It does not come easy for most Americans. It does not come easy for those of us raised on a diet of “right now,” of hopes and promises of overnight riches, of guaranteed transformation in 10 days.
With eyes focused on the instant, it feels like a water torture of failure to endure the process of change that requires seasons to unfold. For those of us who have imbibed an endless stream of gleaming white toothed corporate casual models leaping at the prospect of success from the pages of airline magazine, the slow grind of actual life seems like a broken promise. And yet, this is where our dreams actually unfold. This is where we do the work that transfers our vision into being.
The Taiwanese burn ghost money in a prayer of hope and wish for celestial intervention.
In the West, we too burn our ghost money to the gods from which we seek favor. They go by different names, and we don’t incinerate piles of flower folded spirit currency. Yet, we too have our ways of trying to strike a deal with the Universe, of currying favor that might rain down from heaven the gifts we seek.
A curious habit that one is, the seeking of divine intervention. Because oddly enough it is our own deciding to intervene in our lives that tends to bring the most change. And it is not about some hopeful future or wish-it-were-different past, but from a deep and content sense of inhabiting the present.