As part of the Raise Your Vibration course, Mischaela encourages that we imagine our future. A day in the life of our future selves. So, here goes…
I wake up and something alerts me to the fact that I’m not alone in my bed. It might be an arm around me or my hand touching them in some manner, giving me the sensations of warmth and vitality. I smile because this is happiness: waking up next to the man I love.
There is a clock, but no alarm is set. It’s morning, though I can sleep many hours of the day away depending on my energy levels. I’m still sick. I wrecked my body over the course of 32 years, so it’s going to take a little while to get it into tip-top shape (if I ever can.)
It’s his day off and he’s awake, reading a book. He smiles at me in turn, his attention stolen from the text on the page as I stretch and yawn noisily. We kiss and he calls me a sleepy head, which I cannot deny. I eye his coffee greedily before getting up to get my own, offering him a refresh. He takes it black, but I like to put something creamy in mine.
I sit down in a dining room chair to sip my coffee, still waking up. He might continue to read or he might be ready for a reading break, it’s really neither here nor there. I miss my cats, having put them down recently due to extreme old age. I chose to put them down as a singular unit because they’ve been together almost all their lives now. Sixteen years. Sixteen long years with me and each other. I held them all individually, soothing them and kissing their foreheads as they were euthanized. It still makes me sad, but I don’t cry over it.
I don’t cry over it because they’re still with me in spirit. Their electrical energy continues to live on. They’ve discarded their physical bodies and now they weave around me in the metaphysical, sitting in my lap or rubbing up against my ankles. I even feel it, sometimes. He can, too. In fact, one of the humans that used to live in our house still wanders the property. He was killed unjustly by his brother in the 1800s, a serial killer that took advantage of escaped slave women who found themselves on his doorstep, alone.
I enjoy my coffee, looking around the house or out the window or at my partner. I am present and in the moment while my youngest cat is curled up on my lap for some extra “snug-snugs.” I created that word (from the word snuggle) after watching Caveman for the fifth time in my life. It’s a funny movie, what can I say? My husband thinks my made up words are pretty funny, or at least unique. I make him laugh all the time with my silly self… my authentic, true self, which can be naive or otherwise ‘strange’ in the world of neurotypicals. I’m autistic, after all.
I heal my cats, my hearth, my home, my man, myself. I try to heal the universe because I want to repay the debt of mankind, though I cannot do it all by myself. If he doesn’t join me in healing, he’ll do it himself later… this I know. I keep teaching him whatever I discover or dream up in the metaphysical to the best of my ability.
We are long distance reiki healers that offer a reiki retreat once a month through AirBnB. We could easily do it more than once a month, but I enjoy privacy and aloneness with my husband. We are talented and capable of relieving quite a bit of distress in individuals, specializing in treating cancer patients. People who don’t want surgery but don’t want to die, specifically. One weekend will never be enough for them, but it’ll be enough to give them an alternate diet plan and feed them said diet plan so they can feel the difference. Locally, we service other kinds of patients, as well, but we do not offer overnight stays or prepare them food.
We long distance heal our clients twice a day, in the evening. Our healing is strong enough to put people to sleep immediately, so we choose to heal at night to avoid accidents and problems from this. During the rest of the day, we focus on feeding ourselves vital nutrients, going to the park, taming an Irish wolfhound that we named together when we adopted him, knowing that my former pet, Maximillian Brofist, then felt comfortable passing over to the other side. Max has already spent over a year with me without crossing over, so it is beyond time.
We have no plan to adopt more cats at this time. I resolve instead to feed the strays occasionally (especially in winter) and we decide to build an outdoor shelter for them. They will treat me like their owner, but outside only. I will not be taking them to veterinarians or anything of the sort, since veterinarians don’t seem to be able to respect boundaries and end up forcing animals to do things they don’t want to do. Instead, we will trust in natural selection and pure love.
We are restoring the mansion we inherited when my parents passed. Every day, we spend a few hours on it, sanding, stripping, painting, cleaning, and whatever else is needed to bring it back to its full glory. We’ve already spent considerable time and some resources on it, but it’s worth it because there is no mortgage. Our only payment besides the upkeep is the taxes. We garden, planting wildflowers and other flowers, planting all kinds of things and keeping it all in check.
For breakfast, we usually have smoothies, but today is an eggs and bacon morning. We both love bacon, but I cannot eat it frequently because it gives me heartburn. Heartburn is an indicator of indigestion. As long as I work out enough and eat it infrequently enough, it all works itself out. We have to drain it completely of bacon grease for maximum happiness for both of us. It’s his turn to make breakfast, so I chop up some vegetables to put in our omelettes. I have a rule these days that we must eat at least one cup of vegetables every meal for maximum health. On smoothie days, we don’t have vegetables in the morning, so we just add soy protein (or nut butter) and a little avocado oil (at least for me.)
