Even as I write about men,

it’s not about them.

How could it be?

They’re my very own creation.

Birthed from the core of me.

And the quality of my experience with them (or anything else in my life) is never about, or dependent upon, them or another.

The dynamic is impersonal.

The players are interchangeable.

Because it’s all just energy, baby.

Who and what’s being presented as I play my own game is never about the specific person or thing.

They’re just the vessels through which I explore Mandyland.

The playground that has no rules.

And every single piece,

I’ve orchestrated for myself.

Brilliantly.

Effortlessly.

Whether I like what I see or not.

I’m curating all of it - no exceptions - to sharpen the blade of me.

Which is why even in the midst of this beauty,

I’m not attached to any of it.

I don’t ‘hope’ it continues.

I don’t believe this is as good as it gets.

Because I know that the energetic quality,

the purity of me and all that I create,

is increasing constantly.

Exponentially.

There’s always more for me.

And I know that all I ever have to do is be Mandy,

just Mandy,

for life to shape itself beautifully,

seamlessly,

around,

within,

and through me.

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