Wednesday, April 19, 2006 ~ Barstow, California
As uneasy is it makes me, I recognize the perfection of hitting the road just as gas prices are once again skyrocketing, on my way to a particularly expensive part of the country...at a time when my known means of support are dissolving.
It may be perfect at a higher level, but my human self is not always convinced. That human self spent an hour last night checking out accommodation options in Barstow.
Barstow has little to recommend it, other than its location. And even as I keep trying to avoid staying here when I'm back-and-forthing between California and the Southwest, Barstow is where I generally end up.
I have been here often enough to know the hotels, and to know that there is really only one that is now appropriate: the Holiday Inn Express just outside town by the outlet malls. I stayed there on my last two pass-throughs in December.
Then, recently returned from three months of live events and private sessions in the east and midwest, my wallet and bank account were comfortably padded. Now, I'm trying to avoid spending beyond a comfort zone increasingly challenged by the aforementioned "perfection."
So last night I surfed the web for alternatives and this morning I scanned hotel coupons for bargains.
Bargains exist, and one briefly tempted me. It was for a Quality Inn I knew from a previous stay. And it was half the price of the deepest Internet discount I could find for the Holiday Inn Express.
And then I remembered what had happened here in December. I drove to the Quality Inn, discount coupon in hand, and parked in the parking lot. But I couldn't get out of the car.
So bad, as my daughter used to say, I wanted it to be okay to stay there. Yet I knew that it wasn't.
There's nothing wrong with the Quality Inn...other than that its resonance and mine were no longer a match.
This was not about snobbery or better-than. It was about good-enough and self-worth. It was about the vibration of abundance, which is the vibration of trust.
It was also about acknowledging that when I'm on the road, my hotel is the only home I have and I deserve to be comfortable.
So I pulled out of the parking lot and pointed my car toward the Holiday Inn Express.
As I recalled that experience this morning, I put away the coupons and booked a room for tonight at the Holiday Inn Express, where I sit right now.
The room is large, quiet and comfortable. The front desk staff is friendly. It's not the Ritz, but it is the newest and nicest hotel in town.
Yes, it pushes my money buttons to stay here. But I've stayed here before and I'm still solvent. And even if I don't know where my financial support is coming from, I know it's not only coming, it's already here.
I know too that there can be no backsliding on this journey. There is only forward motion and upward vibration.
I can't pretend that I'm still where I was a year ago. I can't erase the sense of worthiness I have worked so hard to achieve. I can't act as though I don't have the money or dwell on scarcity, unless that's what I choose to create.
All I can do is trust the journey and know that I'm taken care of. Period.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Wednesday, April 19, 2006 ~ Barstow, California
Wednesday, April 19, 2006 ~ Flagstaff, Arizona
Doubts gnaw at me this morning as I prepare for my true departure into the unknown.
Although I left Santa Fe on Monday, I knew I would be spending two nights here in Flagstaff, just north of Sedona, in order to have time with my daughter.
Now that I'm about to leave Flagstaff, this feels like the starting-gate...which is about to swing open, only to push me off a cliff into an unimaginable void.
I know I'm heading toward Monterey, California. But I find that knowledge far from comforting, given that I have no idea why it's calling me or what I'll do when I get there.
I've jokingly told friends that my Mercury Monterey minivan simply wants to go home. And perhaps that's all it is, though I doubt it.
Since the certainty of Monterey's call gelled a few days ago, my mind has been cataloguing all the possible reasons for it. My mind, however, can only travel to the frontiers of its imagination. Whereas the truth, I know, lies well beyond that artificial barrier.
This morning, as I teeter on the precipice of the unknowable, what I know and what I feel don't quite align. And that misalignment feeds those doubts - about this journey...about my work...about my life.
And then, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of doubt...REVELATION!
I know I will be spending tonight in Barstow, California. What more do I need to know, in this moment? Nothing, I realize.
That very realization relaxes me, and frees me to move forward...one day at a time.
Tonight is Barstow. Tomorrow will take care of itself...and of me.
Monday, April 17, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
I wake just after dawn with Joshua Kadison singing his Child of These Roads in my head.
The asphalt was shining
The sky was dazzling blue...
Somethin' in me was changing
Fast as the speed of my wheels...
