.

So beautiful I could die to see

Shake them off, they aren’t locked tight,

indeed hang loose and then

I am free.


To know

I know

nothing. Yet.


Bade me back,

rehang the chains.

Shackle me again.



It’s all about vulnerability.

And curiosity.


I am willing. I am eternal. I am free.


Ugly duckling–in my way,

Let I, let thee go far astray?

Belay, Belay!! The Way of Pay,

Bestay, Bestay!! Off and away!!

To take, and trust, all difficulty’s bay–

Sheer madness, stubbornness–masochistic I say!

Let off, let off!! Idiotish martyr you may,

Simply walk the easy road.

A Close Encounter of the Higher Kind

My problem is I don’t listen to my gut.

I’m not sure why I don’t, I think I might be too distracted by all the pretty pictures in my head. But the universe verily screamed at me today in order to gain my attention. Call him god, call it higher power, call it vibration; It doesn’t matter what you call it, because this force which drives us–on a path we truly want to be on, secretly, perhaps unknowingly–is very real.

In actuality it refused me twice, actually count that three times on things I wanted today, or thought I wanted. I wanted to go to Trader Joe’s to buy food today. I had the vaguest idea of finding pasta for the foundation of dinner. I did go there, twice in fact, but the first time it was packed, I didn’t really understand where to find anything, and while the prices were good, I wasn’t willing to stay the line when the line stretched the entire store around.

I traded Trader Joe’s for Food Emporium. That was a resounding mistake. Food emporium had everything I wanted, I found it all, placed each item in my cart, made my way to the checkout counter, watched it all ring up, swiped my car on $60 which made me almost flinch–

–And then the employee tells me they no longer accept EBT.

To say I was furious was an understatement. My self imposed schedule had me boarding the 4 train about 20 minutes prior; in my mind I was already late. But then, I thought about it, and I realized was quite relieved in actuality. I didn’t want to spend $60 anyway. But I was still in a quandary.

I walked across the street and just stood there, dumbfounded.  How could that have happened? I’ve been shopping there for two years and its always been true I could use EBT.  I was so … Disbelieving. In my daze of incomprehension I walked back to Trader Joe’s reluctantly. I didn’t want to brave the crush or the line but I needed supplies. My decision was provided for me. Trader Joe’s line had grown. Now, there was a line to get in the store as well.

Outrage is too strong a feeling, anger wasn’t the emotion. It was, need. I needed to get things done, and the universe was getting in my way.

That should have been a clue. It wasn’t. I was too much in my head.

So then, it became necessary to choose Whole Foods. My time was gone. I was due on the train immediately. I had to supply dinner, it was my turn, and it was going on 3:30pm. Dinner was to be at 6. I was desperate.

Now let me explain, when I got off the train at 14th Union Square at 1pm I had had a very small urge to go to Whole Foods first. I wasn’t very keen on the idea as the entire focus of my mind visualized Trader Joe’s .. But then, maybe that isn’t right– I pictured in my head pasta, like would be at whole foods– so perhaps it was just my stubborn whim which wanted to go.

And so to Whole Foods. Immediately inside I find what I need. I pick up things I didn’t know I needed. I had practice because I had already bought this meal, without getting to actually buy it, at Food Emporium. And then I find the last minute things, even after I forget them. The last thing is tortillas; I’m headed for the elevator, about to leave, and there they are, leading me to grab them, and the elevator, where two old black ladies are boarding, all walker and 80 year old shuffling.

So familiar I am with elderly black ladies since I moved to the Bronx, they feel like home to me. They are chattering at each other good naturedly, like my grandparents do, this push/pull of conversation, which is so natural it feels like scene acting, and the words almost pointless behind the feeling.

I ask, as I would talk to the ladies at my grandparents church, all respectful of age, all familiar as I would speak to a child, if there was room for me? And with wide welcome they let me join them. And we rode the elevator and they spoke of not having met in years but now were spending the day together. They were so happy to do so, and I wished them luck and happiness, and we parted in high spirit.

