Entertainment for Hours

Brought to you by the letter P: Pandora, pen, p.. … potato fries!

Tomorrow is “Manifestation Day” so at 4:44 am and 4:44 pm, on 4/4/in the 4th numerological year and my Personal Year #4… I intend to Manifest some shit into my life! hahahha.

I apologized to my son last night, “I’m sorry.” He sounded confused when he asked, “Why?”

“Because I’m not telekinetic. But I’ll keep working on it!” He burst out with a whole hearted laugh, but he knew I was also slightly kidding, as I have already taught him to expand his qi ball and evaporate clouds. “I just need to figure out how to compose clouds now,” I declared one glorious afternoon as I attempted to trick the molecules into feeling cold so they would huddle together in their misty form.

Living in the 6D and practicing beyond surely is entertainment for hours. One might say that I don’t need anybody because I’m never alone- We’re all connected. Just go within and hop on the One Spirit Express for one hellava ride! But don’t be fooled: I need you.

When I travel, I go to my favorite spot… at the top of the mountain, breathing in the sunlight and the horizon. Then I get to work planning and navigating my internal google for past videos of laying bricks with proper slope for drainage, building the retaining walls, landscaping for water efficiency and natural pest repellants… Phew. Exhausting work. I wipe my brow and take a moment to jive… jam… just dance in the joy that is mine!

Then when the notion comes upon me to seek a conversation in the time and place beyond, I talk. I listen. But not with normal senses- For the fingertips can hear, pulsing to the rhythm as the “world keeps going around.” My mass suddenly drops to allow a new perspective: I feel as though I am a tree and a gust of wind rushed through my upper branches. I taste memories… usually of upstate New York: I’ve never contacted my cousin after having a “taste deja vu” but I should… Maybe it’s her higher self contacting mine- and it’s not just in my own body. And sometimes the sensations are not even mine. But I’ve learned to protect myself from that… except… I let you in.

I talk to myself from a distance, as if my conscience is on “the bench” rapping the gavel to sentence my ego for all her injustices on this poor soul! Then we all go out for a beer. My Higher Power communes without spoken words. Our spirits meet in the wind. We laugh. We cry. He leads me.

Hey, so I read the other day that the research says there’s more pleasure in being touched than in touching… myself. Did I mention that I long for your touch? I performed a twofold experiment: Feeling and being felt… Admit it! We’ve all done it! Right?

Anyhoo… I feel the sensation once on my skin… Then I experience from the perspectives of my fingertips.

Only a slight separation between feel and felt. No pleasure gap. Except when it’s real… Then kundalini rushes up to greet you. My mouth is dry just thinking about it.

Oh… and one last thing: I have decided that I am for sure, without a doubt, a googolplex-onaire’s daughter… Isn’t that the suffix used for the wealthy? So suck it, Larry! [Mic drop].

[Runs back to get the microphone…] “You too, Sergey.”

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