I was a child of these roads
A child of these roads
A black wide river shinin'
I rode her everywhere she wanted to go
Just a child of these roads...
The refrain repeats in my head as I finish packing the car. It still reverberates as I fit the key in the ignition and pull away from my casita...away from Santa Fe.
It's the perfect day to begin this new journey...as a child of these roads.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Easter Sunday, April 16, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
A few months ago, my ex-wife told me that our six-and-a-half-year-old daughter Guinevere had come home from school in distress. It seems everyone in her class had wanted to play a game she didn't want to play. Even as she stood her ground, she wanted to fit in, to be part of the group.
"I don't want to be different," she told her mother.
"You are different," her mother replied, "and that's okay."
As her mother shared the story with me, my heart went out to this little girl who was beginning to discover her uniqueness in a culture that promotes sameness, in a world that fears, persecutes and prosecutes the very differences it claims to celebrate.
I found myself in tears during our conversation, as the little boy in me recognized himself in Guinevere.
That little boy remembered how he longed to belong as he was. Yet his experiences repeatedly demonstrated that the only safe option was to push his differences under the rug, to repress his creativity, sensitivity and intuition, to pretend he was the same as the other kids...many of whom were probably doing just what he was doing....what I was doing.
Even as the adult I have become has created space for those repressed differences to emerge, scars remain. They play out in snapshot moments of fear and insecurity, often as I move through stores on my travels, watching "normal" people shop for "normal" lives. I recognize the normalcy for the illusion that it is. Yet, in those moments, that child part of me is tired of standing apart.
I still remember my first grocery store visit after I moved into my Santa Fe casita. I was so overcome by the notion of shopping as a resident rather than as a traveler that I began to cry as I placed a bottle of olive oil in my basket. I was just so grateful to be doing something "normal" after more than a year on the road.
Last night for the first time in months, I watched TV, tuning into Monk on the USA Network. It's a quirky series that features a brilliant if eccentric private detective whose peculiarities insure that he's always an outsider.
In last night's episode, Monk goes undercover in an investment office and, for the first time in his life, fits in. The obsessiveness that has always set him apart has the opposite effect in this environment and he becomes "part of the gang."
Anyone who has lived as an outsider could easily identify with Monk's childlike glee at being accepted and, when that acceptance is withdrawn, the familiar pain of loneliness and rejection.
Yet there is no loneliness when we recognize that we're all one (al-one) in our individuality. There is no rejection when we realize that we serve no one by repressing that individuality to try to fit in.
When I was growing up in Montreal, my Grade 10 Canadian history text was titled Unity in Diversity. To me, that's the perfect motto for the oneness we all claim to be seeking.
Whether you believe in the resurrection of Easter, the metaphysics of ascension or neither, it's difficult to deny that as individuals and as a human race, we are evolving into something greater.
That greatness is not about greater homogeneity.
Oneness is not about returning to some amoeba-like uniformity. Ascension is not about morphing into identical light units. Resurrection is not about a renewal of sameness.
We are rising and being reborn into a fuller expression of our individuality. That individuality is our divinity...our mastery...our humanity.
If you're looking for the perfect metaphor for oneness, look at your own body, itself a unit of oneness. Yet within that oneness are individual components — hands, feet, eyes, lungs, kidneys, veins, arteries — each of which is unlike any other. Each of which performs a vital, unique task in the functioning of the One Body.
Replacing my eyes with another set of hands would serve neither the first set of hands nor my body as a whole. That brand of uniformity would make me no safer.
It is in their differences that my individual parts fit in. It is in their diversity that they celebrate, protect and empower my unity.
That's no less true for me as an individual piece of the oneness we call America, western society, the World or the Universe.
As I prepare to leave Santa Fe on Monday for a return to my wandering ways, I am called to remember that my uniqueness is integral to human evolution and that as I accept, bless and honor my differences, I make it easier for my daughter to do the same with hers.
I created the above drawing, titled Resurrection, Renewal & Rebirth, yesterday from the color-it-yourself activator template that forms part of my Prosper from Your Divine Purpose! program. As an individual expression of a common core, it is for me the perfect reflection of the resurrection of our divinity, the rebirth of our mastery, the renewal of our humanity.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Friday, April 14, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
It's fascinating for me to observe my behavior and emotions as I prepare to leave Santa Fe within the next day or so.
