Although The Past Has Passed, Here is a Little Personal History

Spiritual teachers’ writings or videos often do not present a context of familiarity or relatability so that a seeker can approach the subject with comfort. Some may argue that the personal life of a spiritual teacher is of no consequence. Although this is true in an absolute sense, if there isn’t a personal element presented, then the information given bears less significance or meaning for most people. There is a natural curiosity about what kind of person experiences atypical mystical revelations. There is an inquisitiveness about their character traits, lifestyle, and past experiences. Plus, many people have a natural expectation of how information should be presented. Therefore, a small number of personal details appear throughout Manifest Your Immaculate Conception, as well as this here, which I now mention:

At the ripe, yet young age of 27, I am proud to say that I’ve shared intimacy with partners not exceeding the count of one hand’s fingers. This doesn’t include two one-night stands which I am not counting, because they were pathetic, draining, and not even satisfying, as the heart wasn’t involved in the act. One of them was the end result of a tinder date. Why did I get a tinder? What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking! The idiotic rationalization was, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” What kind of a reason is that? A pathetic one. It certainly isn’t the foundation of anything great. I shared an intimate, heart-felt, and deep connection with the other women, so those experiences were physically, mentally, and emotionally gratifying. Unwittingly, I wasted a lot of my seed through overindulgence in porn. But all the energy I once dissipated is now filling my body to the point that it can no longer be contained. The flame erupting inside of me, fueling the writing of these very words, is none other than semen. But it wasn’t always this way.

I used to be a simp. For those of you not familiar with the term, it means sucker idolizing mediocre pussy (sorry for the profanity). This was due to a lack of genuine confidence within myself as a result of not being a man on a mission. I was on a self-serving mission, so my attention, and thus my energies, were scattered. I was focusing on too many things at once instead of concentrating my energy in one direction. The latter vibe is unmistakable; it is a sense of drive fueled by a heart-filled intention—to serve, uplift, and inspire. The intention is pure, and when it is fueled by the heart, it is guaranteed to actualize and find physical expression. It may not appear in the time sequence we expect, yet it is already a fact in reality, as the power of brain-heart coherence is a Divine Force.

This Force is within everyone’s experiential capacity, as is our power of choice. It is consistent with quantum theory, which states that each positive choice increases the likelihood and probability of subsequent positive choices. Thus, man can and does influence conditions in order to facilitate the actualization of his visceral, powerful potential, that of manifesting desired eventualities. As such, I sincerely want you to know that anything I do or profess to have done and experienced is within your reach too. It is true that anything anyone else has done, you can do too; although, personally, there are some things I’ve done that, believe me, you don’t want to repeat. Back in my simp days, I listened to a lot of crap, I mean rap. Nipsey Hussle was one of my favorite artists as he doesn’t fall into the category of “trap rap.” His lyrics, for instance, ring true when he says, “There ain’t no force in this world like a focused drive. You gotta focus on yourself like an only child. You make your dream realer, then you make your team better. You wake your game up, then you make your scheme better.”

Game. The game is multidimensional. There are different games in the spectrum of life. In terms of intimate partners, there is the player game, the single game, the business game, the dating game, the ‘screw’ game, and the married game. How can one even begin to master all the games at once? Different strategies are needed for each game. If, however, one focuses on mastering one game or aim at a time, eventually they’ll find success. Their performance will become fluid across all the games in such a way that they can transition smoothly between them, if they choose to.

This thought process applies to many facets of life since, in essence, how you do one thing is how you do everything. If you are sloppy with your relationships, then most likely you’re sloppy in other aspects of life. A proficient player of the game soaks up information from all games and then applies it to however he wants to be as it relates to his path. As for myself, I used to be aimless, hopeless, and unfocused. However, over time, and thanks to the power of self-reflection and self-discipline, I began to realize that I could, as we all can, turn my mistakes and gloominess into successes and lessons. I began to understand the power of being intentional with my actions and how it can lead to happiness, richness, and greater composure. And knowing what it means to feel gloomy, unworthy, and insecure makes how I am now so much sweeter.

It was not until the age of 18 that I lost my virginity. I was dating BobbyJo for several months before I finally caved, needlessly breaking my celibate streak. She kept asking me, “When?” so I could’ve ‘done it’ at any time, but something inside me guided me to wait, and this ability to delay gratification meant her respect. I was clearly the first guy that did not treat her as a piece of meat, and she confessed this to me after we finally did ‘do the deed’. So really, I was her first, because before me, she had only been screwed (it’s called that for a reason, because those who engage in the ‘screw game’ get screwed up, physically, mentally, and spiritually). I did not refrain from sex to garner her respect, as my reasoning was primarily wanting her to feel a genuine sense of being loved, without an ulterior motive on my end. Admittedly, feelings of insecurity and uncertainty also factored into my (lack of) reasoning. I grew up in an environment where I was coddled by my grandmother, and that did not exactly foster supreme confidence or a sense of purpose. My dad, though a fantastic father, was an overly emotional man; this affected my character as well. He is no longer with us, however, as he committed suicide.

