This is a really easy question to answer, once you know the answer, which takes a lot of time to figure out because everyone and Tiny Tim will tell you to manifest, but none of them know how to show you how to make that shit happen.
So you gotta figure it out on your own, except I’m all about sharing information here on LMBG, so I am going to let you in on the worst kept secret in the universe.
man·i·fes·ta·tion/ˌmanəfəˈstāSH(ə)n,ˌmanəˌfesˈtāSH(ə)n/noun
- an event, action, or object that clearly shows or embodies something, especially a theory or an abstract idea.” the first obvious manifestations of global warming”
- the action or fact of showing an abstract idea.” the manifestation of anxiety over the upcoming exams”
- a symptom or sign of an ailment.” a characteristic manifestation of Lyme disease”
At it’s core, manifestation is about having an idea of something, and then watching that idea grow into an actuality.
Like imagine if you’re going to plant a seed, the planting of the seed is the plan, taking care of the seed, watering it, giving it sunlight, treating it like a living creature until it grows into a full fledged plant. That’s manifestation.
But there are other ways too.
When I was twelve, I had seen a film called Teen Witch, about a young girl who discovers that she is witch. She casts all kinds of spells to make herself prettier, more popular, fall in love, and of course everything goes haywire, but even in the end she still gets what she wants. 80’s movies were all about white girls getting whatever they wanted, at whatever the cost. (I was 12 in the 90s, but the film was made in 1989.)
I loved the film so much that I wanted to become a witch, and so one night at like two or three in the morning, I slipped out of my house, and went “exploring” around Calgary, Alberta, Canada.
I talked to the trees, and I walked barefoot in the grass, and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore from unmitigated fear caused by shadows. I was looking for something, I didn’t know what, but I remember that on one particular night that I did this, I decided that I was going to announce to the universe that I existed. That it was going to pay attention to me, and that all my dreams were going to come true.
I danced, and I prayed, and I sang, and I did all the things by myself, in the middle of the night, and all around me I could feel the majick flowing, ebbing. Up and down, sideways, I could feel the power of my words as they hit the wind, and I swear I heard a voice say “oh yeah? we’ll see.”
I still don’t know what that voice was, but I do know that those particular nights opened up my life to experiences that I wouldn’t have had otherwise. Now if I had someone to teach me how to manifest, they probably would have said something like “don’t you be taking your thirteen year old ass out in the middle of nowhere, in Calgary, on a school night, because that’s insane, and children belong in bed, not in the streets.“
However, I didn’t, I had to figure it out on my own.
When I was in my early thirties, after being arrested, after being traumatized by the experience, after realizing that I couldn’t hold back all the secrets anymore, I started screaming.
Like outright, “what the fuck let’s have a conversation you ass crap crazy universe,” kind of screaming, at the top of my lungs.
My mom was on a trip so I had the house to myself for four days, and so I screamed. Every day all day, all night, I wouldn’t shut up and every time I wound myself down I would start screaming “AND ANOTHER THING…” (hence the title of my Medium publication.)
I screamed until I was horse, and all I was doing, was letting it out. Finally saying all the things that I had been holding back, and to my mind, I had every right to be angry.
When I was twelve and thirteen the universe and I had a deal, I was going to make my dreams come true, and the universe was going to let me. But no one said it was going to be easy.
It wasn’t surviving that was hard, it was realizing what I had survived that was hard. It made me sick to my stomach once I had seen it all, once all the puzzle pieces had stopped spinning. Once I laid it all out on the table and really looked at the full scope of what I had to survive, I wanted to kill myself.
Largely because a) No one should have to experience what I experienced and b) Chile, I was tired.
Once I stopped screaming, (mostly because I heard voice yelling at me and telling me to shut the fuck up,) I stopped talking. Period. Hello and goodbye, no conversation, just smoke the weed, and stay calm, that was my mantra.
