Once upon a time… In the summer of 2006 to be exact.
My son flopped down on the ground, exasperated at the indignity of being at this Frankie Beverly and Maze concert, he didn’t like them and it was our tyrannical parental zeal that my wife and I wielded that held him captive.
And I snapped this picture of him sitting on the ground…
I cautioned him to pay attention and to take notes because, one day it would be him mesmerizing the crowd.
“You’re going to be up on that stage one day.”
I tried to impress upon him the necessity of remembering my words – declaring that I would keep this picture as proof of my speaking “it” into existence.
He grumbled in response and put his head into his hands, defeated.
Interestingly enough, there was a rain storm that came shortly after – one so intense that it caused the band and the people in the crowd to scatter.
Sidenote… I haven’t seen Frankie Beverly & Maze in concert since (damn the music Gods).
As I flash forward to the present day – it seems that my powers of manifestation rang true.
My son grew up to become a musician in his own right, graduating with a degree in Music Therapy – his instrument of choice?
I’ve been granted the honor to have watched my son charm crowds on the East Coast via the medium of music (in the pre-COVID-19 era) standing as a witness to hypnotized masses swaying in unison to his musical innotations – smiling broadly because I claimed it before it happened.
At the time of my declaration those words to my son came organically and I believed them with every fiber of my being – I wasn’t sure why at the time, but an epiphany in the form of a similar declaration that my paternal Grandmother made after my 8th grade graduation served as a potent reminder of the power of manifestation.
Allow me to explain…Let’s time travel, shall we?
On a Summer afternoon in June 1989, my Grandmother and I walked outside the venue of my graduation discussing my plans for the next chapter of my life.
When my family walked out of the ceremony I remember my Grandma bubbling with an effervescent pride and she asked me pointedly…
“Baby, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
I replied quickly that I wanted to be lawyer – and she studied my face for a moment, as if she was puzzled
“A lawyer? You gotta be a good liar, baby.”
She must have sensed the bewildered look on my face – as she reached out to lock her arm in mine laughing as we started walking together towards the parking lot.
“I’m just joking, but you know baby, you should be a writer, their words live long after they are gone… You can live forever through words. That’s why your Daddy has got you reading those books.”
Before I had a chance to wrap my head around what she said.
My Father bellowed…
“Yeah boy, listen to your Grandma!”
And with one fluid motion he snapped the picture of me and my Grandma standing there.
When I was in Chicago last week – I walked the streets of my old haunts and before I knew it I found my way back to that same spot where my Grandma manifested a path for me that would serve to be redemptive.
From the lips of my Grandma to God’s ears…
The same power that she had was at my disposal too.
“Baby, you should be a writer…”
I ended up fulfilling that mandate – publishing my first book on the anniversary of my Father’s birth in 2019.
I had to learn that coincidence doesn’t live here – because I come from a long line of Manifesters.
I see you Grandma and your Great Grandson does too.
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