by Mark Tiro
“Well, of course—you can want whatever you want. And that’s what this list—your magic list—is all about. It’s no different than the power of our minds to manifest anything we want in the world. And everyone—everyone—has that power.”
“Well, why don’t you call it a ‘secret list’ then? You know—like that book? Or was it a movie?”
“I think that name’s taken, and anyway, manifesting what you want in life—that’s not exactly a secret now, is it?”
Sure enough, I’d run across at least half a dozen different versions online of this supposed mind-technique of getting whatever you want, and I conceded as much to him.
“It doesn’t quite work on the level of form anyway—at least not as advertised. And so you don’t have to feel bad if you’re in the like 95% of the population who can’t pull a rabbit out of your hat.”
“I don’t own any hats. And anyway—why doesn’t it work? I just haven’t had time to really do it because I’m in school, but isn’t that what this… what your… magic list is? I mean, isn’t it just another—”
“No, it’s not. Let me say it again: you can have anything you want. You just can’t want it.”
“Sure I can. Why can’t I want what I want?”
“It’s the attachment to form—to the world—that keeps you unhappy. Sacrifice is a made-up idea of the world. And to believe you have to be deprived of something you think you need or want, or to believe that you don’t have enough, or that you have to give up something or can’t have something you want—that’s the belief in sacrifice. And it’s this idea of sacrifice that keeps you rooted in the belief that everything you see is real. And any belief that makes the world seem real in your mind is not helpful.”
“Huh?”
“The world is a projection. It’s a projection of your unconscious mind. The world you see is not real. That’s why you can have anything—that’s why you can manifest anything that you want. That’s also why you can’t want it.”
“That just sounds like so much of a riddle. But you keep saying it, so I give—what do you mean?”
“Wanting something binds you to the belief that it’s real. And it’s not real. Nothing you perceive in this world is real. It’s all a projection. And you’re the one projecting… with your unconscious mind, of course.”
“But I don’t feel like I’m making all these things come true. Most of the time, I feel pretty powerless, actually.”
“And you’re right. The little, small part of your mind—and we all have it—that you… no, that we all… think is you, is not really you. It’s just another part of the non-real projection.”
“I’m not real?”
“Of course you’re real. You’re just not you. The ‘you’ that you think you are—your conscious mind—is just a projection. Or if you prefer, just the smallest, tiniest part of your mind. It’s like your conscious mind is just the tip of the iceberg that sits above the water. Most of an iceberg is underwater, invisible and unseen. And the part that’s above the water is but the smallest part of a much greater whole. Without the whole, giant iceberg underwater, the small part sticking out above the surface of the water wouldn’t even exist.”
“So I’m like the Titanic? Headed for a crash with a giant underwater iceberg?”
“Not unless you think there’s some lesson to learn from it,” he answered, laughing. “Your unconscious mind runs very deep, Maya. Much deeper than you could ever possibly imagine. And it’s this unconscious part of your mind—and the forgotten, repressed and denied unconscious guilt within it—that projects out the whole world you experience. That’s the cause of the world you believe you see—the world you believe is real. It’s not.”
“Real? So projection—is that the same as manifesting?”
“That’s how it works, and that’s why manifesting whatever you think you want will always be a hit-and-miss proposition. Sometimes your conscious mind may be reflecting what your unconscious mind is pushing you towards. But most of the time, eh… not so much.”
“Can you help me with the list? It keeps going all wrong, and I just want it not to.”
“The list?” he said, as if he had no clue that he had been the one who had started this whole mess.
“Yes, David—the list.”
“You’d be best to go back home and just forget all about it. You need to wake up, to look within or else you’re just going to keep right on projecting—”
“But you said it can give me anything I want. Why on earth would I want to forget all about that? I just want to figure out how to control it, so it doesn’t make me do crazy things.”
“But it doesn’t make you do anything. Didn’t I explain that? The list just gives you the experience of whatever it is you list out. Really, nothing more or less than that.”
“No, it doesn’t. I wanted Steve to be my prince, not my brother. And when that didn’t work out, I didn’t want anyone to tell me what to do.”
“And you got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you.” He said it as a statement, not a question. Very deliberately. And slowly. “If you want to experience reality, if you want to know your true self—and I assure you that your true self is beautiful and powerful and happy beyond all imaginings you’ve ever had—you’ll have to turn within. You’ll have to go through the veil of clouds you’ve put between your conscious mind and your true self. These clouds are the unconscious blocks you’ve put up to keep the true nature of your reality from dawning on your conscious mind. And it’s from these clouds that the entire world you see is projected out. And these clouds—this unconscious part of your mind—just sit there, obstinately unconscious, in your mind. Like some kind of black gunk clogging up the pipes and messing up the flow. They’re what’s blocking your awareness of the beautiful light—the truth about yourself. “
“The truth about myself?”
“The truth about yourself is that you remain exactly as you always were.”
“Which is?”
“Pristinely unchanged in reality from the Perfect Love that created you and knows you only as perfect love, no different than It knows Itself.”
“Well, I sure don’t feel very perfect. Or like perfect love, either.”
