With a prompt from my publisher I open a document and read the first unfavorable review for my novel, The Baby Pact. It is inevitable. I have received a number of positive ones so I knew a negative one would likely come. After all, that is the dual way of the lower worlds.
What surprises me is how much it hurts. As I read, I hold my Beloved’s hand, but still, my heart sinks into my stomach and my arms and legs weaken. I tremble with a cold sweat.
All because I have relied on this review.
I paid for it with the hope of using it to further promote the novel. Suddenly, the folly of my reliance unveils.
Again and again at this point in my journey I’m shown that I am to rely on nothing but the Divine current to sustain me.
In the past I have been like an athlete in search of sponsorship. Like those who seek powerful brands such as Nike, Gatorade and Rolex to sustain them, allowing them to focus completely on their sport, I have found entities to subsidize me.
Frommer’s Travel Guides, New Mexico Magazine and a handful of other publications have paid me over the past few decades. I outgrew those sponsorships to great relief of my subtler being, which had grown weary from constant travel and mental gymnastics.
And now, here I sit, sponsorless.
I had one little hope of a sponsor—this review.
Ironically, the reviewer expected the very things that my old sponsors did. He wanted more back-story, more of the characters’ pasts. Most of all, he wanted the characters to act in a more moral way.
In a similar way, the mind always wants me to operate from the dead imagery of the past, and to act from a place of right versus wrong, rather than truth.
Now I’m all for improving my writing, but I sense this is about something deeper.
When I see how this experience is stealing my attention, a note of joy seeps in because I know I am unwinding karma.
I say “game on,” and call on my Beloved.
Within a few hours of releasing this again and again, the wretched mental fog begins to lift.
I recall that some of the most poignant and happy moments of my life were when an entity agreed to sponsor me: when Frommer’s wrote to say they wanted to hire me; when New Magazine offered me a monthly column.
Those moments I radiated with pride over my accomplishments. But most of all I felt safe and loved.
It was like having a supportive father, a protector, a guide. However, with the agreement the sponsor directed where I went and what I wrote—and what I didn’t write. Under that care I was sponsored, but I was not free. I could write my truth only as it served the sponsor’s interests.
So now, as the mental fog lifts, my new sponsor comes into view. I feel my body grow weightless with a sensation of safety and love. But this far surpasses those material sponsorships.
I am so light I float.
It’s a new feeling. Worldly sponsorships always come with a stomach flutter and sweaty palms, a deep knowing that in the end I will give more than I receive.
This is not the case with the new sponsor: my Beloved.
When I rely on the Divine sponsorship, the mind is still. My whole being settles into a sparkly joy. The truth pours through, directing me where It wants me to go.
It does not push me to harm my body. It does not squelch my expression. In contrast, It expands into me showing me that I am as broad as the entire universe. I am the stars and the distant galaxies. I am the essence that infuses all life.
And I am none of that.
Nothing at all
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P.S.S. Last week I announced my upcoming course, Write Your Love for Fun & Profit. I have changed the dates to January 22 and 23. If you would like to learn more, please click HERE.