And after I checked out, the line was rather long but not unbearable, I decided to take my habitual route to the 4 train, and low and behold they both stood at the corner awaiting the light, the walking man sign had just changed to a red hand . The one with the stooped spine and walker had her head down, rummaging through something, speaking to the taller one with a plump face and glasses.

I encouraged their notice, the taller one seeing me first, the stooped one looking up at the taller ones  encouragment, and –small jostle of shoulders– a welcome ‘oh.’ I was so pleased to see them, for some reason; I waited with them and asked if I could accompany them across the street, even walking slowly, and briefly backwards as to face them in conversation, the whole while. They were a bit slow going. I didn’t want the impatient taxi to hit them and thought my body would serve more incentive not to.

We chatted. On the curb, crossing the street, on the opposite curb. We stood in pedestrian traffic’s way. People went around us. We blocked traffic. I didn’t really notice though. I was too caught up in conversation. The stooped one was adamant this was not coincidence. She exclaimed how people had been beautiful to the two of them all day, and now I was here. They agreed when I mentioned a good vibration. And then, back safe on sidewalk, she stops and talks to me, the stooped one. She makes mention of eyes being a window to the soul, which I find remarkable as I am staring into her eyes, which remain so bright, and I am seeing her spirit like light and waves against paper thin skin. And I am feeling who she is.

Is it her age which shows her spirit so muchly? Is it her settledness into herself? Then she cautions me against people who do not look me in the eye.

“Be wary,” she says, “You’re too trusting! Be careful.” How people get this about me in so little time, all the time, I really can’t figure out.

But I smile, because this time it didn’t really bother me coming from her and, “I say I’ll work on it.”

She says, “Don’t work on it. Just do it. Listen to your gut!” and she puts her hand on her 3rd chakra, where will comes from, just above where the hara sits. The hara some think to be the seat of the soul. The hara a zen master focuses on while in zazen mediation, breathing into it, and out from it.

And she says, “Listen to your higher power,”  and motions around her head, and I feel the import of the meeting then, like this supposed to happen. Like I was meant to meet her. Like my horoscope told me today I’d grow close in love to someone. I interpreted it wrongly or maybe I interpreted it rightly. For it felt very much like falling in love. A sudden pleasant drop, not unnoticeable, just welcoming close fond regard on some other plane I could not see but could feel. And she spoke to me next of Buddhism.

She says to me, seriously, fowardly, with eyes serious and bright, “I’m Buddhist do you know what that is?”

Smiling in recognition, not just at the similar belief, but at the realization of why I was here, and I say, “I used to practice Nichiren Buddhism but now I lean more towards Zen.”

She says “NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO!!” most forcefully, in this colorfully African American way, with church gospel inflection, and head bob, and confides with a wink Nichiren Buddhism is the true Buddhism. I remember thinking with fondness all religious people say that. We spoke of religion.  I said I make a study of it.

She said, “Don’t study it, do it!!”  And she asked abruptly if I draw. I told her I am am artist and a writer. She said one day I was going to do something great with my art and writing, something to change the world. Something I would do so soon. It felt, as she said it, like a higher power was speaking. I could feel her channeling higher energy. Then she told me people in my environment have a lot of negative energy, which tries to being me down. Not to let it. She said she doesn’t know me, at all, but she knows all this, that I have so much talent.  She told me to chant. Go back to it.

“You must,” she puts up her hand as she says this, like painting in the air with her fingers, “visualize what you want as you chant. The power lies in people, that whomever you believe in, god, a higher power, whomever, you must remember that power lies in you. You are in control of what you live.” Again she held her stomach, right at the solar plexus, at the 3rd chakra.

