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We Wake in Different Worlds

It took me a long time to realize how important my pre-sleep mindset was. If I tell myself: This week is going to be terrible, when I wake up, indeed it is. If I tell myself: This week is going to be challenging, but I’m prepared, and I can handle it, that, too, seems to come to pass. And if I tell myself: This week is going to be challenging, and unfortunately I’m not prepared at all, but I know that when I’m least prepared is when the real magic happens, then Pow: magic. I have much more control over the character of the world in which I wake than I initially realized. Any number of things seem to be able to work themselves out overnight when I simply give my consciousness the power—the permission—to do so.

There seems to be a portion of my brain beyond my conscious control that believes I cannot have good things without suffering. That I need to “earn” or “deserve” abundance; that I don’t merit my miracle. This is faulty thinking. As Monsignor Torgerson told us this week: God’s love is not tit-for-tat. (Indeed, be it divine or human, tit-for-tat is never love; tit-for-tat is business.) I know from reading the work of teachers such as Brice Le Roux, Bruce Lipton, and Joe Dispenza that it is possible to over-write faulty programming that is neither true nor useful, but I have not done that yet. So when my I-don’t-deserve-this fear rears its head, I feed it the 20th century. We have suffered, my friends. We have suffered enough to satisfy even the most voracious unconscious needs.

While I have not yet elevated my consciousness, others have, and I benefit from their efforts. Our consciousness is a collective. When you do your spiritual work—whether it be prayer, meditation, yoga, reconciliation, volunteering, or whatever makes your soul sing—I invite you to say, either silently or out loud: This is for everyone.

Here’s an example of how I think energy and information works.

I have a piece of good news. I want to tell a friend, but I’m busy. I’m driving my mother to church; my emails are piling up; the dog wants to go for a walk. I’m scanning my contacts quickly.

Some of my friends, though they are lovely, are negative. Critical, suspicious. They do not trust good news, good people, good intentions; they see adversaries everywhere. I want to tell them my good news, but it would take more energy. In a sense, they are the ones who need good news the most, yet somehow … it does not want to go to them.

I have other friends who are joyful. This is not an easy thing to be these days, so let me say it again: they are joyful. It’s as if they’re always, deep down, expecting good news. As I scan my contacts list, my fingers are drawn to them. It would be so easy to tell them my good news. They would get it—receive it, understand it, double it—immediately, and together, we could celebrate. I wouldn’t have to volley sentences like: “Well, have you signed the contract yet?” Or: “You never really know the truth about a person after a first date.”

It isn’t fair. But it seems as though my energy and information—either consciously or unconsciously—are always seeking to reinforce themselves. If I have bad news, my fingers are drawn to the dour friends.

And what are my friends, anyway? In a way, they are a reflection of myself. I am both joyful and suspicious at times. I remember what it was like to balance on top of a beach ball when I was five; and I remember what it was like to have my credit card information stolen.

We are surrounded by all kinds of information. We are bombarded by information every day. We have no control over what kind of information hits us in the face.

Or do we? What if there’s good news out there, waiting to come to you? It may take a lot of chocolate, coffee, or walks with my dog (or all three), but I’m going to try to be the kind of friend to whom my future good news will want to gravitate.