A year ago to the day, I left Hawaii on a jet plane without a plan other than to follow dreams and signs and submit to God, in hopes of climbing the mountain of the Most High. This is the story one year later…
Mission accomplished. God is real. I can finally say that. I can finally write that. They may burn me because my view is more cosmic than the hellfire version. I’ll wait a few more books before I really get into it.
I am gentler with myself. I am a little more patient with myself (not as much as I’d like) and much more patient with others (sometimes too much because I feel I should say something but I hold my Gemini tongue because the observer sits on a park bench watching the levels of consciousness at play on the jungle gym). I stop worry in its tracks when it creeps in, recognizing my choice to invest in it or not. I’m far from perfect but I relish in that. I do want to go Home, but I realize that Home can only be felt within and the resting place, when I can reside at Home forever, will come when it does, I’ve no need to rush it. Perhaps that’s why there’s no need to worry either because Home is what I truly seek. I believe it’s what we all seek.
I help people and I’m good at it. That’s a big one. My dream was basically adventure and to serve others. I’m living my dream. LOL, I also see the reality that comes with that because I am ready to quit every day. It’s funny. I’ve heard about fighters throwing up before fights, athletes never wanting to play another game, artists saying this is their last movie or album, people who are doing what they love but get the nerves or whatever. I relate to that so much. It’s certainly not the money that keeps me going back. Where performers and athletes may say the fans or the fight or the game. I remember saying this for many years: I’m of and for the people. I go back day in, day out for the people who come into my space. I guess that’s a calling. I’ve become Donald Shimoda. I’m no messiah but I can sure relate to the reluctant part.
But even on the slow-ass nights, there’s something to learn, that leads to expansion. Whether it’s making a new friend or truly serving another human being, that’s what keeps me doing what I do. There has to be some justice in that. My Dad told me he was proud that I was a good person. That meant alot. I’m great at something, I may not be recognized for it but I was issued a calling earlier in life, last year I fully took it up, and here I am, one year later, and I’m living it. It’s unnerving to say the least.
I don’t know what’s next. I’m about to change the site from The Simple Voice to I Don’t Know What’s Next because I write that statement so much. For every sh!tty experience there’s about 20 awesome ones in my line of work. It’s pretty cool. That has to be worth something. It has to whether no one else sees it or values it. I gotta believe that. Life is the lies we tell or the stories we believe, right? For 20 minutes to an hour, 25-50 dollars depending on if we get that far in the discussion, I’m lit up, I’m on point, hundreds of people later, soon to be thousands, I gave my presence to others, shared what I’ve spiritually bled from, sweat over, and shed tears, so many tears, tears that don’t run in water anymore, they can’t even be seen. Only are they felt…
And I end up here, online. Wondering who might read these words. Hoping that it means something. I write for me. I know this. It assists me in processing. But I write for AJ and Ashlee Rosen, the two kids I met on my birthday, who are so open to dreaming and still able to get there. I write for Sean and his wife, who came back with huge smiles shortly after we met because they stood in the ocean to hug, shared in their love once more, at my suggestion. I write for Malia, who visited me many times to say hi, who finally manifested what she wanted in order to be closer to her children, whom I no longer see. I write for Chloe, who comes in just to vent but makes little paper hearts or draws for me because that’s all she can afford to do and who I know will never read these words though I’ve given her many cards. I write for Ramone, who when I first met him was so troubled, so haunted but whose energy has changed so immensely because he believed what I told him and it is moving him away from being haunted.
I write for all the people I read, every single one. I might not remember all the names off the top of my head but I remember their faces, I record their dreams. I send you love, my brothers, my sisters. Even the others, the ones who have thrown stones and have “stolen” like that woman who stormed out and wished she had paid for a book (I’d like to say she will one day but I may never publish but then I say that because I just haven’t reached the end of that tunnel yet though I know I will when I do). And I quote “stolen” because nobody realizes I’d do this for free. I’ve done it many times. Many of those were thrown away. It’s discarded. That’s why I have to charge. It’s free knowledge, that’s my biggest conflict really. But it has no value, is disregarded if it’s put out as free. But where once I gave with strings, now I give it all away because it’s just information, it’s just time, it’s just my energy. And I go Home enough to recharge each day.
I write and I write and I write. I write information pieces to assist those who want to grow. I give them the cliff notes, the short cuts, the extensive versions, I give four different views because I’ve explored 16. Lonely Planet should hire me to write the Lonely Spirit because I found God. God is out there cruising with the Universe. They are one in the same, they are homies, lovers, friends. It is all weaved together.
One year ago, I physically left the woman I loved because she emotionally left, was done, our chapter ending. That story closing. I can say that now. I couldn’t then. I can also feel how whole I’ve become since. Feel how strong and resilient that I’ve become.
I’ve heard it said that if you do what you love, you have freedom, you become the richest of the rich. I am conflicted there. I’ve come too far to go back to where I came from. I remember a few years ago when I didn’t know what to do so I caged myself. I hated that feeling. I cannot do that and in many ways, I saw what happened when I did and I know my Spirit won’t let me.
I Don’t Know What’s Next Dot Com. LOL. Bah. Eh, it is what it is. One year later… I look forward to hyper-linking back to this blog. Last year, I said I’d become a psychic, this year I said bestselling author. I wrote three books. Riding through the tunnel. The Light’s always there. One year from now, what will this hold?
One year later… One day later… One moment later… It’s all the same isn’t it?