“You’re feeling that way because you’re thinking with your conscious mind. For that matter, you’re making wishes on your list from your conscious mind. But that’s only the smallest fraction of your mind. It’d be best if you didn’t try to add anything to that list of yours until you’ve gone back to the source of the problem.”
“Which is? Because the only problem I know of is that this list keeps screwing everything up.”
“Maya?”
“What!”
“Look on what you’ve forgotten. Go back to the source in your mind, to what you’ve denied. Go back and just look at what you’ve denied. These are the unconscious things we’ve all sworn never to look at. Do that first, and don’t worry about the list.”
“But I haven’t denied anything!” I snapped. “Stop telling me what I have and haven’t done! It’s this stupid list! If it would just stop screwing up, everything would be fine.”
The thought popped into my mind that maybe it was time for me to go back home, but that would just mean school, and homework, and having to sit there while Angel and Steve probably made out or something.
Just… no.
I pulled out the pad. Then I pulled out the pen and wrote #6 where it opened. Then next to that, I wrote, “Just be friends with Steve.”
A thought of Angel crossed my mind, and I was still mad at her. So I quickly added, “And Angel can go to hell!”
That was it. I lifted the pen off the pad, and—poof! I was gone.
12
Twelve
I opened my eyes to find myself in probably the second-most familiar place in my life… though it definitely wasn’t even close to being my second favorite.
Yup. I was back there.
In school.
I looked around a
minute to get my bearings and gather my thoughts. Sure enough, it was just a regular school day, just like any other. I remembered the list and smiled. At least the list saved me from my daily experience of semi-torture… which is, of course, having to ride the bus to school in the morning.
At least there was that.
I looked down at my phone and realized I had about a minute to get to class. I slung my backpack up around both shoulders, and got moving towards the classroom.
I got there surprisingly quickly, somehow. Everyone was still talking when I slumped down into my chair. I took out my tablet and opened up the textbook on it to where I’d remembered leaving off. Then I pulled out my laptop so I could take notes if the teacher said we had to.
And then I looked around.
Sure—everything seemed normal. Still, I just wanted to make sure that the last thing I’d written on my list hadn’t done something else crazy this time.
Steve was sitting in his usual chair, just where I’d expected—or at the very least hoped—I’d see him. Even with him having, you know… done that thing with Angel and all—well, it was still a relief to see him sitting there, after all the crazy things that had happened to me because of this list.
After I saw him, I turned to look for Angel. She wasn’t in her usual seat, and so I swiveled my head around, scanning the room to see if she was sitting somewhere else. She wasn’t, and I’d just opened my mouth to ask the girl sitting next to me who I’d known since kindergarten where Angel was when the teacher stood up and started talking.
“Everyone, can you pull up your textbooks to where we left off?” she said. As everyone did, she motioned to the girl sitting in what I swore had been Angel’s seat ever since school had started that year (except for that one day with the sub, of course…).
That girl stood up as the teacher called her name. I think it may have been ‘Alex’ or some such thing, but I’m not sure now. Anyway, she gave the teacher one of those popular-girl smiles I could never seem to manage. I’d always felt so awkward whenever I smiled. I guess I should call her, or at least think of her as Alex until I figured her actual name.
At the teacher’s prompting, the girl introduced herself. (Yes! Alex it is! I must be absolutely brilliant!) And just like that, I discovered—Angel was gone.
I found out later that the girl, this Alex girl, had moved into Angel’s house, of all things. Angel and her whole family—they had all moved away.
“And if anyone’s wondering,” Alex said after the teacher finished with the introduction, “Angel says ‘hi’. Her family’s moved, but she’s my cousin. My family moved into their house. It’s only been a few days so far, but everyone has just been so kind to me. And nice.”
I didn’t like this Alex girl already. It wasn’t easy, but I forced myself to turn to Steve and whispered to him, “Is she chirping? Is this for real?”
Steve looked back at me, and… wait. I was comfortable. I noticed how easy it was to talk to him today. My heart didn’t go in my throat like it always does when I talk to him. That’s weird, I thought. I always get so nervous. Now I’m not nervous at all. Something’s off, I started to think, before part of me rushed into this conversation in my brain to shut it down.
‘So you’re not nervous now,’ I told myself. ‘Good. Now shut up and just act cool so he doesn’t figure out you’re not good enough. You’re finally normal. Just go with it for once.’ I was full-on berating myself, and I knew it. It’s not that I didn’t care. It’s just that—I couldn’t help it.
“I know,” Steve said. He was looking at me, talking to me, like we were best friends now. He was… chatty. “She is so perfect,” he grinned, “it makes me sick.” This was weird. I could talk to him now—and easily, too. I couldn’t quite figure out where he was going with whatever he was saying, but the teacher had already moved on to the lesson, and so I’d have to figure it out later.
Later came once class was done, and we were all shoving our things back into our backpacks so we could make that mad dash to our next class.
It was then that Alex came over to me. “I know you and Angel were so close,” she started. For a minute, I wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic, or maybe she just didn’t know about what’d happened with her and me and… him. She smiled at me, and then whispered in my ear— just quietly enough to make me uncomfortable. “You don’t have to miss her, Maya. You’ll be seeing Angel soon enough. For now, though, you’ll just have to get used to me.”