She introduced herself as Ms. Lucille and the taller woman was Wanita, or Miss L, and Miss Nita. And asked after mine. “What’s your name?” in forceful introduction, in temerity.  And said I would see her again. “Probably next week,” She says. There are several hugs of parting; I would try and break away, aware I needed to get back by a certain time, only to be pulled back in to chat then hug then chat again. It was hard to tear myself away from such awesome acceptance. And then just as abruptly as she commandeered my attention she let me go with a quick, “Bye Bye.”

And as I walked away, she says “I love you, Wendi.”

I felt, standing near her, such closeness, to something so big and more powerful than I. I felt such thinness of her humanness compared to her unbounded spirit. I felt so, intended to hear and understand and listen. I noticed as I left her I was as happy as I had been on the first date i had with the love of my life. I felt buoyant. I know I whispered a quick, ‘Thank you,’ to the above in extatic gratitude. And my step bounced back to my train, which arrived just as I reached the platform, and my train seemed to fly back to where I was supposed to be much too quickly. It was so clear how much my internal and spiritual work had abruptly manifested in reality.

It was so clear in my mind why all the obstacles came into my path today, leading to that final key encounter. It was so clear it sounded like a loud throat–ahem–sound. And I realized I have to act, as the final step to manifestation. And use what works.

I need to go to the city more often. I need to be moving. There is so much to feel. There is so much to encounter.

Trees talk to the stars.

As a kid, the November months were the best for me.

I loved the fall in temperature, the cut of freshness in the air, the leaves abandonment of the trees which made the outdoors smell of a sort of earthen nature calling to the Native American in me. It’s a wet feeling in the air, or a dry feeling, or a cold feeling. You must know what I mean. It’s November and it was my favorite time of year.

My mother dated Clarence for a while. He was a cowboy of sorts. Not the actual kind, like from Texas, but he did have a few horses, and a farm kinda thing, oh and a pig. It was in Virginia so I don’t really count it. And he had acres of land. Most of it was forest. Not like, Little Red Riding Hood forest or The Forbidden Forest kind of forest, but I counted it as forest. Instead, it had a lightness to it, a feeling of being alone, yet so filled with life unearthly. It was a sweet forest, a small forest, a hollow of trees winding roots together beneath the earth and foliage and fenced in boundaries. I ran around in it, at the age of 13 and it was my freedom. Otherwise I’d be stuck reading inside a room dark with wood paneling and listening to Country music blasting all the time.

I was only there in November, my mother only dated him as long as it took for her to be adored. When he got fed up with her temper tantrums and histronics (he wasn’t the sort to coddle), she labeled him the bad guy and moved us back in with Nana, who then blamed it on him being black, which wasn’t said aloud for fear of being politically incorrect but was rather like the prejudice was implied. Then again my mother had horrible taste and every man she dated was labeled wrong for something, so that was just how it was, and I really didn’t appreciate the racist additional, so I just ignored it. Which was my default for most everything anyway.

But I was happy there. I remember that. And Clarence was my favorite of my mom’s boyfriends. And I loved he didn’t coddle her. At the age of 13 even I was tired of her childishness at times. That he just huffed a disgusted laugh when she was raging in a childish way about disrespect, when he didn’t even in my opinion, and when she feigned a faint, he stepped over her dramatic splay, made me applaud on the inside. If she had just seen how good he was for her, perhaps my life would have been a lot different. I really liked him for a dad. He would have made a good one.

It was October I remember, just the first blush of it, and I learned to ride a horse, a stallion, even almost falling off I learned. And I learned to make a treehouse by myself. Clarence, I think tickled to have a stand in daughter, allowed me complete freedom. And I remember getting just the base built before I gave up and would just take my homework to that platform and stare up the trees and imagine more freedom than that.

I remember it felt, when I did that, like the trees were falling into the stars.

The nights when I went out, the sky was so bright above the sporadic canopy. I did mention the forest wasn’t really a forest, and so the trees did not obscure the sky at all. Instead it sorta highlighted it, like the trees were reaching out arms to the night lights above, and they were almost in a warped stretch, one you couldn’t with your eyes, but feel with a sense that wasn’t taste or touch or smell but something of all of those. And I could feel the forest felt like .. it was about to take off, into the sky, to be among the stars, except it never did. And it never would. And that was even better because the stars were in quiet communion through the expanse of time to the trees in my little sweet forest and I was mere witness.