Frankly, it's been stressful. Not because leaving is the wrong thing to do. On the contrary, I couldn't be more certain that it's time move on.
Human beings are peculiar creatures. Even the changes we seek most ardently cause us stress, as we are pushed to trade the known for the less-known. And as adaptable as we are, tiny shifts in routine can be discomfiting, even when they appear to return us to an earlier way of being.
When I first decided to remain in Santa Fe after more than a year of full-time life on the road, the prospect of emptying my car and unpacking all its bags, bins and crates was daunting.
Most of my 51 years have been lived under the roof of an immovable structure — a house, apartment or condominium. Yet returning to that lifestyle after a year on four wheels didn't come easily. It took me weeks to fully empty the car and unpack its contents into the cupboards, closets and drawers of my new abode.
Today, even with the memory of nearly 14 months of traveling still fairly fresh, it is difficult to contemplate a return to the road. It's taken me an angst-filled week to sort through, pack and load my few belongings, a process that under calmer circumstances could have been completed in a day or two.
There's no self-judgment there. Recognizing the emotional impact of this move, I allowed plenty of time for this latest Operation Exodus.
I realize now, with the car mostly packed, that what appears identical on the surface couldn't be more different. I'm not returning to the life on the road I suspended 11 weeks ago. Nor am I leaving Santa Fe in the same manner I left Sedona.
When I left Sedona in the wake of a marriage breakup, all that mattered was the leaving. The focus was on driving away from an unhappy past. Destination, in the moment, was irrelevant.
As I depart Santa Fe, it's not about what I'm leaving behind but what I'm moving into: an unknowable future.
It's no accident that this leave-taking occurs as I'm in the midst of facilitating a teleconference series on mastery. As I guide participants into the next levels of their mastery, I do the same for myself.
I don't know what that next level of mastery means for me or what it looks like, which is stressful to my human self. I do know that it will be magnificent, joyful and abundant beyond my imagining — to the extent that I'm able to surrender to the journey, which is the journey beyond imagination.
This departure from Santa Fe is part of that journey. It's the journey to the unknown star I created in Monday's drawing. It's the journey into the infinite...the ineffable...the Divine.
Like all such journeys, it challenges the human attachment to control. Like all such journeys, it acknowledges the heart's desire to soar.
If you're following my novel, The MoonQuest, itself a tale of the journey into mastery, new free installments were added to my web site on April 9.
Monday, April 10, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
I wake this morning to fragments of a dream triggered by last night's Advanced Mastery teleconference and by my impending departure from Santa Fe.
In the dream I'm packing my car for a journey to an unknown destination. I'm traveling with a friend, and as I finish loading the vehicle, I show her a drawing I have just completed.
The drawing is filled with arrows, and I tell her that it works with the energy of venturing into the unknown, of following an unknown star.
Although my waking mind lacks a clear image of the drawing in the dream, I know it's important for me to get it on paper. I know too that it's equally important for my ordered mind to let go of any need for my drawing to be identical to its dream counterpart.
All that matters is that it capture the energy of the dream — the energy of new directions and uncharted territory...the energy of leaping into the unknown...the energy of stepping into spiritual mastery.
And so, connecting with that energy, I set out my sketch pad and colors and...surrender.
The result is pictured above, what I've titled The Way of the Master, the Way of the Fool. (Click on the link to view a larger image or purchase a copy.) To me it represents the road to the infinite.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Saturday, April 8, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
More than 12 hours have passed since a friendly phone conversation with my ex-wife, during which she joyfully shares with me an impending success.
At first I'm proud of her and of the incredible breakthrough it represents for her. In the moment, I'm genuinely pleased.
But the moment passes.
When it does, anger seeps in to replace it, for her accomplishment could be seen to justify her break-up of our six-and-a-half-year marriage. How dare she experience anything that could vindicate her actions? my still-hurting pieces cry out.
Before long, love, fear, resentment and sadness have joined the seasonings in this edgy emotional stew.
It simmers all day, sparking fatigue and introducing delays into what, until then, has been an effortless day of Albuquerque appointments and errands.