Whoever holds the spatula is not required to chop the veg, so it’s my task. I set about it busily as he starts the bacon. We only eat two strips each, so he fries it in an ample pan on the stove top, using a splatter screen. I steal glances at him to admire him in his apron as I diligently dice up cabbage today. A little onion. And about eight brussel sprouts. I place these all in some bowls and deliver them to the handsome hunk at the stove top. There’s nothing to do but wait for bacon. Sometimes, we fill this space with kisses, sometimes with dancing (if I’m much faster than the bacon), and sometimes it’s a simple hug. We talk as things occur to us to talk about, but silence is just as good, if not better. It’s always comfortable.
Seamus – I bet that’s what we’ll name that dog – observes us and hopes for scraps, so I feed him some brussel sprouts and a little cabbage. He doesn’t get pork since he has enough meat protein in his normal food. He chows down happily on the vegetable bits offered. Being a tall kind of dog, he takes up plenty of room, but being a mansion means there is plenty of room for him.
Later, we think we’ll barbecue something up, like a couple steaks, when we’re ready for more protein. In between breakfast and the next protein punch, it’ll probably be a piece of fruit or something. We don’t plan it too carefully, we have simply developed a cadence and rhythm to follow. Instead, we go to work.
Today, we are refinishing an end table I found set out on the curb. We often find things that need some new life put into them and fix them up. We’re taking a break from the maddening non-stop work the house needs in order to finish a simpler, smaller project. It goes a long way in lifting our spirits. Whenever something is too long, it gets boring and annoying, so we take a break. This small end table will only take a day, we think. Maybe two.
We sand it out on the covered porch, wearing goggles to keep sawdust out of our eyes. Seamus is lying down nearby, chill as can be, while we grind away the top layer of finish on this piece. It was a cherry wood color, but was scratched and dinged up by its previous owner. It’s not much sanding, being that it is the kind of table that had a piece of glass or maybe marble for the top. It must have broken, whatever it was. We ordered some glass from the hardware store down the street to the exact specifications of the top and it will be ready the following day or so.
We finish sanding it, which takes some time because there are plenty of nooks and crannies. My husband loves white because it makes it easier to see when it’s dirty, so I agreed to painting the end table white. One can of spray paint later (in the yard, on top of used cardboard) it is entirely white. We leave it to dry. Then we eat a snack of nuts and fruit, one of my go-tos because my body can digest these two things no matter what, it seems.
It’s a nice, sunny day in Erie, PA, so it won’t take long for the end table to dry. We don’t seem to care. We wish to express our love for each other in more intimate ways first, ignoring the project in favor of some hedonistic pleasure. I love connecting with him, heart to heart. Chakra to chakra. Being with him is the most fulfilling activity I can dream of. This is why we dreamt of a life where we can spend our time together with just each other most of the days of the year.
We put the white end table in the living room, now dry, and take a walk together. Sometimes, when we walk, we end up spying new projects, which we either carry home or get the SUV/truck for. I don’t have a separate vehicle anymore myself, so we share that one. There’s really no need for two vehicles when one goes everywhere with the other. (Unless we’re sick, and then we’re not driving anyway.) We don’t get sick much anymore at all, though. Between our reiki/shaman practice and eating healthy and sleeping well, it just doesn’t happen. Even if we do get silly and have a 36 hour day occasionally. He has occasional insomnia and I keep him company the best I can. (Any excuse to drink more coffee.)
Since it’s fall and the windows are open to a crisp and cool day (though sunny and beautiful), I decide to bake something “decadent.” Health food disguised as junk food. Toasties are what I call them, but they’re essentially cookie bars. They just have zero ingredients in common with an actual cookie. I replace the flour, the butter, the sugar, and everything else. He’s not very interested in sharing that activity, so he takes Seamus for a run. He’s a little more active than I am, though I try. I prefer our evening yoga over running most of the time, though maybe when my hips are back the way they’re meant to be, that will change. Besides, it’s good to spend a little time apart now and again.
We have telepathy anyway. [GROAN! She got weird on us again.] [Screw you.] So I will always know how it’s going and he will, too. We choose to spend time together because our top love language is quality time and we choose to spend most of our time expressing our love to each other. It’s perfect for both of us.
By the time he’s back, I’ve also started the steaks on the grill because it’s now my turn to cook. Just like breakfast time, the one without the spatula cuts up vegetables. He selects some vegetables and gets to work. We have one of those skillets for grilling veg, so he doesn’t chop them finely. We eat outside, though to do so, I’ve had to grab a sweater. I get cold easily and do my best to prevent getting chilled to the core. I don’t eat much in the way of carbohydrates because my body doesn’t seem to like them, or else it’d be much easier to keep warm.
I already know how the run was, so there’s no point in asking. We talk most when apart, really, though I often have thoughts burble up out of nowhere. Thoughts of video game development, software design, art, animation, color theory, philosophical and existential questions, et cetera. And, I read articles while we’re apart, to boot, so he has a bit of a running monologue in the back of his mind because I’m not a skim reader. I speak each word to myself in my head. I find I internalize whatever I’m learning better that way. And if it’s not a psychology article, or an article about space and science, I’m learning something new. In turn, the same happens in reverse if I am, say, pampering myself with a luxurious bath, I might also be learning French at the same time.
We both took French in high school and neither of us went to France, so we think about having a vacation in France. I suggest we visit the Disney park there and make it a game to visit them all before we expire, which is hopefully quite far in the future. I just found the man of my dreams and I’m greedy to spend lots and lots of time with him.