But I wasn’t calm, I was angry, sad, depressed, frustrated, and I didn’t know what to do with all these pent up emotions, so I started dancing. I didn’t have a purpose, I didn’t have a reason, I just needed to get the pent up emotions out of my body and into the world.
I would drum on my legs until I had giant five and six inch bruises on my legs, and then I started drumming on the backs of my legs, and my butt, wherever I could, and the beat never matched the music, but that wasn’t the point.
For the first time in my life, I was literally saying “I can take anything the universe throws at me, because I am strong,” I was using the drumming to remind my body that it was strong, to remind my mind that I could take it, to remind my soul that I was still here.
One thing led to another and I started painting, something I had always wanted to do. Someone told me once that I sucked at it, and that really had hurt, but the truth is that I actually could be a very good painter, if I put any effort into it, but that isn’t where my heart is.
My heart was in the writing, and in the promise that I’d made the cop when he arrested me and called me a loud mouth brown bitch. My promise was that I was going to make it the most famous brand in the world, and I am working on that. It’s still not as famous as I’d like it to be, but I manifested this website, I manifested the idea of sisterhood – I realized early that if I was going to make it in this writing economy, I needed other people.
I realized that I couldn’t actually do it myself.
So I started reaching out to groups of writers, I was introduced to Afro Cannada BudSista’s, and I found Writers and Editors of Color, I did everything that I possibly could to set myself up for success.
Before I even met these amazing writers, and my BudSista’s, I was going to live events and I was handing out hand written love letters to total strangers. Each letter was hand crafted by my hands, written by my hands, but the words? Those were not all mine.
The words came from what I call my Krisya Ohana, my spiritual family. Letters written from the memories of people that I had had conversations with, or that inspired me to say something that I wish I had said to someone, letters of love, hope, strength, inspiration. Designed to bring people to the website sure, but more than that, designed to make people feel like someone in the universe was hearing their cries for help.
I’ve even heard on Twitter from people who have kept those letters. The letters were the foundation of this website, and something that I hope to get back to one day in the future if we can ever go outside again.
I wanted to get into the cannabis industry, because Cannabis is helping me heal, if I hadn’t had cannabis I wouldn’t have started screaming, or dancing, or singing, or rapping, or doing any of the things that I am doing now.
Cannabis opened a door, but I am the one who chose to walk through that door. Sure I’ve missed out on truly amazing opportunities, because people in my circle didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand what was going on, instead choosing to interrupt my path for their own manifestations, but I am still very close to where I want to be today, because I fucking decided, that I was done.
The first day that I started screaming, I was screaming about my rapists, I was screaming about all the people that had hurt me, I was screaming because I was angry, sad, and heartbroken. I screamed so loud that I am pretty sure they heard me in New York and New Delhi.
I didn’t care, I just needed to get it out of my system, and once I did, I could start focusing on the things that I wanted to do, that I had hidden away out of fear. In an effort to survive I had lost parts of myself, and the screaming was about reclaiming all those parts. It was about releasing that little girl into the world again, the one that said “I’m here Universe, what you gonna do about it?”
I am still bitter, I am still angry, but more importantly than any of that I am still fucking here. Still breathing. So you see my darlings, manifestation isn’t simply about wishing, praying, and hoping. It’s about doing the work.
It’s about being intentional with everything you do. If you intend for something to happen, you have to make it happen, you have to do the work.
If you want to be a writer, then you have to write.
It’s hard. No matter what anyone tells you, because we are used to hiding our most vulnerable selves, and that self comes out in the writing, whether or not you like it. There are parts and pieces of ourselves that flow into our writing whether on purpose or by accident and that can be scary.
Stop thinking about what other people will think, and start asking yourself what you need.
What do you need to be happy?
What do you need to feel fullfilled?
What do you need to feel wanted?
What do you need, in order for you to feel like your life matters? If you can answer those questions, you can manifest anything, you just have to decide that you want it.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall
Loud Mouth Brown Girl 