It’s funny what crossing an ocean can do for your peace of mind. I just landed in Bulgaria, tagging along as Chris shoots a commercial. Just before we left I felt a bit worn, delicate like a scarf you’ve carried around for too long. We’re in the middle of packing up our home to move into a new home and it felt abrupt to pack a suitcase for a different purpose. It might seem odd that I’d jump to fly to Bulgaria, but I have Eastern European roots and have never been to the region. There’s so much history in these pockets of the world, you can sense it just walking around. Besides, after spending years at the bedside of a sick parent, I’m always down for a little adventure.
Something new is in the air. Blame it on eclipse season, blame it on my daily divine dialogues, but it feels like a happy peek around the corner, into a realm I might like even better than this one.
It feels like unknown at it’s finest.
I’m a fairly steady person, I tend to go along one step at a time until all the sudden the path diverts and all at once, everything is shifting. Often I don’t know how or what is going on until the change is well in the rearview mirror. Mostly this transformative phenomenon starts with the external circumstances, but this one began internally. I wanted a little more, but a little bit different.
I’ve been wondering, when the first piece of earth’s crust broke away from the super continent, what did it feel?
Did the farthest edge of coastline notice the sudden blue divide? Was there a growing sense of expansion driven from the ocean floor?
Being in this unknown geographical place has given me a bit of perspective on my threadbare spirit. It’s just a temporary stretch as I reach for new landings. They’re coming forward, like a video game where the pixelated map grows as you move along.
And just like a video game, there are strange entities offering cryptic guidance through cat and mouse strategy.
One of them is a scammer using my name to perform little venmo tricks, masquerading behind spiritual sentiments. The first time they popped up I brushed it off and IG quickly deleted the imposter account. Now it’s back in a new iteration with another set of sneaky double letters (@jamessfranciish instead of @jamesfrancish) so people who I adore and admire are getting hit up for fake readings. IG hasn’t taken action, so it’s been up for over a week. The scammer copied my photos, copied my live videos, posting them without captions.
I know this is fairly common, but it’s odd to see my images and words so instantly divorced from any form of substance, converted into a disjointed attempt at a cash grab. Each copied square looked like an uprooted plant, transported into unfamiliar soil. I was confronted with the meaningless side of the internet, a place I have trusted with my work for far too long. It can all be gone in the blink of an eye, the connections frizzled by a clogged algorithm.
Seeing my online projection in this uncanny, naked form became a piece of the external affirming my internal shifts. As if the universe sent out a telegram: where do you want to place your time and what’s worth the risk?
The internet presents us all with gold mine energy, a myth of instant success. More likely the prize is won only by the few, through years of screen tilted eyes, device crooked thumbs. It’s work like anything else. Maybe I’ve given it far too much power.
These days it feels like I don’t know much, but my main question came to me as I rattled in the back of an uber: what dream do you want to live?
In my dreams, I’d dig tiny holes in the earth and place a seed within them. I’d bear fruit and share it, understanding where it came from. I’d build myself a house from clay bricks, forming each by hand. I’d have a name but only one that can be kept for the duration of this life.
While I’m not sure what exactly is next, I can tell you my inner supercontinent is morphing. The sea is claiming some land, while other bits are emerging, still sparkling with salt.
I’m allowing old ideas to slowly set sail and welcoming the pieces still to come.
xx
James