Demonstration of boundaries was a foreign concept to me at the time. I was and still am naturally kind, and many interpreted this quality as weakness. Thus, there were those who took advantage. But people do not interpret my kindness as weakness anymore because it comes from a different place; it is now balanced and backed by the confidence of knowing who I am and what I am here to do. Back then, I was overly feminine.

BobbyJo cheated on me once, and I forgave her and took her back after ‘cutting her off’ for several months. She was super sweet for a little while, but it didn’t take long for her to start acting a fool anew. I found out she had cheated on me again and was given vivid details of the occurrence. I’ll spare you, but I was broken. I’d given this woman my heart, my brain, my masculine essence, and spirit so, to say the least, I felt like a complete idiot. I’d wasted this valuable moment on a woman who didn’t deserve it. Yet, I didn’t keep a heavy heart, as a lesson was learnt—something important: that being heartbroken once can turn a boy into a man.

I called it quits completely this time, and boy was she not having it. What did she expect? For me to brush it off and say, “Oh, it’s OK, hunny. I still love you no matter what.” We had been together for three years so I found it extremely difficult to release the mental, physical, and emotional attachment existing within me. Although it would have been easy to take her back, I knew it would never be the same. It is indeed difficult to adequately explain the initial level of melancholy.

To make matters worse, BobbyJo made a Facebook post when she knew I was serious about being finished. I had her blocked so the post wasn’t brought to my attention until it had been online for over a day. She said something along the lines of, “Alex Reynolds is the biggest p***y I know, and you should go to his house and beat his ass.” She listed my phone number and address in the post, which contributed to my already existing paranoia as I was dealing heavily in the weed game, having just purchased a “hot” car from a local, widely known plug. The car was a 2009 Dodge Charger, a.k.a. the ‘trap mobile’, with twenty-two inch chrome rims, and it was fully blacked out with all the bells and whistles screaming, “Look at me! I’m an insecure, feminine dude, compensating for this feeling through a superficial sense of validation!” It was true; I was never an avid car dude.

Upon discovering the post, I contacted her, all emotional like she wanted, and threatened to report her if she didn’t remove it. She took it down, of course, but the damage had been done. She created another Facebook account shortly after the ill-willed post just to harass me some more. I recall basically asking her what more she wanted from me. Her response made her injurious intent clear. As a final insult, she stabbed, “You’re so small you can’t even make me quiver.” Ouch. That stung. I was already insecure and heartbroken. Talk about kicking somebody while they’re down.

I felt like leaving town. I just wanted to disappear. The feelings of scarcity, paranoia, and insecurity, which are all essentially labels for the broader category of fear, undoubtedly contributed to my being jailed shortly after our breakup when I was nineteen. It was in October, approximately two weeks after my birthday, when I was informed that had I been arrested when I was eighteen, I would’ve been tried as a minor. However, I am glad that I wasn’t let off easy because, although it was not an easy ride, although it seemed like the end of the world at the time, now I realize the occurrence was a climax point, or an early midlife crisis—a catalyst—which, upon reflection, not only gave me the strength to reassess my priorities but, long-term, facilitated a transformation of consciousness and, thus, an alteration in the direction of my life’s course. Before this, I had to undergo a period of self-reflection and self-analysis, and to make sense of what had happened, there are some more details to mention.

As far as my plea bargain, the aforementioned ‘trap mobile’ came in clutch; I was forced to relinquish the car under the bogus statute of asset forfeiture. Actually, I was given the option whether or not I wanted to forfeit it, but I really had no choice. I was a scared kid who didn’t even have hair in his armpits and was told that I would face guaranteed jail time if I didn’t forfeit the car to the Glens Falls Police Department. I felt desperate, so I agreed.

Prior to accepting the plea, I spent ten days in jail, where I only left the cell to take a shower and speak with a psychologist due to my refusal to be injected with a foreign substance supposedly meant to prevent tetanus. The psychologist deemed me suicidal because I wasn’t eating what was supposedly food, and I looked like a zombie suffering from severe mental distress. Thus, some poor fellow was required to sit outside my jail cell, which only contributed to a heightened sense of uneasiness. I couldn’t sleep, let alone rest. All I wanted to do was run and keep running and never stop until I collapsed and couldn’t get up. The next best thing was to endlessly walk in circles around the small jail cell. I did this for the first seven days while avoiding my frail, pathetic reflection in the mirror.

After the seventh day, I received a pen and a pad of yellow paper. I’ve never been so grateful; I got to write. I wrote rap songs, letters to loved ones, and fantasy stories. I doodled. I stared at the blank yellow page, losing track of time and, thus, a sense of self. The hand seemed to write whenever it wanted to and stopped of its own accord. The writing was therefore not an act of personal will. The will was weak.

