Collecting winks from the Universe
Stack winks like precious coins, we're so fucking rich
Wink (noun): a synchronicity [message] from the Universe that means exactly what you decide it means
I’m so fucking rich.
I have winks scattered and cataloged everywhere—in the back right corner of an office drawer, behind the rubix cube in my nightstand, in pockets of my golf bag (to be used as divine ball markers with substantial meaning that only I can cash in), and hiding in the margins of notebooks that are so stuffed that they have to unbutton their pants in order to breath.
I’ve never liked the idea of God—or maybe that was just another something I absorbed from my dad. I can hear his words as if they’d just been spoken: “If there really is a big man in the sky with the power to call all the shots, then he sure as hell hasn’t done me any favors”. Or maybe I didn’t love the idea of putting what little faith I had left (at the ripe age of twelve) into another man—definitely not one in the sky—when I’d never known secure, masculine energy a day in my life.
But I have always loved the idea that I am the ending and the beginning. That everything around me is a reflection of, well, me. That every ask I’ve ever had is answered, not by some God or deity who enforces antiquated rules or gets the last say on anyone’s abundance, but by a version of myself that exists…out there. I’ve romanticized the idea that the air around me is alive and speaks back to me in symbols, frequencies, blue butterflies and gnome painted rocks delicately placed around my daily walking path. This romance language of mine can only be learned through devotion, not Duolingo.
Or maybe I just love romanticizing life period. Maybe life is, in fact, so fucking hard sometimes that you should pocket heads-up pennies on the sidewalk, tell a story about what they mean and how they came to you at the perfect time, all because the rush of goosebumps that lick the back of your neck like a ravenous lover turns you the fuck on.
And that counts for something.
Author’s Note: Should you find a tails up penny, do pick it up but don’t pocket it. I like to bless those lil’ guys with goodwill. Infuse it with a compliment or your energetic signature. Place it back down, heads up, and carry on your day.
Or maybe, I’ve had to depend on myself for so long that there’s something safe and awe-inspiring about trusting the weight of the winks in my pocket over the thoughts in my head. I love believing in something that takes the pressure off of me to have all the answers.
Maybe our richness isn’t just love and money, but the boxes of synchronicities that pack all the extra closets in our home. Maybe our richness is the way we let meaning pour into all the cracks and pauses of life instead of trying to seal them all shut. Maybe it’s all just coincidence. Or maybe I’d rather be shackled to naive foolishness than to die by mediocre meaninglessness.
Maybe, like me, you’re the richest person you know too.
xx
Images: