Breaking Boundaries

When You Refuse To Go Blind (An Essay)

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“But I don’t have the money.”

Who said money is even required?

If it’s for you, meaning that desire is sourced from the absolute truth of YOU, it’s not dependent on you having the money right now.

You’re never limited to your own bank account or bound by the laws in the physical.

You absolutely CAN birth that desire from the ethers regardless of your current circumstance.

You have access to ALL possibilities.

Beyond what you can even imagine.

But your devotion to the physical, to what can be seen and measured in this moment, kills the magic on contact and reduces your options to none.

You believe that what you see is all there is, and that’s where you go wrong.

So you don’t even make your true move.

The exact move you’re being told to do that will actually dissolve the exact thing you misperceive is real.

The move that will open the floodgates to the MORE your being is pulling you towards RIGHT NOW.

The more you claim you want but aren’t even willing to step into.

Because you listen to the mind.

Because you refuse to go blind.

Because you operate within the illusion of time.

“I don’t have enough.”

“I can’t see how.”

“It must not be for me right now.”

While your whole being is screaming GO.

But since you have no money and you have no proof, you’re like NAH, BRUH.

I’ll stay right here.

In the place I’ve always been.

And that’s why you don’t get the thing, my friend.

You’ve ignored yourself once again.

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A Dance Of Two Who Are Moving As One (An Essay)

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I wanted to start this post with, “I had the best SEX ever last night.”

Because that’s how I describe whatever truly hits my spot.

The best (fill in the blank) ever.

Because in the moment, that’s how it feels.

Floating in heaven.

Nothing can top THIS.

But more accurately, it’s just another delicious experience of presence and truth which always feels like heaven.

Yummy.

Delicious.

Swoon.

And as we played, it was so quiet.

So still.

Even amongst the sounds and movements.

It was the most natural dance with another.

With myself.

Through the other who is me.

A dance so fluid I didn’t notice the moves.

I only felt the dance.

(read this poem)

I can’t even say that the SEX keeps getting better, deeper, richer…

because that would imply it was less so the first night and that wasn’t the case at all.

We moved beautifully and seamlessly and magically then as well.

Because presence in the NOW is as deep as it gets.

Playing for the first time EVERY time.

Why show up for less?

We’ve never replicated previous scenes.

Nor have we tried to create one.

Art is made in the moment.

Last night, another masterpiece.

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Will You Get The Thing Or Not? (An Essay)

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It’s not true that once you clear the matter, you automatically get the thing.

You clear the matter and see that it was never about the thing in the first place.

You clear the matter and know you’ll be good with or without this thing (or any other thing you misperceive you need / ‘deserve’ / are entitled to) because there’s no longer any weight attached to it.

And…

Sure you might get the thing.

In spades.

Or something else entirely.

Beyond what you could have imagined.

But only IF / when / how it’s true for your being.

Something you can’t control.

Ultimately, you’re always getting exactly what’s true for you anyways.

Like clockwork every step of the way.

Regardless AND because of the matter.

Which means that matter can’t stop you from getting what’s yours

because you’re never not getting precisely that.

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A Little Switcheroo (An Essay)

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As of late, I’ve been floating further away from form.

And last night it became clear that the platform / vehicle through which I was intending to showcase my upcoming collection, was no longer a fit.

Any sense of restriction,

containment,

management,

anything based on time…

any reliance on another or a thing in any way…

feels too dense / too heavy / too cluttered for me.

I need things as light and seamless and Mandy as can be.

And…

I’ve created so much art and beauty this year.

So much went on behind the scenes.

So much that’s been waiting for the perfect home.

I can’t wait to bring you up to speed.

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The Players Are Interchangeable (An Essay)

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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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Devoted To Truth; Not Another (An Essay)

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I’m sure I’ll be what’s considered ‘single’ for the rest of my life.

I’m not made to be in what most would view as a ‘relationship’, no matter what I’m experiencing with another (or others).

How could I ‘commit’ to a fellow human (insane).

To anything of this world.

My devotion is to my own evolution.

And to the truth of the moment I’m in.

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Truth Being Played Out (An Essay)

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While talking with the fellow about our recent ‘disconnect’ (which is not how I experience it; it’s just truth being played out moment to moment):

Me: “You felt like I left?”

Him: “I never felt like I had you in the first place. You’re a mystery to me.”

Me: “Well, no one’s ever ‘had’ me. But you’ve had more of me than most.”

(Peep the Poem)

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It Needed To Be Broken (An Essay)

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Kristen: “Will it break him if you don’t see him again?”

Me: “I don’t care. I don’t think of it. I just go scene to scene.”

I know how my detachment appears.

But attachment isn’t natural to the being.

It’s lodged in a story of some sort.

Meaning.

Matter.

Past.

Another.

It’s not that I don’t care about other people or what they go through.

It’s that I don’t care how their human is affected by me being Mandy.

I don’t take another into account when I make my moves.

Why would someone else have anything to do with what I know I must do?

Shall I factor in everyone I know and the world at large while I’m at it?

Give me a fucking break.

If something breaks, then good.

It clearly needed to be broken.

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