Every Day Is A Big Day

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We ate wedding cake for breakfast. I sat on the sand with one of my girlfriends. She said she was going to manifest herself a surfer boyfriend and a dog. I said I have trouble consciously manifesting, I mean, who am I to ask the universe for anything? An hour later, in the car she suggested maybe I had trouble receiving. You know, you do deserve whatever you dream up, she said. I crossed three lanes of traffic at one hundred so we could get fried food to soak up our hangovers.

Sometimes I’m terrified of the things I can dream up.

I often find myself thinking of the karmic chain, being born into the privileged west, about what it means to arrive into the world already at the top end of things, to be in a position where I can have or be basically anything. It’s humbling and affirming to understand that I’ve lived and died and lived and died countlessly to be where I am right now. I don’t pay this enough respect or gratitude. I’m thousands and thousands of miles up, in the sky, travelling across the Pacific Ocean. There is almost nowhere I can’t go.

Ask her where she lives, go on, ask her. It was the favorite joke of the weekend. The wedding ceremony was perfect. The bride and I had art class together in high school. We learnt a lot about what drives us as we sat at those long wooden tables throwing paint onto huge strips of canvas. I remember saying all those years ago, that I wanted to live in Hawaii one day. A rainbow came out in the middle of her ceremony, just before they exchanged vows. It was maybe the prettiest picture I’ve ever seen, I’m almost sure she drew it herself.

We drank a lot of champagne. I was refusing to change out of my pretty dress. I said I wanted to keep wearing it so the night doesn’t end. You have the loudest heartbeat, I said when I finally lay down with my head against his chest. It gives me away, he said, I can’t hide it. Why would you want to? I don’t know if I said it or not, but I remember thinking what it meant, to physically feel how alive someone is.

The sun is rising somewhere. I’m literally travelling across time. I’m going to land and it’s going to be Tuesday again. I joked with someone earlier (today or yesterday depending on which time zone I’m in right now), said I get an extra day of life. I sent him a photo of all my stuff folded on my bed. Is that what you do with an extra day of life, pack? I said tomorrow is the extra day. I’m learning that every day is a big day, even if the things we do are only very small.

Last week I stopped in at the small church my family used to visit every Sunday for my whole childhood. I’m calling it research. I’m writing a scene in my novel where the protagonist sits there alone, talking to her version of god. I’m not the protagonist in my novel, but I’m a lot like her. I talked with someone recently about what it is to embrace our shadow selves. She’s sitting in a cold empty church trying to find some sort of meaning outside of herself. My shadow. My old roommate once called me the heart of enlightened darkness.

I’ve tried it before, manifesting, with direct intention and a strong visualization. I’ve been in a room with the very thing I made up. If I close my eyes I’m right there, it’s too easy. I could tell you every single detail but I’d rather not think of it now. I’ve been attached to the pain of this for the longest time. I do understand that nothing is ever ours. They can leave the room at any time, even if your intention called them in. Sometimes I’m alone in that room and I’m okay because I trust this thing. I say that to the universe. I trust you. Although in spite of this, sometimes I still find myself playing the same four songs on repeat. I’m on the other side of the door, knocking and knocking and knocking.

Jennifer ChardonComment