We have a little picnic outside together. There is no small talk, really, because I hate it (and so does he.) So, instead, he asks me what the square root of ketchup is. I have to think about it for a while, but eventually I offer him an answer. It’s the same one he dreamt up some time ago, so I suppose that makes it the right answer. I ask him if he’d like to watch a movie or show together. We like most of the same things, so I let him choose whatever strikes his fancy most of the time.
Sometimes, I will ask him to delay it because I’m not in the mood, for whatever choice he makes for us. It’s rare, though, because I’m never expecting anything much so I’m always up for just about everything. We watch a science fiction/thriller flick on Netflix together while snuggling on the couch. I say snuggling, but really it’s just touching while sitting side by side. I like the love language of touch, like most human beings do, though it’s not my primary (or his.) It just feels right, sitting side by side.
I blow his mind making a prediction for the ending before we even get halfway through the movie. And then it happens: whatever I suggested is the ending. He gawks at me, thinking I cheated somehow, but I haven’t. I just know so many tropes that nothing much surprises me anymore. (And, usually, it’s the ending I myself would conceive of.) Sometimes, I change my prediction after another section of movie goes by and, sometimes, I cannot or will not make any prediction at all. The latter is best, but I have no control over it and the moment I conceive of the ending, he knows it.
What he finds really fun is when I expect something unusual to happen during a scene and it never does. For instance, a prop might come to life in my mind and slaughter everyone, or I’ll conceive of a terrible accident happening right in the middle of a feel-good scene, or anything, really. Sometimes, that annoys him, too, but usually he laughs because it’s kind of like a cartoon. Nothing too serious.
I know some day, on this path, my third eye will open. We’ll keep delving into the mystical realm of reiki and shamanism and then I will see clear as day everything there ever was in the metaphysical. We eat “buttered” popcorn during this movie and I try to stay silent inside as I absorb the cinematic show. I say “buttered” because I’ve given up dairy completely due to the fact that it’s what wrecked my digestive system to begin with. I think about how I should have at least mentally slayed the beasts that disagreed with me just because I didn’t have a doctor’s note to back up my empirical evidence and findings.
My husband doesn’t need a doctor’s note to trust me when I say something is going wrong in my body, thankfully. After the movie is over, we light candles and make dinner. It’s a meatless stir-fry for me and he makes himself a burger. Because I’m going without meat, there’s more stir-fried veg on my plate. Together, we cut the vegetables this time because there’s just one snack left and that’s it. We balance the chores so we both do 50% of each thing needed to get through the day. We are equal. We are love.
Since I’m the one without the spatula, I load up the dishwasher. He unloaded it already while he made coffee for us in the morning. If I’m really on top of things, I’ve already got everything in there up to this point, but I’m not always on top of things. I’m working on it, still, because I’m not perfect. And neither is he.
We sit together in the candle light at our nice white metal (IKEA) table to eat dinner. It’s a bit chillier than I can stand, so I close the windows as I wait for the noms. He’s the better cook, I must admit, and I could definitely see another way to configure our reality, but I won’t get any better if I don’t practice. Besides, there’s always the possibility of dismemberment or paralysis somewhere for one of us, so it’s best to make sure we put in half and half each in the meanwhile. I certainly hope for nothing of the sort, but no one can predict the future. (Except Ymetsu, the oracle of the futures, but she’s an anime character, you see…)
After dinner, we hold hands and do our first long distance healing of the day. I printed the list of clients while I was baking so we’d have it ready to go. Once we spend an hour on this activity, we move to the den together to work on our mental projects. He’s helping me code a brand new type of game that will fuse many existing ideas into one new idea, something Pierre thinks will be revolutionary. When we take a break, we will heal again for another hour. The same list of clients as the first time. We always heal twice to make sure they receive it; sometimes the spirit is unwilling the first time.
Snack time again. This time it’s just a quickie — mixed nuts. I add a little avocado oil to mine and some salt, for we acquire raw and unsalted nuts. He skips that part because our fat needs are different for our optimum health, we realized somewhere along the way. I smile happily yet again, making sure I take time to be grateful to The Universe(TM), to my husband, to Seamus, to my three deceased cats, to my clients, and to all creatures everywhere, big and small.
After several hours programming and prototyping, I ask him if he’ll heal the universe with me before we go back to bed. He nods, smiling warmly, and we sit together for one more hour of healing. Once that is completed, we realize we skipped yoga on accident, so we stay up to do that. I have to do the yoga to fix my back and my hips (and my shoulders, but shhh. They’re not interconnected at all.) He could have opted to give me a massage, but the yoga is far more effective overall.
We go to bed, expressing our love for each other again, however we see fit, and then have a lovely and pleasant sleep full of sweet dreams. And Pierre smiles, satisfied he brought these two love birds together through arduous and diligent work because he convinced the two of them that telepathy is real, which is how they connected one night in the recent past. They knew everything about each other before they even really faced each other, falling in love with each other’s personalities before they ever found out that they had an intense attraction to one another, to boot.