“Go in search of pink feathers,” commands the channeled spirit, “and you shall find them.” Indeed I did find them. They were on sale at a store right around the corner. Manifested just for me. Must be a common directive for this mystic.

“Don’t just ask the Universe for a thousand dollars,” advises one motivational speaker. “Be specific.” So I asked for one thousand two hundred thirty-two dollars and fifteen cents. I’m still waiting for the fifteen cents. Universe, do you hear me?

I don’t know when manifesting became akin to ordering from the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Don’t get me wrong. I believe wholeheartedly in manifesting.

My concept of manifestation, however, is the good old-fashioned kind. The kind where what one sends out vibrationally into the ether comes back in the form of self-fulfilling prophecy.

Henry Ford was on board decades ago, long before the “secrets of the Universe” crowd showed up (or did they manifest?). His oft-quoted words sum it up nicely:

Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you will be right.

Perhaps a bit less mystical, but no less powerful. You are what you think. You attract what you think about. You are limited by your limiting beliefs. And yes, there is a vibrational field that holds your vision and works on your behalf to help make manifest your intentioned outcomes.

There, I said it. So I am a little woo-woo “out there.” But I’m comfortable with that. And I don’t need a pink feather to prove to myself or anyone else that manifesting “works.” And if – at the end of the day – I come up fifteen cents short, so be it.

It’s a beautiful morning, and I’ve sat at my computer long enough. I think I’ll head out to see what I can manifest today. No matter what order we place with the Universe, the Universe has an uncanny way of surprising us.

I like surprises. Sometimes.

In response to The Daily Post prompt: Community Service