I've been trying to faithfully do the guided meditation, entitled "The Law of Attraction," every day for 30 days, as prescribed by the creator of it. "Do this every morning for 30 days, and watch what happens!" is even something like the "click-bait" title of the thing.
This prompts the inner cynic in me to posit that, if I could do anything faithfully for 30 days straight, that would distinguish me as the type of person who has probably already realized his wildest dreams.
Jordan Peterson said something to the effect of, that getting ones life "together" involves the cultivation of a series of small improvements that, once they become habitual, take on more power through repetition and become more determinate of success in getting ones life together. This could start with the person looking about his immediate surroundings and asking himself what action he could take, no matter how minor, to improve the picture. This is the first baby step towards getting ones life together.
He gives the illustrative example of a person making his bed every morning, immediately upon waking up. Once this becomes a habit, something else can be appended to it, such as doing a set of push ups or sit ups, until eventually his whole day can become occupied with positive and healthy habits. The emphasis is upon the power of repetition, in a sense. Apparently after, say, 30 days of making the bed every morning, the act becomes more helpful towards putting your life together.
I think I've batted around .500 the past 30 days as far as doing the meditation every one of them, to see what happens.
I got hung up each time when it came to imagining what I really want, as a precursor to stepping through the imaginary door of light into a world where my dream has been realized, and I am instructed to think and feel and "breath in" the realization that "it" has happened.
This is The Law of Attraction exemplified. It has a counterpart in the bible when Jesus instructs his disciples to pray for things as if they already have them. I've seen the philosophy applied at some churches where the preachers use catch phrases like: "Name it and claim it," or "Believe and receive," type of things. There is one church about a half mile away from here that often has people out front handing out a little pamphlet on the back of which there are testimonials from people who had enacted the name it and claim it thing and then looked in their mailbox one day to find a check for $75,000, type of thing; or that after praying "the prayer" every day, on the 30th day, they woke up to find a brand new Mercedes in their driveway, type of thing...
I suppose I can add my personal anecdote here. I found a book entitled "The Secret," by Rhonda Byrne in the Sacred Heart "library" in the multi-purpose room. It turned out to be about The Law of Attraction, and in it, Ms. Byrne made no claim as to having discovered the law herself -she said that there were several other books on the subject, she was just telling the world about it through her own frame of reference.
It was a short book, which I read almost all of in one sitting.
Then I got on my bike to go to Rouses Market, where I wanted to buy a bottle of olive oil, as mine had run out, and I had some whiting fillets that I wanted to fry that night.
As I pedaled to the store, I was trying to practice an adherence to The Law of Attraction, the way Rhonda had presented it, at least.
Riding down the sidewalk that runs alongside the Rouses Market parking lot I encountered a brown paper bag laying in the strip of grass between it and the street. In the street, a few feet from the bag, there was a book that looked like it had been run over by at least one car, as it was folded over and flattened, cartoon style. I unfolded it to discover that it was entitled simply: "The Law of Attraction." In the brown paper bag was an unopened plastic bottle of olive oil. Not bad after just an hour or so of applying The Law of Attraction, I thought.
But now, about 2 years later; I have bigger fish to fry.
My problem with the part of the guided meditation where I'm supposed to imagine that my most longed for needs and wishes have been met and granted, over these past 30 days or so was originally to do with the fact that I couldn't think of what I wanted the most. Then, I would start to envision myself living in a cool house, atop a cliff that overlooked the sea, with my own lighthouse and an orchard of pear and apple and citrus trees; and a bee hive. My children running around, playing hide and seek, one of them yelling olley olley umphree! as another disappears into the lighthouse; my beautiful wife emerging from the front door of the house wearing an apron and wiping her hands with a dishrag.
But then having my mind act up and some deleterious thought emerge like: "But, wait, I'm sixty years old...and..."
Or I would be tempted to walk through that doorway of glowing white light to emerge on the other side where there would be a big chunk of crack and a pipe and a pool full of naked teen aged girls swimming around; while the affirmation drones on: "You are supported; you are loved...ask the universe...ask it with a sense of purpose..."
Despite only managing to do about 15 meditations the past 30 days, I still must have absorbed some of the subliminal messages after drifting off to sleep. Enough so that, at the tail end of the month, I was meditating more regularly. I suppose that what I "really" wanted could have just been to complete the 30 days straight, to see what happened; you gotta start somewhere...
And, today, I'm happy to say that I have settled upon a "dream," and have come to the realization that all the pieces to the puzzle have been right in front of me all along.
The adventure of a lifetime, which animates me and fills me with hope and anticipation now will come together very soon.