Okay, I thought. That really was weird. That’s when she leaned back over, and added, in a whisper, “Nothing personal, you know.” Then she turned and walked out.
It took me a minute to try to figure out where this was going. I turned to Steve, who was still there next to me, and who had heard everything.
“I guess she’s the new Queen Bitch in school,” he said after Alex had left the room. “Don’t worry, honey. She ain’t got nothing on me.”
This is all just weird, I thought.
“Can you believe how rude of her, pushing her weight around on her first day?” Steve went on, smiling now. Then he added, “And that smile? Sooooo fake, I do not know how anyone could not just see through that.”
Then he pulled me into a hug before he turned around and headed out the door, rushing off to his next class. I grabbed my backpack and headed out the door behind him.
The next shoe dropped as I rounded the corner of the hall to get to my next classroom. Steve’s locker was there too, not far from mine. I usually avoided stopping at my locker if I could because there was hardly any time between classes. I had so much stuff in my backpack that it’d take me forever to get to anything and then reorganize the mess with enough time left over to make it to my next class before the bell.
But Steve had stopped at his locker.
Steve had stopped, and he was standing there talking with a guy I had seen around but didn’t have any classes with, and so I didn’t know his name.
They were both holding hands… with each other, and then Steve leaned over and gave him a kiss. On the lips. It was a small kiss, to be sure. I mean—there was only so much time between classes, right? As he was saying goodbye to the other boy, Steve noticed me standing there, and he came over to me.
“How’s my best girl?” he asked. “John and I are baking over at my house on Friday night. Would you like to come over? My mom brought home this fabulous book of French pastries and, well, I know it’s going to be tough to pull even one of them off, but you can’t blame a boy for trying, right?”
“Uh, I… well, I don’t think my parents would let me come over to a boy’s house on a Friday night,” I stuttered.
“What? You never told me that before. Anyway—it’s not just a boy’s house, silly. It’ll be a bunch of us boys, if you know what I mean. It’s a baking evening. I mean, I can’t totally say for sure what will happen. You know it can get really hot in the kitchen.” He winked, then threw back his head and laughed. “But if you’re there, Maya, I promise I’ll do my best to keep everyone on their best behaviour—at least until after the soufflés have risen. Nothing gets crazy until after the girls go, anyway—and I promise my soufflés are better than sex.” Then he laughed again.
“I thought you’ve never made…”
“Well, it’s chocolate. Rich, decadent chocolate. In my book you can’t mess that up too bad—though don’t let John know I said that. He can be so snooty sometimes about his pastries.”
“You’re… you’re… gay?” I stammered.
“Well, hello? We’ve been best friends for what?”
“Since junior high?” I ventured as the answer popped into my head. I don’t know where the answer came from, but it seemed like we had, though it also seemed like it was coming from some other alternate universe.
“And that’s like 20 years in old people time. So don’t go all red-state on me then. You know John and I have our ups and downs, but we’ve been together forever now, since last spring, and so…”
“But you’re… gay?” I said, mostly as an answer to my own question. Obviously, he was.
“Have you hit your head, Maya? What’s wrong with you? We’ll find someone for you. It’ll be your time soon. I’ve been looking for you, anyway. And so has John. It’s just that—” and here, he grinned again, “most boys we know don’t, you know—like girls. I don’t really have an ‘in’ with the jock crowd, if you know what I mean, but that doesn’t mean we’re not working on it for you.”
“I… just… no, I’m sorry, Steve. It’s just, every time I write something down in my list, weird stuff happens, and then when I come back, everything’s all different. Like I’ve come back to some parallel universe where it all looks the same… but not quite.”
“What are you talking about, Maya? What list? Are you messing with me? Because if you are, I might just have to add a little something special to that soufflé I’m going to bake for you.”
“Sorry, Steve. I’ve had a rough few days.”
“Well, it can’t be that rough if Angel is gone. You both used to be such good friends, too, but lately, I just can’t figure out what’s come between you two. But I know something has, because she was just being so bitchy to you lately.”
“She was?” I ventured, before repeating it more firmly. “She was. Yes, she was. But she’s gone now.” Then I added a “thank God” to try to sound convincing.
“Damn straight, girl! But be nice. Don’t forget that. You’ve always been such a super sweetie, Maya—so I hope that never changes about you.
I decided I had so much to think about that I’d take the long way and walk home again that afternoon from school. ‘That list!’ was the first thing I thought once I started walking. Again! Steve and I are just friends now, I thought—best friends. And that’s what I wished for on my list. That’s what I wrote! But now… he’s gay! That… that… list! I mean, sure—I guess I’d asked for us to just be friends, but… really?
Then my thoughts turned to Angel. If what her cousin Alex had said in class today was true, I didn’t think I’d be seeing much of Angel anymore. I considered this, and Steve had seemed really, really happy, so I guess this was an improvement I could live with. Angel crossed my mind for a second too, and I wondered what had happened to her. I mean—she was gone, and for me now, that was good enough. But still, I wondered, with how much Steve had changed—what had happened to Angel?