An indescribable sense of relief accompanied my surprise at the guard informing me of my release. I was allotted one phone call per day, and my lawyer, a public defender, did not answer once. Thus, the release was arranged without my knowledge. The parents took me out for breakfast, and I ordered three meals, leaving all the plates sparkling as if they’d just been polished.

There is one more detail I must confess: I snitched…

It was 9 a.m., and I had just left work. As a preloader for UPS, my shift started between 4 and 5 a.m. During peak season, our shifts would sometimes start as early as 12 a.m., depending on the load. My post-work routine consisted of a massive egg sandwich featuring minced peppers, onions, and ham, enfolded beautifully between two buttered wheat slices. Then I showered and made runs, aka weed flips.

On this particular day, my buddy Jackson needed two ounces, so he came through and scooped me, getting to partake in my typical post-work smoke session. The burn cruise started off good as we ‘shot the shit’ and vibrated to the frequency induced by Mary Jane and solid tunes. But it took a turn for the worst when we pulled into the Meadowbrook Nature Preserve parking lot. The lesson here is to always keep moving! Motion is lotion and prevents stagnation, or, in this case, arrest.

Smoke was trying to flee from the hot box while our eyes were glazed like a donut and our minds burned like a piece of toast. This was 2019, and weed wasn’t legal. We noticed a car at the other end of the lot but assumed it wasn’t a threat. We didn’t even notice they had left until a Chevy Impala pulled up right next to us, where a dressed-up man came flying out of the vehicle like he was running late. Little did we know, we were his date.

Within the count of three, he went from pulling up next to us to urgently knocking on Jackson’s window. Jackson obliged, and a cloud of smoke billowed out the window into the officer’s eyes. He actually put his hands on Jackson, forcing him to exit the vehicle, then came to my side to do the same. At the time, it all seemed surreal, like a blur, but I still remember the pickle in vivid detail.

Both Jackson and I were escorted to the police office to be interrogated, and, conveniently, our stories differed, according to the cross-examiner. Although I thought I was adamant about not being a rat, after not budging in what seemed like forever, I gave in to their slick tactics; I snitched. As soon as the requisite details were divulged, the officers left, clearly content, leaving me in the dust with no choice but to sit in guilt and regret. I wasn’t seen again in, again, what seemed like forever.

Finally, the door to the room opened, and with a false sense of relief, I looked up at the officers. They informed me that the next stop was the prison chamber. I was held there until court in the morning, which brought more fear and anxiety.

Reluctantly, I took the stand, only to find it was back to being confined, back to the penitentiary, where a stressful and emotional roller coaster ride of uncertainty awaited me. It was a grueling ten days, to say the least.

Upon being released, one may think that there was a great sense of relief, and although there was initially, the reality of the situation soon haunted me. Even though I was not in a jail cell anymore, the resultant mental imprisonment meant that I was scared to leave the house. I was ashamed, disgusted, and hopeless. Looking in the mirror felt humiliating. Having not yet accepted the plea bargain, which mandated four years of probation, my status was still pending. For all I knew, I’d be going back to prison, so I wasn’t really free.

Shortly after the release, I got addicted to Xanax, which only perpetuated the feelings of despair, desperation, and despondency. It felt like I’d never be the same as before. Probation, however, ended up being a blessing in disguise. It turned the tide, opened my eyes, and helped me realize… that which is under “Personal Touch” in Manifest Your Immaculate Conception, where you can read more.

In short, it is about you, the reader, learning to accept and love yourself exactly as you are, learning to surrender, and knowing that, no matter what, by following your heart, you can restore the power intrinsic to your being by believing in yourself, trusting in your intuition, and most importantly, manifesting your Immaculate Conception…

Take into consideration, there are a lot of details I am choosing to omit, as it would defeat the intent of me relaying this account. Being in a difficult place is something to which we can all relate. Thus, the story is about the message, not the messenger.

In the song Outro, Nipsey Hussle raps, “She tells me that I’m wrong for not using emotions. Too busy to love a broad and I can’t lose focus. But maybe in a different life. Maybe when we make it, we’ll meet at the finish line. Maybe this is fate, maybe God will send a sign, but more than likely he’ll say, “N****, grind!”

It is easy to settle, give up, and fold. What’s not always easy is giving it all you got day after day and still being in the same place. True grit is getting up and giving life to your grind today while still being in the same place you were the day before, but you keep at it anyway. It’s about embracing the struggle with the will to never quit, no matter where you’re currently at.

Trial, trouble, and torment are all transient, but what’s permanent is your intent. It is definite: when you give it all you got, it will give it all back. So keep the faith, no matter the obstacle, and remember: strength has nothing to do with muscle. Man’s real strength is his heart and his spirit.

Nothing is more empowering than loving commitment. The quality of unwavering faith is of the heart and, at times, it is solely by the power of Divine Love, not the mind, that an obstacle can be transcended. Heartfelt devotion transcends reason or mental comprehension.