Jacob and I will work on a few select pieces of music; and then when we encounter Tanya Huang playing her violin on Royal Street, we will have arranged it so we can deploy our musical gear -perhaps taking the little amp out of my backpack and plugging the microphone into it, setting the knobs and then, with our guitars tuned and dangling from our necks we will pop in on that particular Chinese violinist and the three of us will do a song.
It might be the same song every time; but it will become a regular feature of the live streaming thing she does on Facebook every Friday (and maybe Saturday, too) night. "The visit from Daniel and Jacob" might become one of the most cherished segments by her online audience. The main concern would just be Jacob and I being ready to play "at the drop of a hat." (I always suspected that saying was derived from busking). So there would be no clumsy unpacking of equipment, no tuning up, no deliberating over what song to do. We would just walk up and say: "Hello, Tanya; are you ready?" And she might only have to move her microphone stand over a bit, facing Jacob's bass so that the 3 of us would be amplified. It will always be the same song; in the way that Mr. Greenjeans would always sing "his" song on whatever that kids show was from the late 60's. That way her audience would kind of know what to expect; and we could work on improving the performance, through the power of repetition.
I'm going to open myself to the subtle nuances of the universe to provide the perfect song. I've already rejected about a half dozen ideas for a half dozen different reasons.
Right now, I'm very happy and grateful for the blessings that await just ahead; am about to hop on the bike and use my food stamp card for the first time since it ran out 13 days ago. That was a long stretch without food money; during which I learned a lot about the connection between loading up on carbohydrates and waking up feeling depressed. But I also learned to re-assess the value of money, so that when someone throws 2 dollars into my tip jar they are, in a sense, keeping me alive; since, if you had to, you could live off one $1.43 McDonalds hamburger a day...
No wonder people are en masse so sickly, both physically and mentally. The "standard American diet," fare that winds up in the "food pantry" donation box out in front of Sacred Heart would have me needing to sign up for a doctor by calling the number on the back of the medicaid card, that has been sitting unused in my wallet for at least 6 or 7 years. I think they provided me with a "provider," -I remember it being a female's name that I once saw on some paperwork.
I suppose I could go in for a check-up. It's been 22 years since my last one. Although, when I had that reaction to the black crowned night heron's feathers when I lived under the wharf about 10 years ago, they ran quite the battery of tests on me. They even sent me through that tube after injecting me with some kind of ink that woulld show the details of my lungs, and they took about 5 tubes of blood for various other testings. I'm willing to bet that, since that was probably deemed an "emergency," the hospital made money off me. I could barely breath and I remember my heart rate being 190 beats per minute, once they got me in the ambulance.
Ain't Nothin' But Heron Feathers!
Still, they misdiagnosed me with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, when there was nothing "chronic" about it. It was a one-off heron encounter.
That bird was huge (up close) and would stand just 3 feet from me, perfectly still for an hour, waiting for one of the rats to show itself between the rocks. That's where they would often be; foraging for whatever crumbs and stuff I might have dropped when I ate. When the heron managed to grab one by its tail, it would then wildly flap its wings to maintain its balance as the rodent thrashed about in its grip.
That was, I think, when I inhaled whatever made my lungs exhibit the symptoms of C.O.P.D.
The rats became like pets to me and we got along great. I always brought them food and set it on the same flat rock.
There was actually a battle between them not long after I moved in, over which would get to build their nest in the rocks underneath where I slept.
Then I noticed that certain shiny objects were coming up missing out of whatever stuff I had. I shone a flashlight down into their nest and it looked like Mardi Gras down there. They had insulated the place with Styrofoam and decorated the walls with shiny tassels and the neon green things that come with sushi that they stick the dollop of wasabi to.
They were really cool, but the night heron was just a bit cooler. I could have chased it out of my area, so at least it wouldn't be attacking my pets; and maybe that would have spared me from almost dying when I could hardly breathe.
I had a mixed bag of feelings -happy for the heron to have caught a meal; but when the rats squealed after being caught, I felt like they might have been calling to me to rescue them. It's just a rough world under the wharf...
Anyways, I might go and get my first checkup since 2001.
I've been told that there is money to be made from having "preventative" procedures done upon oneself. Like, they will pay me 50 bucks if I undergo a colonoscopy. The way it was explained to me was that they would rather give me 50 bucks and catch some disease "early," rather than have to dole out $25,000 worth of "late stage" care for something down the road.
Probably because Medicaid will only pay for me to be put in some hospice situation and heavily drugged; and, where's the money in that?
But, before I die, I'm thinking that "If You Could Read My Mind," by the late Gordon Lightfoot might be "the song..."
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