Meditation for Manifesting Your Dreams :: And Accomplishing Your … – Forbes

I don’t believe in magic. But I believe in the power of positive intent. And I also believe if you’re committed to accomplishing a goal, and are consistently looking for ways to advance this goal, and signals the world is supporting you in making it happen — that this will help to manifest your dreams.

Today I’d like to offer a powerful meditation. It’s from one of my favorite books, Into the Magic Shop. It’s written by James Doty, an acclaimed neuroscientist from Stanford University, and tells the story of a underprivileged boy from Orange County who, in a very unexpected way, learns to meditate. Specifically he’s taught how to manifest dreams he can barely believe are possible, financially and career-wise. But over time, in the book and this boy’s actual life, every goal he sets comes true.

Today I’ll share with you how to do this for yourself. If you can, try to do this for twenty minutes twice a day. I can’t guarantee this will work. But I do believe it puts you in the mindset of success. Over time you’ll begin to truly believe you can accomplish any reasonable goal you set for yourself. This meditation will also lead you to constantly be looking for ways to advance your goals, and signals you’re on the right track. This in itself is a great boost to your chances for success — because you’ll believe the world is supporting you in helping you accomplish your goals. That optimism will open up avenues for success.

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So let’s begin:

Sit with your back straight and your feet flat on the ground, head pointing up to the sky or ceiling.

Close your eyes.

STAGE ONE : RELAX

The first step of this meditation is to relax your entire body, body part by body part. Start with the top of your head and relax this area, then focus on your forehead and relax this section, from the front of your head to the back and the middle, too, if you can. Then move down to your eyes, relax everything here, then your nose, below your nose, and your lips. Step by step focus on each area and relax all of the muscles you can.

You can do both arms at the same time and your legs too. Finally, relax your entire feet, from the top near your ankle all the way down to your toes.

Then scan your entire body down and up and down again, relaxing any tense areas. This should take about five minutes.

STAGE TWO : FOCUS

Next let’s go back to the mindfulness meditation we did last month. Focus your attention on the sensation of the breath as it comes in and comes out of your nostrils. What do you feel? What do you notice? Breath in and out of your nostrils normally but focus your mind, with alertness on all of the sensations you feel as the breath comes in and out of the nostrils. This should take around five minutes.

STAGE THREE: OPEN YOUR HEART

Because this is such a powerful meditation, we want to make sure your goals are promoting good in the world and not evil! So for five minutes repeat silently to yourself, in your mind’s eye, “My heart is open. I open my heart. I am good, I do good and I am loved.” You can adapt this to some other phrases if they feel more natural to you, too. Some examples from the book are, “I am worthy. I am cared for. I care for others. I love myself. I love others.”

This may feel a bit ‘out there,’ but Dr. Doty writes that meditating with these phrases actually changes the physiology of our body.  When we do this type of heart-opening meditation, which helps us feel more calm, open and relaxed, the tone of our vagus nerve actually increases, and we activate the parasympathetic nervous system which, as Doty writes, “stimulates our rest-and-digest response.” This helps us be more focused,  calmer and boosts our immune system. It’s a stark contrast to how our body responds to stress, which decreases the vagus nerve tone and increases our blood pressure and heart rate. Do this meditation for fives minutes, too.

STAGE FOUR: MANIFEST

Now we’re ready to start manifesting. I suggest starting with one or two goals, but you can also work your way up to more, even as many as ten!

Your goals can be to raise more money for your start-up, to pursue the career you’ve always dreamed about, to fall in love, to get along better with your team — whatever you’d like!

Let’s begin with your first goal. With your eyes closed and still in meditation, imagine what your life would look like if this goal were already accomplished. If your eyes were open, as you, with this goal having happened, what do you see? What colors? What shapes? Where are you? What are you wearing, what do you smell, who is with you? Stay with this. It may be hard at first. You might only see shapes or shadings of colors. But over time, and over days and weeks and months, the details will start to fill out. See, from your eyes as you, as much as you can about what your life looks like once you’ve manifested this dream. 

After five minutes on your first dream, you can move on to the second.

These four steps are an extraordinary way to put you in the mindset of success, to look for things that will help you along this path each moment of your day, and to, really, help make your dreams reality.

After you do this meditation, please respond in the comments to let me know how it goes! 

Dina Kaplan started and runs The Path, which teaches meditation for the modern mind. We invite you to join our meditations and to receive awesome invites by going to thepath.com.

