I’d love to play the role of an awakened being that’s convinced they can move the universe.

Would LOVE it.

That would be so fucking awesome.

Oh, man.

Writing about frequencies and vibrations, talking about our infinite divine power.

Taking the whole Oneness-thing for a personal spin.

‘You deserve the best, now go and fucking take it!’

Radical spirituality.

You know what I mean.

One of the many manifestation manifestations.

The woman with her feminine energy and piercing eyes, channeling chants directly from Mother Earth.

The bearded manly man who’s inked and mindful and muscular, and talks about our duty to transform into the dominant wolf.

He howls, too.

All the colorful creatures in the loud, spiritual circus.

God, how I’d love that.

Dressing up (or down), moving to Bali or Hawaii or India.

Barefoot living.

The rituals.

The ecstatic dancing.

The ayahuasca.

The dreads.

The sage.

Maybe a treehouse.

Daily yoga.

Meditation on the beach.

Consciously cradling the universe.

Living tiny and sustainably.

Oh, man…

But the truth is: I don’t give a shit.

I couldn’t keep it up for a minute.

It’s not my role.

Although I’d love to.

I really do.

(Photo by @wild_away, for Unsplash)

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