It's only now, as midnight pulls me into Sunday, that I realize what our conversation triggered: the realization that I have neither fully let her go nor fully forgiven her for leaving me 17 months ago.
That's a good realization, though not a particularly comfortable one.
Even though a healer friend whose sensings I deeply respect said as much on Thursday, now I feel it.
Since Thursday, I've been visualizing being cleansed of the energy of enmeshment and have been speaking words of release.
But although it has been a powerful exercise, it did not reach its full potential until today. I knew the truth intellectually but hadn't yet felt it.
Now I do.
I don't like the feeling, even as I'm grateful to put a name to today's emotional upset. But I recognize (however reluctantly) that I can't move into my next level of release and forgiveness until I first free myself into my next level of feeling, however uncomfortable that is. Nor can I ask of her what I haven't been ready to do myself.
Today I move into that freedom and readiness, into that release and forgiveness. I do so painfully yet lovingly - feeling all that I feel as I honor who we were as a couple and who we are now as individuals.
Tomorrow I continue the journey, as I will the tomorrow after that - each day carrying me deeper into release and forgiveness, each moment freeing me more fully into love.
(In one of life's brilliant synchronicities, I find myself editing a book on forgiveness this weekend. The manuscript arrived Thursday, the same day my healer friend and I had our chat.)
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Saturday, April 8, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
It's a funny thing about Santa Fe...or, at least, my experience of Santa Fe.
When I arrived here in January, just another stop (or so I thought) on the road to wherever, the signs, signals and synchronicities seemed to fall over each other to convince me to stick around. My favorite was that week's Walk Your Talk column in The Santa Fe Reporter. The column began with this line, "Dear Robert—I am considering a move to Santa Fe...", and it seemed to have been written just for me.
Once I committed to staying, the signs multiplied. For example, I found a jewel of a place to rent from two jewel-like beings who went out of their way to accommodate me. I was the only person who ever responded to their ad.
Other signs hinted at great professional and financial accomplishment.
Santa Fe, it seemed, would be the key to my success.
It has been, I believe, though not in any of the ways I expected.
Instead of launching me on the fast-track to Sound Healer Superstardom, it has chipped away at my professional identity, pushed me to expand my sense of self and dared me to shatter illusion, expectation and limitation.
It also refused to allow me to get too settled here, as though there was foreknowledge of the temporary nature of my sojourn.
Of course, this upheaval isn't happening only because I have been living in Santa Fe. Many are experiencing similar shakeups.
Nor can I say with 100% certainty either that I'm leaving or that, if I do, I'm never returning. Too much can happen in a week for me to make that kind of claim.
Yet the frequencies of particular places can amplify and focus prevailing energies. It happened for me in Sedona. It happened for me in Hawaii. And I believe that's what has happened for me in Santa Fe.
It's no accident that my Advanced Mastery teleconference series was conceived and launched here (a series that has taken a radically different turn from what I expected when I first promoted it as an ultimately aborted Santa Fe retreat).
There is an alchemy sparked by my being here, an alchemy that's informing how the series is taking shape and that's already kickstarting me into the next level of my own mastery, whatever that is.
So often in my life I have been guided in a particular direction on a pretext that has proven more ruse than reason. My higher wisdom doesn't hesitate to resort to trickery if that's what it takes to garner my cooperation.
Sometimes a little knowledge isn't dangerous at all. It's the safest possible course.
That was true when my ex-wife and I moved to Hawaii seven years ago, another place where I experienced a radical identity-stripping.
Then, I was angry, resentful and scared. Then, I tried to cling to who I thought I was and wept bitterly when I couldn't. Then, the "deception" that got us there temporarily dissolved my faith.
Today, even as fear occasionally overtakes me, I smile at the ruse and laugh with Spirit at what is sometimes required to do its bidding, which is, of course, the expression of my heart's desire.
I can't pretend to know the depth of that desire or how it can be most joyfully and powerfully expressed.
Clearly, part of it has been expressed by my being in Santa Fe.
Yet without all the signs and signals, hints and promises, I probably wouldn't have stayed here.