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“El hombre azul”, meditación entre ruinas – El Nacional – El Nacional.com

30 de abril de 2017 01:08 AM | Actualizado el 30 de abril de 2017 01:12 AM

Llama la atención que novelas, cuentos y poemas venezolanos de los últimos tiempos perseveren en un motivo tratado de maneras similares, como si los autores se hubiesen puesto de acuerdo. E inquieta que no haya habido comunicación previa al respecto, lo que despierta la sospecha de que nos hallamos ante señales emitidas por el inconsciente colectivo nacional. Me refiero a la entrevisión de espacios amenazados, en pleno desmoronamiento o ya derruidos y fantasmales. Tampoco me extraña que el asunto se manifieste, con frecuencia, en textos donde los desarraigos ―físicos o los que se producen en la memoria― tienen un papel fundamental.

Estoy pensando en la noveleta de Raquel Abend, El cuarto azul (2017), cuya saga de persecuciones durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial nos depara paisajes devastados, transitados por sobrevivientes en el exilio que sueñan con “ruinas donde nos aventurábamos para recoger muebles, juguetes, bicicletas”. “Siempre me sentí cómoda”, dice la narradora, “en lugares feos, marginados (…). Mi cuerpo se adaptó al deterioro desde muy joven”. El “cuarto azul” al que el título alude compendia todas las pérdidas y los deseos que una metáfora espacial pueda contener.

Pienso también en la poesía de Adalber Salas, que desde hace años proyecta sus atmósferas expresionistas en Caracas, como ocurría en estos versos de Heredar la tierra (2013):

“Tuyo es el reino,

el óxido que se arrodilla y reza

en los terrenos baldíos,

apoyado en los cercados,

colgando de los alambres de púas.

Tuya la fiebre que carcome

carros, autopistas,

calles, aceras, casas,

toda esta minúscula historia universal del fracaso”.

Nube de polvo (2015), novela de Krina Ber, gira asimismo en torno a escombros, aunque ahora materializados en intrigas de corrupción inmobiliaria que hacen concluir a uno de los personajes: “he leído en algún lugar que somos un fenómeno internacional: el país que construye ruinas”. El plural, tan elocuente, socializa la anécdota privada, logrando que la novela intimista derive hacia otro género, el histórico, agazapado en una arqueología de demoliciones que persisten en el recuerdo.

A ese linaje literario, y con un perfil muy propio, pertenece El hombre azul, primera novela de Pedro Plaza Salvati (Caracas: bid & co, 2016). Las ruinas reaparecen aquí e involucran un error fatal, posiblemente una jugada traidora, en cuestión de bienes raíces ―como sucede en Nube de polvo―. En esta oportunidad, no obstante, el colapso se produce menos en el exterior que en la psique de Marco Perdomo, el gris antihéroe obsesionado con volverse azul en medio de sus derrotas.

Estamos, sin duda, ante una novela psicológica. Pero su método rechaza los fáciles encasillamientos tonales o de género. Han de considerarse, para no ir muy lejos, las vetas esperpénticas del protagonista, cuya implosión moral, atada al desorden del chavismo, y la subsecuente bancarrota cuando intenta instalarse en los Estados Unidos ―donde lo han despojado de la casa en que cifraba su seguridad financiera― lo incitan a obtener un contrato con el Blue Man Group; todo eso sincronizado con un tamborileo compulsivo in crescendo que, según descubriremos, podría ser genético… No voy a revelar más, aunque apunto que la trama, sazonada de humor e incluso con toques de kitsch sardónico ―es decir, de Camp, como lo designaría Susan Sontag―, gana mucho puesta contra un telón de fondo realista, conflictivo. En varios sentidos, una considerable porción de venezolanos sospecha que en su país el poder ha montado un espectáculo donde la realidad se falsifica una y otra vez. Marco Perdomo estaría encarnándolo dentro de sí, padeciendo un derrumbe análogo al de la Venezuela de hoy; huyendo de una absurda feria política, acaba convertido en acto circense: se obstina en ser un freak, no solo anímicamente, sino sobre los escenarios neoyorquinos ―en otras palabras, ante los ojos del mundo―.

