You must ask for what you really want

I’m being a perfectionist. After a month of entering “north oakland” and “berekeley” into the box under rooms/shares on craigslist, pouring over house photos, google maps and postings with phrases like “cozy collective,” “queer identifying,” and “family-style,” biking all over the east bay, meeting people at open-house potlucks and one-on-four interviews, turning down 3 offers and seeing many more places, I think it’s safe to say that I’m growing weary of this game.

This is what I told my friend Nia the other day. She said “Good. That means you’re close.” She was right. Yesterday, I accepted a spot in a lovely North Oakland collective house.

In the spirit of “everything unfolds in a state of perfection,” I’m reflecting on what I’ve received through this somewhat tiring and arduous process:

I’m learning the process of getting what I want.

When I was in Australia, this hit me like a speeding train (incidentally, while I was on a speeding train at the time). I realized that the only thing I was doing there, the only thing I’m doing anywhere, is learning what I want, how to discover what I want, and how to receive it.

My adventure in house hunting has been no different. I wrote lists. Felt into my heart’s desire. Meditated. Manifested. This was a huge part of it, but this journey inward would mean nothing until I brought this expression outward. As I continued to search, met potential housemates, looked at rooms, sniffed out different neighborhoods, my list of manifestings morphed and changed. It was a gathering of information from within my heart, and from beyond it.

I’ve always been really good at knowing what I don’t want. But when faced with the question “What DO you want?” I would stall out. I realized today that I stall because I’m looking for some guarantee. Some stalwart, staunch state within my heart, some surefire sign that what I sense I want right now will be the same tomorrow, next year, and for the rest of my life. I stall because I know how changeable my desires can be. And how can such a changeable heart be true and trusted?

But what if I considered that a heart is true because of the fact that it is changeable?

I can’t possibly know what my heart will sing for in the future, I can only know what I want right now, what feels good and smells good and sounds good in this given moment. I have to trust my heart – that this present-time knowing is more than enough. That its ability to change makes it true, perhaps truer than any future, postured knowing.

My heart is changeable. It’s vibrant and adaptable. It’s dynamic, flows with the currents, is as capable of electric expressions as it is of growing roots, and of bending with the breeze of you.

Don’t go back to sleep.

june 7, 2013


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