In this moment, the signs and signals point to a departure, seem to be directing me toward southern California. Whether it's for a week or a year, all I can do now is trust my inner sensings and surrender to whatever is next, knowing that that is the ultimate key to my mastery.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Friday, April 7, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
As I contemplate my removal from Santa Fe in 10 days, I can't help but think back to my talk here at The Celebration on Sunday.
In this moment, I have the glimmerings of a notion where I will point my car when I leave town on April 17. Yet it's likely that however much I think on it between now and then, my direction will make itself known only in the hours leading up to my departure.
As for my destination, that too will reveal itself in divine time.
My Sunday talk was pretty much the same.
As I said I would in Saturday's post, I walked into the sanctuary space with nothing more than a barely remembered title and the vague ideas that had been bouncing around my brain in the days and hours leading up to the talk.
It wasn't until 15 minutes before my turn at the podium, during the week's inspirational reading, that the Aha! of my opening direction made itself known.
Once I began, I surrendered fully to the wisdom of my highest self, allowing my words to follow their own divine course.
As for my destination, I had no conscious awareness of it until I was given the five-minutes-remaining signal and, to my amazement, my inspirational package wrapped itself up in a few neat sentences.
That experience proves yet again that as soon as I give up trying to plan and figure out, I create space for miracles...for grace. And I free myself to move beyond the constraints of a mind not yet tuned to the infinite...into the infinite.
My talk was powerful and well-received because I walked in with no plan other than surrender - to each moment and each word.
It's a reminder to me, as I contemplate life post-Santa Fe, that I experience the most wonder when I stop wondering and simply allow wonder to flow through me.
If I choose to live in the infinite, and I do, there is nothing to plan and nothing to think about. There is only this moment...and now this one...and now this one.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Monday, April 3, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
When I power up my cell phone this morning, I find a message advising me that my casita will be ready to meet its vacation rental destiny (and full rent potential) by mid-month.
Even though there have been false alarms in the past, this time it feels real.
Besides, I know I have outgrown this one-bedroom adobe, as great as it has been to be here.
That feeling has intensified in recent days, ever since the arrival of a new sofa bed, one that's disproportionately large for my compact living room. Every time I look at the sofa, I feel the walls closing in on me.
So it's definitely time, once again, to move on. I'm not surprised that the Ready, Set, Go! card turns up again this morning, as it did yesterday during my preparations for last night's Mastery teleconference.
Although I don't feel powerfully guided to do so, I scan the ads for a new home - someplace larger, someplace that matches the higher vibration I know I'm moving into.
Nothing feels right.
Regardless, I do some drive-bys.
Nothing looks right.
"Okay, Santa Fe," I say toward the end of the day. "If you want me here, you'd better house me."
Another phone call soon after that. This one raising my rent should I choose to stay beyond this week.
Now, just as you and I have been in flux over the past month, so have the owners of my casita. I say this in neither judgment nor anger, but I've been told so many conflicting and changeable stories about the unit and the fate of my tenancy that this call pushes me over the edge.
And then I get it.
It's not about them. It's about me.
Twelve years ago this month, when I first felt guided to move from Toronto to Nova Scotia, it was a vague, five-years-down-the-road kind of call.
Yet as I surrendered to that call and acted as though it would come to pass, I felt the time frame collapse and collapse again, until by the time I made a reconnaissance visit to Nova Scotia in July 1994, I expected to be moving the following spring.
When I returned to Toronto two weeks later from a magically synchronistic trip, I was surprised not to feel another shift in the time frame.
I didn't question it. Instead, I called the University of Toronto to check out registration figures for the noncredit writing course I was scheduled to teach in the fall term.
Zero. Zilch. Nada. Rien. Nichts.
Nobody had signed up for my section, even as sections taught by other instructors were filling up nicely.
"Oh well," I said to myself. "I'll just keep an eye on the numbers. If the course fills up, great. If not, maybe I'll go to Nova Scotia earlier."
Wait one minute! another part of me exclaimed. That's how you've lived your whole life: letting other people's agendas determine yours. It's time to break that pattern. It's time to empower yourself. What do you want?
What did I want? Was anything keeping me in Toronto other than this course?
Apparently not. Within 24 hours I had canceled the course and launched Operation Evacuate. Six weeks later on my 40th birthday, having dispossessed myself of everything that wouldn't fit in a Dodge Caravan, I drove off the ferry in Digby, Nova Scotia.