No se crea, pese a lo anterior, que el trazo duro de la farsa o la alegoría predomina. Esta prosa tiene la rara cualidad de lo ambiguo. Durante páginas dudaremos de si la reacción que se espera de nosotros es la risa o si debemos, más bien, conmovernos ante vidas que rayan en lo patético ―para decirlo en el inglés que rodea a Marco: la exasperación vital que lo deja blue in the face lo transporta al color de la tristeza, blue―. Y es que Plaza Salvati representa la antítesis absoluta del autor monocorde, abundante en su patria. Ello se evidencia sobre todo en dos especies letradas comprometidas con registros antagónicos: por una parte, el escritor que se momifica persiguiendo la trascendencia y la responsabilidad intelectual ―lo que le impide desarrollar una sensibilidad para lo burlesco― y, por otra, el que se atasca en la guasa criolla ―que le obstruye el acceso tanto a la profundidad en general como a la profundidad específica del auténtico humor, en el fondo siempre traspasado de melancolía, porque los seres humanos somos frágiles, ilusos y perecederos―. El novelista de El hombre azul oscila entre los extremos, los confunde, les exige que se crucen y se necesiten, sea en las acciones relatadas, sea en la factura verbal de numerosos pasajes, donde se superimponen lo cosmopolita y lo provinciano, la alta cultura y lo proveniente de los medios de comunicación de masas: en una misma página, para mencionar un solo ejemplo, podemos rememorar, con Marco, imágenes de la Cueva del Guácharo y El jardín de las delicias de El Bosco. El desenlace mucho tiene de esa indeterminación, cuyo mayor efecto es conducirnos a los dominios del ensueño o lo poético.

Uno de los méritos mayores de esta novela consiste en la sutil presentación del desmoronamiento mental de un hombre y la insinuada promesa de su reconstrucción. Se trata de una criatura coherentemente elaborada desde sus incoherencias. Durante el primer tercio del libro, sagaz es la diseminación de pistas de lo que después descubriremos que es un destino: pertenecer al Blue Man Group. Y no menos importante es el efecto que se produce en el lector cuando comprende que tal destino equivale al origen: la manía que tiene Marco de volver todo lo que lo rodea en instrumento de percusión constituye un síntoma de su imposibilidad de separarse del mundo preconsciente. Algo tiene su trayecto de regresión a lo materno, un caso de épica inmadurez en que se arriesga a perder a Gaby, posiblemente lo mejor que le ha pasado y, hasta cierto punto, don recibido en la “peregrinación” a ese lugar sagrado que es el Ávila (aunque jamás el narrador cometa el error de expresarlo en estos términos, que solo se me pueden imputar: la temprana secuencia del ascenso a la montaña va cobrando poco a poco importancia en nuestra indagación de significado). El argumento del novelista es tan rico que lo que llevo dicho sobre un individuo de ficción se extiende al país al que pertenece, y de allí la importancia del Ávila como referente: la regresión al origen podría constatarse en una sociedad cuyo imaginario nos agobia con héroes fundacionales. Ha de recalcarse que lo más apreciable de la técnica de Plaza Salvati radica, sin embargo, en que jamás nos fuerce a decantarnos por interpretaciones exclusivas: politizar la lectura es nuestra responsabilidad ya que estamos, como diría Umberto Eco, ante una opera aperta.

Si las materias primas de esta fábula del deterioro son la ruina, la postración, los espacios de intimidad o posesión amenazados, su respuesta dista de la que las ideologías ―las oficiales, en particular― han ofrecido hasta ahora: cerrar con muros autoritarios, apertrecharse a la defensiva en los fortines de la identidad. Novelas como El hombre azul nos invitan, por el contrario, a un viaje por afectos cuyas fronteras no se han demarcado y donde sus personajes aún buscan un sentido de pertenencia.

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“The blue man”, meditation among the ruins – The Nacional.com

April 30, 2017 01:08 AM | Updated April 30, 2017 01:12 AM

It is striking that novels, short stories and poems venezuelans in recent times to persevere in a cause tried in similar ways, as if the authors were in agreement. And restless that there has been no prior communication about it, which awakens the suspicion that we are dealing with signals emitted by the collective unconscious national. I am referring to the entrevisión of spaces threatened, in the fall or already crumbling and ghostly. Nor am I surprised that the issue is manifested, often, in texts where the desarraigos ―physical, or those that occur in memory― play a fundamental role.

I’m thinking of the noveleta of Raquel Abend, The blue room (2017), whose saga of persecutions during the Second World War holds for us ravaged landscapes, frequented by survivors in exile who dream of “the ruins where we aventurábamos to collect furniture, toys, bikes”. “I always felt comfortable,” says the narrator, “in places ugly, the marginalized, ( … ). My body was adapted to the impairment from a very young age”. The “blue room” to which the title alludes to sums up all the losses and desires that a spatial metaphor can contain.

I think also in the poetry of Adalber Rooms, which for years projected their atmospheres expressionists in Caracas, as it did in these verses of Inherit the earth (2013):

“Yours is the kingdom,

the oxide that kneels and prays

in the vacant lots,

supported in pens,

hanging from the barbed wire.

Yours the fever that eats away at

cars, highways,

streets, sidewalks, houses,

all this tiny universal history of failure.”

Cloud of dust (2015), a novel of Krina Ber, rotates also around the wreckage, although now embodied in intrigue of corruption, real estate that make the conclusion to one of the characters: “I have read somewhere that we are an international phenomenon: the country that built the ruins”. The plural, so eloquent, socializes the anecdote private, making the novel more intimate turns to another genre, the historical, crouched in an archaeology of demolitions that persist in the memory.