One day, after I canceled on a friend of mine who wanted to come over but was a boy and I concluded might be interested romantically and I wasn’t cause he was a boy so I made up an excuse, one day I was out there and instead of sitting on that platform I walked the whole expanse of the forest between the fences that caged it, and finding a tree that felt right I put my back to it and looked up.

And along my spine, like fire surging I felt it. It was like there was a lightening rod, like the tree were a conduit, a shout, a string, that lead from the ground below up to the stars above, and translated the sounds of the earth to them, a tree translator. It was full of so much energy and wisdom and fire I was captured, more than a witness to a beautiful sight, but witness to prayer. From the earth through the trees to the stars.

Native Americans believe the trees sing to the stars and the stars sang back. They believe the trees are so old they remember us being made of starlight. I have Cherokee, Blackfoot, and Sioux ancestors. I am not a part of a tribe, or can I claim actual lineage, but the native american music (the drums, the piping, the chanting) has always elicited a feeling in my belly, of instinctive recognition, their stories a familiarity.

I remember my step sister and I would read a book of Native American myths as kids, and giggle over the explicitness in stories about trickster coyotes  having sex with women with vagina teeth and marvel at the creation tales which were so opposed to Christian origin we grew up being told was the only truth. We were not allowed to read it but we did anyway. I remember that being my favorite book, so dog eared it was, not because the stories were so randomly awkward, but because the feeling of the book in my hand held the feeling of November.

The sound of the words strung together were in English, yet still tasted like some Native American tongue, and was much like the feeling I heard when I watched the trees stretch up arms to the sky. I may not know much of myself yet, in this present state of ignorance, but I know there is genetic imprint of nature in my veins, and call it starlight, or more recent Native American genes, but I know more in my body than I do in my head sometimes. And I feel more on my skin than I see with my eyes.

And I dare you to stand with your back against a tree. Feel the energy along your spine. Let the tree channel you back to heaven; from earthen soil you were made in this body to the starlight from whence your soul came.

I dare you to listen to the trees talk to the stars. And I dare you to lie and say you don’t hear it.

Simply a thank you.

It has come to this. I see it. Recognize it. Taste it. Dream it. Anticipate it. And acknowledge it could never be, or it could. But a part of me has begun the wanting of it. Enough so my dreams woke me not once but twice within a 30 minute period to just check and see it if could be possibility.

I dreamed of her. Or perhaps it wasn’t her. Perhaps it was another, but just acknowledging she and the idea had been in my thoughts. I was at Disneyland, and there was a woman, and she was famous, and actress, and it was inside a cheesy romantic comedy, where the girl gets the girl, and me, or the white woman, in an excited way asked the black woman, to face the media and “tell them.” And the black woman was scared, surprised, but a part of her wanted to. She was beautiful I recall.

Then not even 30 minutes later, she walked by me in a dream. I don’t recall the dream except it was her. And then I woke up and went to breakfast. And she walked by me, sat at one table adjacent, then moved to another, then moved to mine. Claiming too many people when I called her out on musical tables.

I’m not sure why but I like her. There is this liking growing inside me. I’ve had it for a little while now. The past two times we’ve talked I’ve felt it. The time before last I blatantly flirted. It was fun. But. I dismissed it due to circumstance. I don’t think being with someone in this time in my life is thing I want anymore, so I left her out as option from the get go. Then, the last time we talked, she made me like her. She’s … God I love black girls. The way they … their mannerisms. Their turns of phrase. Their lips. Their skin. Their bodies. God. It really didn’t help she is my fucking type. And she has the qualities I’d seek in a partner. Vibrant. A bit crazy. Possessive. Sweet. Loyal. Monogamous. And gay. Very gay. Thank god.

