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The Block

The Block

Stumbling block or starting block?

Are you blocked, stuck, or just feel like your feet are made of two cubes of wood?

Or is your spiked shoe in the starting block and you’re poised and ready to spring to life?

Either way, there’s something between you and what’s ahead.

This is what happened to me this morning.

DISCLAIMER: What I’m going to describe below is a description of my meditation below. My former self would have never written about such an even publicly, but certain people are pulling me (note it’s not pushing) to come out of my shell and let others in on what I’m experiencing so that they might feel more comfortable with it and allow it to improve their lives as well.

The Author

In my reading the other night, my angel told me…

DISCLAIMER: I warned you. In a handful of words, I’ve mentioned my reading and an angel. There’s still time to get out. Just close this browser window and pretend you never saw this. Descend back to where you came up from and you’ll not be bothered with my tales of magic and meditations and the glorious and delicious unknown.

The Author (again).

She told me there was a block of some sort holding me back from rising up through the (glass?) ceiling that was preventing me from, if we’re going to descend briefly to entrepreneur terms, take it to the next level.

See how I did that? I have angels and glass ceilings and entrepreneurs in the same sentence.

Yeah, me again.

As she spun the block in her hand to examine it, it somehow turned into one of those children’s blocks. The kind with the letters on the six sides.

Was that all that was holding me down? A little wooden block? A plaything? C’mon! Slap that thing to the side and move on through!

Now in such a combination of a reading by an angel and then an early-morning meditation, time gets a little, shall we say, funky. It’s not clear the order of events or how long things take. It just sort of is and you learn to be OK with it.

My dad, who apparently has some sort of workshop where he is now, either took the block or created the block or at least in some way wanted to have the block.

Again, the times and sequence of things are unclear, but let’s just roll with it.

Speaking of rolling, note that the children’s block is a lot like a die (singular of dice). That must be my Vega$ days coming back to me…

I have to type this out quickly as it seemingly happened so fast. But here goes.

My dad returned the block with a smile and said something like, “There you go.” It was as if he had worked on it or done something to it but it looked the same as when he got it.

On closer inspection, each side of the die was a tiny door. They opened in different ways and had different functions.

The very first one I opened streamed out a beam of light powerful and bright. It shot out up above the atmosphere and came down into the gut of my mother. A little part of the beam was going into my gut. It was, yeah, you’re going to have to just trust me on this one, channeling or funneling or fueling something from me to my mom.

She has cancer and I know it’s small, but I saw a fuzzy black little something. Like a photo of a black dot, but out of focus. In her stomach or gut (I don’t know my physiology well enough to say exactly).

She was asleep but it gave her a little jolt. Then it seeped quietly into her.

I next held the block above me to have a look from that angle. One of the sides opened and out poured a truckload of little stars. The kind you throw around at kid’s birthday parties. But this kept coming out, much like the clowns that come out of the tiny car–a disproportionate amount to come out of such a small source.

I knew what it meant and I cocked my head as I thought of the word because it was so sweet. Stardom.

Are we having fun yet? If you’re reading this, you can no longer un-know this side of me. I’ve been enjoying a book by Genevieve Davis who just revealed her real name in her fifth book. She “hid” behind a pen name for years because she wasn’t ready to come out of the (magical) closet. I think I’m going to skip the pen name.


My dad smiled. It was clear he was proud of his work.

I asked him if this is what he had been working on all this time.

“One of the things,” was all he said as if to say that sure, it was great and all, but there’s so much more where that came from.

I looked at the little wooden cube again and it was just a normal wooden children’s block of six letters.

The seams of one of the sides came alive as if taunting me, teasing me to pry it open. But I wanted to talk with my dad a little more. It seems the block is now mine and now I know it’s not a stumbling block on my path upwards but a starting block.

It also has six sides with letters that change. It’s either old and used or made to look vintage. It’s full of the wisdom and playfulness of my dad. It’s a present for me that I can use to help others (and myself).

It’s also not the end-all be-all gift or one thing I get from my dad to use as my magic but one of many. Many to come.

So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

The Block: Stumbling block or starting block?
The Block: Stumbling block or starting block? [Photo by Susan Holt Simpson on Unsplash]


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