To that lineage literary, and with a profile very own, belongs to The blue man, the first novel Pedro Plaza Salvati (Caracas: bid & co, 2016). The ruins come back here and involve a fatal mistake, possibly a move of a traitor, in a matter of real estate ―as happens in Cloud of dust―. In this opportunity, however, the collapse occurs less in the outer than in the psyche of Marco Perdomo, the grey anti-hero obsessed with turning blue in the midst of their defeats.

We are, without doubt, to a psychological novel. But his method rejects the easy-to-encasillamientos tonal or gender. To be considered, not to go too far away, the veins grotesque of the protagonist, whose implosion moral, tied to the disorder of the chavismo, and the subsequent bankruptcy when you try to settle in the united States ―where he has been stripped of the house in which lay their financial security― push him to get a contract with the Blue Man Group; all of it synchronized with a beat-compulsive disorder in crescendo that, as we will discover, it could be genetic… I’m Not going to reveal more, although about the plot, seasoned with humor and even with a touch of kitsch sardonic ―that is to say, of Camp, as it would designate Susan Sontag―, win a long set against a backdrop of realistic, conflicting. In many ways, a significant portion of venezuelans suspect that in their country the power has mounted a show where reality is falsified again and again. Marco Perdomo would be encarnándolo within himself, suffering a collapse similar to that of the Venezuela of today; fleeing from an absurd fair policy, has just become the act of the circus: is determined to be a freak, not only emotionally, but on stage, new yorkers ―in other words, in the eyes of the world―.

Not created, in spite of the above, the stroke hard of farce or allegory predominates. This prose has the rare quality of the ambiguous. During pages hesitate of if the reaction that is expected of us is laughing or if we should rather move us to lives that border on the pathetic ―to say it in English surrounding Frame: the exasperation vital that leaves you blue in the face, transports the color of sorrow, blue―. And is that Square Salvati represents the antithesis to absolute author’s monotonous, abundant in their homeland. This is evident especially in two-species levels involved with records antagonistic: on the one hand, the writer who momifica pursuing the transcendence and the intellectual responsibility ―which prevents you from developing a sensitivity to the burlesque― and, on the other, that is stuck in the goliath grouper creole ―which obstructs access to both the depth as well as the specific depth of genuine humour, in the background, always pierced with melancholy, because human beings are fragile, deluded and shelf-stable―. The novelist of The blue man ranges between the extreme, the confused, requires them to cross and they are needed, whether in the actions reported, whether in the bill verbal of numerous passages, where superimponen the cosmopolitan and the provincial, the high culture and from the mass media: on the same page, to mention just a single example, we can recall, with Frame, images of Cueva del Guácharo and The garden of earthly delights “by hieronymus Bosch. The outcome has a lot of that uncertainty, whose major effect is to lead us to the domains of the dream or the poetic.

One of the merits over this novel is in the subtle presentation of the crumbling mind of a man and the implied promise of its reconstruction. It is a creature consistently drawn from its inconsistencies. During the first third of the book, astute is the dissemination of tracks that later we will discover that it is a destiny: to belong to the Blue Man Group. And no less important, is the effect produced on the reader when he understands that such a target is equivalent to the source: the mania that has Framework back everything around it into an instrument of percussion is a symptom of the impossibility of separating oneself from the world preconscious. Something has your journey of regression to the maternal, a case of epic immaturity in that you risk losing Gaby, possibly the best thing that has happened to him, and, to some extent, a gift received in the “pilgrimage” to that sacred place, that is the Avila (although never the narrator make the mistake of expressing it in these terms, that only I can be blamed: the early sequence of the ascent to the mountain is getting gradually importance in our quest of meaning). The argument of the novelist is so rich that what I have said about an individual of the fiction extends to the country to which it belongs, and hence the importance of the Avila as a reference: the regression to the origin could be found in a society whose imaginary overwhelms us with heroes of the foundation. It has to stressed that the most appreciable of-the-art Plaza Salvati lies, however, in that we never force you to opt for interpretations exclusive: politicize the reading it is our responsibility because we are, as I would say Umberto Eco, before an opera aperta.

If the raw materials of this fable of the deterioration are the ruin, prostration, the spaces of intimacy or possession of threatened, their response is that the ideologies ―the officers, in particular― have offered up to now: close to walls authoritarian, apertrecharse on the defensive strongholds of the identity. Novels like The blue man invite us, on the contrary, a journey by affections whose borders have not been demarcated and where their characters are still searching for a sense of belonging.

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