Today she comes out with more to like. She used  date a Goth girl. She used to like that scene. She writes poetry. Oh, this made my heart fall out my chest. She spoke one to me, at the table, from memory, and sounded so poet jazz club chic. So colorfully colored. Like a part of a movie you’d watch about Ella Fitzgerald. Or, perhaps I put it in that context because she is so beautifully personified. I want that. Her. Covet. Mine. Yes, in my head words become brief and succinct. And I just feel. And I feel I want that. Her.

And no, not just sexually. But, in the context of wanting a beautiful painting. Or an artist’s collection of work. I want to say, this one I have claim on. And be proud to be so honored.

God I didn’t want to admit it before and make it bigger. When I cease the writing of this I will try and forget. I am set on allowing the universe to give me what I asked for in patience and open mindedness.

I might feel a bit of fear, but it is small at this early date. I don’t even acknowledge her girlfriend. Girlfriends can be gotten rid of. I also know I will not accept anything if she’s got one. So points are moot either way.

But she said she likes the way I talk. I felt the impression she liked my precise educated turns of phrase and way of speaking “like a white girl.” Yes, my ex and Koi had been much amused by that. That made me squeeze with happiness, for I recalled my ex in that moment, and the love of her flushed through me with the remembering, coloring the moment that much sweeter.

And she …

I loved her poetry. It grabbed something inside and yanked on it. Or more like reached into my chest and put a gentle grip on something there and just held on. I feel it even now. My whole chest aches like the tombstone lodged there is being disturbed..

I am glad. I need this thing preventing me from feeling gone. I feel like a shallow version of myself. The heartbreak has made me … Cold. Even if this thing with her becomes nothing, I honor this. And her. For bringing me to hope and realization and wonder.

This is a thank you to the universal entity from a place of pure gratitude. This is a thank you to her for being beautiful.  This is a thank you to myself, my higher self, for showing manifestation of improvement.

This is simply a thank you.

Dear Universe,

I know there is an abundance of currency worldwide. I know there is a good amount available that is not being used. I know that much of what isn’t being used is given away to the needy or simply horded or made to multiply. I know there are people out there who have money and want to give it to charities of their choice. I know there are people out there who want to donate to artist, up and coming people with talent and skill due to their love of art music writing etc. I know I am the kind of person who would benefit from such help. I know there is an excess of opportunities to meet people such as this in NYC. I know these people would be interested in knowing I could be of use to their charity and would be willing to help me invest in myself. I know there is a literal excess of funds for people such as this to give away to people such as me. I know these people would be honored to give their money away sure their funds go to the needy, or a simple person not yet having found their big break. I know I am in need of such charity and generosity and good will and have the kind of personality that would be charming to those kind of people to a reassuring degree. I know I refuse to allow myself to reject such kindness in the future. I know such kindness is love in a simple form for me to see. I know I would adore the opportunity to go to college or create art and writing and beauty in accordance with what I would like to see. I know my vision is one others would like, it is sort of in Vogue so to speak, and others would be happy to see my talent shared with the world at large. I know I would love to have these opportunities in my hands and there is and an abundance of opportunities such as these just waiting for me to allow them. I know I am eager to see these opportunities and pick the one that I wish to follow or find them all able to follow and further my dream of learning as much as possible. I know I am more than capable of learning everything I want to know, that money is just the means to seek that learning, an energy to fuel the brain and body so to speak, and I know I can see this energy In the world, feel its presence, taste its very essence in this now without seeing it. I know I want this to manifest in the physical world so I may enjoy the learning process knowing I already have this information, and everything I need, and simply must enjoy the existence of it. I know I am determined to get out of my own way. And I have learned all my lessons, finalized my mastery of what I have learned, and now I am eager and attuned to the idea of enjoying this life and realizations and incarnations of desired things and people and experience, and I am anticipating the arrival of all of these.