When the universe doesn’t deliver: from manifesting to freedom

“The universe is like a vending machine,” a law of attraction teacher I used to follow once said.

“Put your request in the right way, and out comes what you want.”

That sounded good.

REAL good!

Just give your order and get what you asked.

Put in money, choose chocolate, and get it.

I believed her.

I believed the universe worked just like that.

I wanted to believe her.

So I played with it.

Learned that the money you put in the cosmic vending machine were positive thoughts.

(Negative ones gave you shit instead of chocolate. Same color, yet different in all the ways that matter.)

Learned that you had to put in good energy, too.

Good thoughts alone won’t bring you chocolate!

You need good vibes as well!

And so the work began.

To keep my mind clean and my vibration high.

But it doesn’t work, does it?

If it did, we’d all be eternally happy and annoyingly upbeat.

But—

I still believed the universe was like a vending machine. Or a mirror.

What you send out, you get back.

So all those things I didn’t want and didn’t go my way were my own fault.

I should keep my vibe higher, my mind cleaner!

If I didn’t get what I wanted it was ME who did something wrong!

(Or there was something wrong with me.)

(Or both.)

What a struggle.

What a mess.

I envied those who worked the law of attraction like crazy, manifesting one cool thing after another, out of nowhere.

I wanted that, too!

I wanted to be a master manifestor!

When in reality I was looking for control.

I always wanted chocolate, never shit!

It felt unbearable to live in a universe that handed out random things, based on who knows what.

Without control.

Without guarantees that I would always be okay.

I kept striving for control, spiritually guised as becoming a master manifestor (that sounded so much better.)

I never became that master.

…

And I couldn’t be happier about that.

Or else I’d still be always focussing on my thoughts, my vibes, my everything.

Always slightly scared that thinking about the boogyman would make him show up in real life. 

Turns out that life is not a vending machine. It doesn’t take requests. It doesn’t owe you chocolate. And somehow … that’s even better. 

(And I have more free time now.)

 

 

P.S. If you’re done feeding the cosmic vending machine, my private coaching might be for you.

You can read more here.

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