“Write about him more,” was her advice.
I’d done myself a disservice by telling her too much of a false truth and over time, she’d inadvertently revealed that she wasn’t who she pretended to be – A psychic.
I’d become enamored with ‘them’ at a young age, more curious about how ‘they’ did it, then what they predicted, which was in some ways an oxymoron. I still study them and their followers, wanting to better understand the draw, still unsure what I’ll do with the information.
With little exception, most are depressed, delusional, or otherwise unable to accept current realities, and in some cases, understand their power as it pertains to participating in their present and future. Those who claim to have powers of psychism often feed into masses of undefined psychosis, providing information so overwhelmingly vague as to be worthless.
If my opinion sounds judgmental, that’s because it is. Before becoming a student of the phenomena I was a follower, and I *did* write about him more, but it was little more than a recipe for an already marinated obsession, and any obsession that stymies our soul’s purpose tends to be distraction. Separating obsession from the very real love I hold took a long time. A very long time.
Everyone finds truth branded somewhere within the individual dictionaries of their heart and mind. I realized truth after the response received in expressing the following to my *psychic*:
“I don’t want to chase him anymore. Can you tell me how to love him in a way that is best for each of us?”
With that, she had no direction, and neither did the others.
Love doesn’t light chakra-colored candles and fill them with flower petals in order to use them in a seance. It doesn’t purchase *channelled* love letters, or mark their calendars for reunion by the phases of the moon. It doesn’t wish for the destruction of one relationship in hopes that it provides them the opening they’ve prayed about. It doesn’t look at the clock one hundred times a day and decide that 11:11 means all is on track in their fifth-dimensional world so it must also mean their third-dimensional world is following closely behind.
Love lights a candle because it’s dark, and it is the match. It writes love letters at all times of day, independent from ink and paper. It prays for nothing but peace and elevation of another’s heart and soul regardless what turmoil might plague theirs. If it looks at the clock, it’s to remind itself to stay grounded in this temporal reality, in order to show up as needed and required in whatever location the soul has been placed.
Tarot readers are to a great degree full of bullshit and their messages are intended to keep you hanging at the end of a rope not knitted for your hands. But I don’t want to end on a negative note. If you’re reading this, you’re probably also a writer. So I say write more about whatever brings you joy. If it’s her, him or them, then write about those people, places or things, because what many of us want to manifest more of is peace and joy, not wishes.
One you have complete control of, and if you’re honest with yourself, the other you don’t.
Real love doesn’t go retrograde