Younger me used to make such a spectacle of nye; she’s surely gawking at my mid-woman age whose new year plans pale in comparison. They’ve become quieter and cozier, less of a proclamation, of glitter and resolutions, and more of yet another night on earth. In recent years I’ve set some intentions by candlelight and burned a letter to the universe of what I want to let go of, usually I’m in bed by ball drop. This year won’t be much different, except I’m not setting my usual intentions of want, gain and becoming “better”. In fact, in the coming year I desire to be less intentional altogether.
I don’t mean this in some contrarian, against the grain kind of way. I understand desiring to be less intentional is itself an intention. What I mean is, instead of setting out to get what I want exactly how I want it from the mystery (universe), I will practice lending my being towards opening and learning about the mystery. To commune, or to feel in close spiritual contact with said mystery, there is more of a surrendering that takes place versus an initiating or extracting; a shift from what I already know towards the illuminating ambiguity of being.
It may seem counterintuitive, but I’m learning that’s usually how the work of communing and being goes, at least as far as I’m concerned. When I align myself away from needing a specific outcome, when my intention is not my intention, but rather to look and see versus to prove, what can be received as conclusive is loosened into numerous options instead of merely one or the other. This situates me more towards the truth of what is instead of what I need or want to be true, and I don’t know, this just sounds altogether more practical and exciting to me. Instead of clenching and waiting for all of my teeth to implode, I can practice openness and presence of any given moment and respond accordingly from there.
Long have I praised the intentional, calculated life, well I’m over it. And I’m probably over it because I’m not good at it. And I’m probably not good at it because deep down I know that reality can flip the script so fast, I’m on my knees before having willingly kneeled. The incidental is forever more appealing to me because it is what’s shaped me more than my own will. I am not that appealing on my own, it is only when reality—the mystery—and I hold hands that we make a living collage eerily reflective of all this beauty and power. When I meditate on my fondest, sweetest and most empowered moments, they did not come from some conspired, meticulous intent, but more-so from trusting a whim and following it full well unknowing of how it might turn out.
I am so grateful to have been dealt my odds and to have played them earnestly in co-creating what I believe is a rich life—but I don’t think that means I’m anymore deserving of a rich life than anyone else. Does a jaguar deserve to eat a zebra? Does a lion deserve to roam the plains? No one deserves anything, we are just here being. And I sense this year will only become richer—not in wealth but in being. This is because I’m practicing being beyond measure, and to be beyond measure means: to be beyond measuring. I do not have to do as I’m told by this capitalist society and pay for this life with my precious attention by comparing my wealth, my status, and my acclaim with others. What a waste of energy. No longer must I pay with my attention at all as I mentioned last essay, instead I am giving and sharing, willingly, my attention with this world, this mystery, right here right now.
This is not to get what I want but to learn what’s possible, and maybe if I’m being really transparent, it is in part to see if I can get what I want in other, less strategic ways. Maybe it’s to learn about what I want at all. Maybe what I want isn’t what I truly desire. Maybe I’ve been duped into thinking what other people want is what I desire. This is why I must release being so intentional, so much of it is inherited. My agency is learning what to harvest, sow or compost. When I become quiet and receptive I feel how much of who I am is bestowed to me a priori. “I” become rather small in the whole of my being. I feel not my own power, but the power of the lifeforce itself. I can sense that other futures exist and are coming—if we’d just stop repeating the ones we know so well, continually over and over, we beat the dead horse with all our good, self-interested intentions.
Can I drop the stick and let the horse rest in peace? Can I trust myself to loosen the grip of my own politics, and especially those of others, and suspend myself in unkowing for long enough to really unknow? Can I revolutionize my relationship with reality out of merely being indoctrinated by it into truly conspiring with it?
Maybe my lived experience hasn’t taught me everything I know. What if I “know” things that are yet to be true? What if this is precisely because I “don’t know” for certain what is true?
Being intentional has its place. It lands itself in the realm of manifestation, a very real phenomena, which is hyper-praised in the individualized western world. Respectively, I recently read a varying perspective of the etymology and concept of manifestation in this essay by Alice Sparkly Kat who states: “The word manifest is not a positive word. It’s built from two words: man and infest. The word man, which also appears in manufacture, means to strike by hand. Infest means to attack or to invade. Manifestation is a doctrine about invading by force.” This may be a spicy take, but it resonates for me as someone who’s more or less struggled with modern day, and even ancient manifestation jargon. To want what I want without regard for who or what else is involved has always seemed a bit careless to me. To place my own will above that of reality feels oppressive, and this is exactly what we’ve seen in capitalist/imperialist/settler-colonial expressions.
I think we’ve confused reality creation, our birthright, with manifestation, and while this distinction may seem subtle, for me it’s huge. Reality creation is precisely what I’m talking about in surrendering intention for presence with the moment to see what is possible. Whereas manifestation is centering my will in front of reality, blinding me to all else that surrounds and supports it. Do you see the difference? Do you see how one has the led the world to exploitation and corrosion and how the other holds hands?
While I absolutely believe how we frame, feel about and experience reality helps shape it, I just can’t get on board that every single one of us, down to the starving mother in a war zone, can get what we want just by reframing reality in our individual minds. It is about mindset, but it’s also about the whole fucking world. There are too many of us to each individually have exactly what we want. There are too many threads woven into our matrix of being. We are too connected, too entwined, and too consumed to not consider the broader systems that allow us to self-actualize—we cannot do it alone. Self-actualization never takes place in a silo, but actually requires the utmost collaboration.
There is too much context lacking for me to believe I alone shape reality, and this may be a limiting belief of mine—so be it. I believe we shape reality, and reality shapes us. Reality is not here for me alone, it happens through me, and yes to me, and ultimately with me.
My body is telling me to pause. To refocus. To enjoy what is here right now, my fingertips as guides not tyrants. My body wants me to stop asking of the universe for everything all of the time. So needy. Can I have this? What does this mean? Why me? Give me an answer! Instead I’m being asked to follow the day along, see where it takes me, breathe. Stop and ask myself how I’m feeling—doing this often. Drinking more water. Eating when hungry and stopping when full. Getting off my phone. Seeing what happens. Embodying my attention. Trusting where it counts. Not counting what doesn’t need counted.
ON MY MIND:
Devoting myself to reading many books to inspire and encourage further thinking in and out of my usual boxes, here’s the list: Currently reading: God, Human, Animal, Machine by Meghan O’Gieblyn (who’s hair I cut eeeee!). The Bible, lol, already second page and god is shaming man and especially woman and snake—we need better myths! To read soon: After Black Lives Matter by Cedric Johnson which is a critique of the BLM movement and offers new perspectives and actions to take now. The Myth of Normal by Gabor Mate who is an absolute angel and a voice I really appreciate right now, not only on understanding addiction and trauma and childhood, but the conflict between Israel and Palestine as well. A few of these books were recommended by
who is another powerful voice who I deeply respect in her willingness to have a spine.I’d love to get more feedback from ya’ll! Please like and comment if you feel moved to, it means a lot to me and helps keep me engaged as well.
I found this new youtuber and it slaps for the philosopher/knowledge hungry/thinker.
I’m really hunkering down right now trying to learn, critically, about the Middle East, and what this ongoing genocide could mean not just for the Palestinian’s, but the world. There are so many perspectives it is hard to keep track of what’s true, which is a nice feature of our “post-truth era”. But I remember truth is always available, right here right now, and no one holds a monopoly on it. Information can be skewed and twisted—and it is, always has been. But I can do my best and focus on feeling as a guide and learn also that there is no getting it right.