Morning Restlessness
The day began with impatience. At the hotel, I didn’t want to wait for the bike, and the breakfast felt unappealing. I took a tuk-tuk, restless, searching for something better. A café with great reviews didn’t impress me, and no matter what was in front of me, I couldn’t see it as enough.
I rode around, visiting places that didn’t land. The heat pressed in. My pickiness turned to frustration. At Tree Bodhi Tree, I offered blessings, but the energy didn’t quite reach me. Even food became a cycle of dissatisfaction — until, at last, I found almond milk at the fourth supermarket. Back at the hotel, I made my own matcha latte. A small act of presence — simple, grounding, nourishing.
Shifting Frequency
Breakfast, some work on the PDFs, and then another outing. I visited the Stargates before the team call. Lunch was ordinary, but the meeting with Melzie and Pen was extraordinary. It had been over a week since we last connected, and the flow of conversation was like a homecoming.
We spoke of storytelling — Dr. Seuss, rhythm, rhyme, speaking to the inner child through poetry and play. The possibility of season two weaving animated videos, interactive narration, and wonder — a new way of speaking to the world. It lit something in me.
Pen and I also touched on something deeper: the sad triangle of entrapment. I realized this method came to me because I, too, have been entrapped. The practice is to die in every moment — to be authentic, to risk truth without fear of abandonment. Could we practice together, like training a muscle, to stay authentic without leaving each other? This, I felt, is the highest frequency: authenticity that endures, even in discomfort.
Evening Flow
After that liberating conversation, the day shifted. I found a restaurant with beautiful service, delicious food. I walked instead of riding, stumbling upon a mobile phone shop where I replaced my case and cover — protection, practicality, for a fraction of what it would cost elsewhere.
Then, as if the flow had opened, a smoothie shop appeared with every ingredient I’d need for protein shakes after the gym. The seeds had shifted. Morning frustration gave way to evening gratitude.
As I walked, I saw a man with no legs on the street, asking for help. My heart softened. I gave what I could and sat with him.
Closing Reflection
Today showed me the mirror of my own seeds. Picky, restless, resistant — and that’s what the day gave me back. But once I planted new seeds, shifted into gratitude and presence, the harvest changed. Opportunities, conversations, kindness, and flow arrived without effort.
The New Earth is cultivated in these small shifts — in dying to old reactions, in planting new seeds, and in choosing to see the harvest of gratitude.
The Old Earth Pull
But as I returned to the hotel to rest, reflect, and soak in gratitude, a familiar interruption arrived. A message from the Old Earth — dense energy about notary work, documents, signatures. It felt like the old pattern I knew as a child: whenever joy rose within me, something would swoop in to pull me back down.
The question now is: can I trust joy? Can I stay rooted in joy even as the Old Earth tugs at me, whispering its heaviness?
I choose yes. Joy is a muscle to be trained, just like truth. And the practice is to remain steady, no matter what comes to pull me away.