This casita and its owners' fluctuations represent for me another layer of what occurred a dozen years ago. As I realize that I have spent most of my tenancy disempowering myself by letting their plans rule mine, the genesis of clarity begins to form.
It's as though clarity was just waiting for me to step into my power before it stepped into my awareness.
What emerges is a sense, once again, that it's time to leave Santa Fe, if not for good then at least for now. I decide that whether or not I remain in the casita, I will stay in Santa Fe through Easter, long enough for another visit here with my daughter. And then...
And then I draw a another card. You guessed it: Ready, Set, Go!
Saturday, April 1, 2006 ~ Santa Fe, New Mexico
Tomorrow I give the inspirational talk at Santa Fe's Celebration Sunday service. Today, I'm experiencing a level of anxiety far out of proportion to the situation.
Let's be frank. I'm terrified.
Well, at a superficial level, there really is no reason.
Even though I have no idea what I will say (which hasn't stopped me from spending the past 24 hours trying to figure it out), I have spoken frequently with neither text nor notes.
None of my teleconferences has ever been scripted. Neither has any of my in-person events. With those, as is the plan with tomorrow's talk, I have a topic (more for promotional convenience than any other reason), I connect with my heart, I connect with those present and I surrender.
I've even given a Sunday service talk before.
In 2003, my ex-wife, our friend Isa de Quesada and I started a Sunday service in Sedona.
At the outset, Isa gave the talk and I did the sound.
As the Sunday of the Harmonic Concordance weekend approached, Isa asked me to speak in her place so she could focus on the retreat she was facilitating that weekend.
I did, so successfully that we agreed that I would take over that part of the service.
Each of the subsequent Sundays demanded of me a new level of surrender as I moved from a developed text to fewer and fewer notes. On the final Sunday we offered the service, I walked up to the lectern with nothing but a topic...and a nervous stomach.
When I sat down, even though the congregants applauded graciously, I felt tinier than an ant.
To my mind, I had never given so unfocused and disjointed a presentation. I kept waiting for my wife to say something reassuring, but she remained silent.
"Oh God," I groaned inwardly. "It must be even worse than I think."
Finally, I found the courage to ask.
"I thought you knew," she replied in astonishment. "That was the most powerful thing I've ever heard you do!"
Of course it was, I now know, because I spoke from the heart and surrendered completely to whatever was coming through me.
So why am I barely functional today when I've done it all before?
One reason is that tomorrow's talk represents a new level of surrender, the loss of yet another layer of control.
All my teleconferences and events have been my teleconferences and events. I've been in charge. I've been in control.
Tomorrow, I lose that illusion of control as I fill a time-specific slot in someone else's event.
But it's deeper than that.
For as long as I have been a conscious, awake adult, I have always seen myself using the power of my words to inspire large numbers of people. Through my writing, certainly. But even more through the spoken word.
When the call came to suspend my regular teleconferences, part of me knew that my work with sound was moving aside, at least in part, to make way for this long-held vision.
Tomorrow, represents a kickoff of sorts to the next level of that vision. It's also the fruit of one of life's unintentional synchronicities.
By the time I got to Santa Fe two months ago, I was so focused on my work with sound that I chose not to pursue a speaking opportunity with The Celebration, even though we had been trying to slot me into the service schedule for more than a year.
Spirit had other plans, as it so often does.
A miscommunication prompted to the speaker coordinator to offer me tomorrow's date.
When I accepted back in February, sound was still my primary focus.
Now it's not. Now, tomorrow turns out to be the ideal foundation stone for what's next in my life.
My topic? Spring Ahead Into Your Mastery.
No wonder I'm scared! I'll be doing it as I speak about it.
Yet even through the fear, I know that my words and their impact will be as powerful tomorrow as my ability to surrender. And I know that I will surrender. There's no other choice.
Before I go to bed (much more relaxed in the wake of a friend's telephone pep talk), I once again reach for Doreen Virtue's Magical Mermaid and Dolphin Deck.
As I shuffle, I ask for a card that will speak to me about tomorrow's talk.
The card that falls out of the deck is Ready, Set, Go!
The fine print reads, "Now is the perfect moment to dive in and embrace your heart's desire."