I have been slowly moving from a mindset of just getting by to truly believing in abundance.
Though I did some serious rewiring already, I am starting to see how stuck I have been in that scarcity mindset.
Limiting myself for decades....
Because planning a future feels like a luxury when survival is the focus.
These posts are:
𝒯𝑜 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓂𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝒻 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝒷𝓊𝓃𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒.
𝒯𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒.
𝒯𝑜 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓇𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈𝑒𝓉.
𝒯𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒸𝑒𝓅𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒.
Darn, I have been whining like a newborn lately.
But there might be hope for you all out there....
Because I think I will survive....
I think I should be grateful for feeling a little better today.
Not sure for how long, but it feels like I am on my way up. So let me be patient with myself, and give my brain one more day off.
Because in this state of mind, I am very unlikely to write something smart. Still, I must meet my challenge to spend some time each day writing about abundance and gratitude.
So yes, this is a brain-dead post, because I got an abundance of germs, and I am thankful that it feels like I have finally found the road to recovery a couple of hours ago.
Thank you for making it this far....for those who know me...or better, think they know me, this might have been a WTF moment.
For me, this is a WTF journey, but I finally know my destiny: Avalon.
Around 1200 AD, Geoffrey of Monmouth wrote that King Arthur was taken on a boat to Avalon by “nine sisters,” the eldest being Morgan le Fay.
Avalon, where the mists of the worlds are thin and time no longer reigns.
“The king was carried to the isle of Avalon to be healed of his wounds.”
According to legend, he did not return from Avalon, but he is prophesied to do so: Arthur is the "once and future king."
Ever since, poets and dreamers have chased that myth. I am a poet, a dreamer, a mystic, and a magician.
I will not chase the myth, I will recreate it just as she meant it to be.
Because over all these centuries, Avalon has grown, the word itself holds more power than the eyes of time can see.
The ancient Celtic legend, a sacred island of healing and immortality, shrouded in fog and guarded by priestesses.
In a quiet English village in 1897, a young writer named T.E. Wilburn sat beneath an old oak and scribbled in his journal:
“Avalon is not merely a place, it is the ache of the soul that remembers something purer than this world can offer.”
That line would later appear in his forgotten book Through the Mists, and inspire the chorus of a 1974 folk song by Rowan Shade:
“Sail away, sail away / To the isle where kings still breathe / Avalon, oh Avalon / My heart you never leave.”
To some, Avalon is paradise. To others, a metaphor for death, it might be both.
Even today, Avalon appears as a vivid symbol of hope after ruin, of wholeness beyond despair.
Avalon is more than a story.
Avalon is a compass for lost souls, pointing somewhere beyond the chaos of the world, to recovery, to rebirth, and reset.
And like Arthur, those willing will all encounter the boat to take them there.
