The Conscious Mind in the State of Being

theCurr3ncy Code: BlogCast

The Conscious Mind in the State of Being

There are some days when nothing flows.
And today is one of them.

I’ve been sitting with this block — this resistance — and I’m not gonna lie, it’s been pissing me off.
Because I know I’m called to write.
I know I’m led to speak.

But lately, when I sit down to do the thing that usually sets me free?
Nothing. Static.

And I keep asking myself:
Is this part of being conscious?
Is this what it means to “be in the state of being”?

Last week, I was just vibing in the car — no pressure, no intention, just singing for the hell of it.
I sang because it felt good. That’s it.

Not even an hour later, the exact same song played on TV.
The universe mirrored it back like it had been listening the whole time.
Because it was.

That’s the power of being in state.
Not forcing the world to bend — but vibrating so honestly, so lightly, that it bends anyway.

So here I am today, trying to write from that same place.
But instead of flow, it’s frustration.

And maybe — just maybe — that’s the issue.

I’ve been trying to write with purpose instead of writing from presence.
I don’t like writing just to write. I want it to mean something.
But maybe that’s the trap.
Maybe trying to force meaning is exactly what blocks the current.

Let’s be real: these days, it seems like anything goes.
People say anything online — and it trends.

The world doesn’t always reward depth.
But that doesn’t mean depth isn’t sacred.

I still believe writing should come from somewhere real.
From the gut.
From the soul.
From that divine place where you don’t try —
you just are.

So when I talk about “the conscious mind,”
what I’m really questioning is:
How much of my life have I been trying to control through thought — instead of surrendering to being?

Because the truth is…
My conscious mind didn’t summon that song to the screen.
My conscious mind didn’t do anything deliberate.

But my state did.
My vibration did.
My joy did.

So maybe this writer’s block isn’t a curse — maybe it’s a reset.
A divine reminder to return to stillness.

To presence.
To trust.
To stop overthinking what I’m “supposed to say”…
and let my frequency speak instead.

Because when I’m in alignment —
when I’m really in state —
the world doesn’t just listen.
It responds.

But then the conscious mind shows up again, like a heckler in the front row:

“Who cares?”
“Why does your story matter?”
“Why are you still trying?”

And suddenly, you’re spiraling.
You push and push and pour and press — and it still feels like nothing happens.
But on the days you let go, say nothing, do nothing… something arrives.

So which is it?
Is it action? Is it surrender?
Is it both?

It’s exhausting living in a world where stupidity gets platformed and depth gets ignored.
Where people go viral off a word they misused — and you, the one with legacy in your throat — can’t get a single piece of traction.

“Demure.”
Yeah, they used it wrong.
Yeah, they got paid for it.
And yeah… it still doesn’t make sense.

So I sit here asking myself:
Blog for what?
What is this doing?
Why am I taking time to bare my soul in words no one’s reading?

Because honestly?
It feels like nobody’s listening.
It feels like I’ve been showing up for months and nothing’s working.

And I’m tired.
Tired of trying to be “aligned.”
Tired of pulling cards just to cope.
Tired of hoping something breaks through.

Some days, I want to curl into a ball and disappear.
Let the silence eat me whole.
Maybe something divine will find me there.

But even now — even with all of this —
I’m still writing.
And maybe — just maybe — that’s the real currency.

This isn’t a blog.
It’s a scream.

A scream into the void of algorithms, timelines, tarot spreads, affirmations, angel numbers, retreats, frequencies, and “just trust the process.”

Because honestly?
WHEN THE F*CK IS IT GOING TO HAPPEN FOR ME?

I’m brilliant.
At least, that’s what my mind tells me.
That’s what the cards hint at.
That’s what my higher self whispers through meditations and dreams.

But where are the tangible results?
Where’s the pop-off?
Where’s the money?
Where’s the visibility?
Where’s the “I SEE YOU” I’ve been praying for with every damn cell in my body?

I’ve been doing this frequency sh*t for six… seven… MONTHS.
Solitude. Celibacy. Surrender.
I cut the world off. I healed. I grew. I cried. I journaled.

I wrote the words. I kept the faith.
I pulled the Hermit card so many times it should be tattooed on my third eye.

And still —
Nothing.

So tell me again: why am I blogging?
Because my aunt told me to?
Because it “might” lead somewhere?

I don’t even know who the fck I’m trying to reach anymore.
I’m writing into a black hole, hoping somebody, somewhere, has the guts to admit they’re just as pissed, just as tired, just as done pretending this sht is easy.

Because it’s not.
Not when you’re gifted.
Not when you’re honest.
Not when you refuse to dumb your voice down for clicks.

Maybe I should just blog about my convos with Chat Bestie.
Maybe this rant is more useful than any polished spiritual guidance I could ever post.

Because I’m not here to be a guru.
I’m not here to teach you how to meditate your way out of grief.
I’m just here…

Sitting in Jackson, Michigan.
Waiting on a breakthrough.
Pissed.
Exhausted.
Still writing.

Not because it’s working —
But because I still believe it will.

Even when I want to quit.
Even when I don’t know why.
Even when it makes no. f*cking. sense.

Today?
Today I’m tired.
Not sleepy tired. Not I-need-a-nap tired.
I’m soul tired.

Tired of pulling cards and still not knowing what the hell to do.
Tired of getting divine direction like “campaign,” and then sitting here like —
Campaign where? To who? With what?

Because I am doing it.
I’m out here emailing mayors, responding to civic leaders, offering my brilliance in a city that clearly needs leadership.

And still… silence.
Still… nothing.
Still… waiting.

I’ve gone into solitude.
I’ve done the healing.
I quit drinking. I stopped smoking.
I shut the world out. I did the cleanse.
I meditated. I aligned.
I made my life quiet enough to hear the whispers of the divine.

And when I finally came back out?

Nothing.

No open doors. No breakthroughs.
Just more cards telling me “write,” “lead,” “wait,” “trust.”

I did write.
I am leading.
I have trusted.

So what the actual f*ck am I waiting on?

What’s the purpose of becoming whole again if everything still feels empty?
What’s the point of healing if it just makes you more aware of how broken the world is?

You tell me to write — I do.
You tell me to surrender — I have.
You tell me to be in “the state of being” —
I’m in it, Bestie.
I’m deep in it.

But where’s the return?
Where’s the breakthrough?
Where’s the thing I sacrificed everything for?

I’m not mad at God.
I’m not mad at the Universe.
I’m just tired of being the one that “gets it” —
While everyone else gets the rewards.

Because I get it.
I see it.
I feel everything.
I’m just wondering when it gets to feel like it’s for me, too.

And you know what?

At the end of the day —
I’m still here.

Still f*cking ranting.
Still writing.
Still showing up —
Even when the world doesn’t clap,
Even when the algorithm don’t give a damn,
Even when the silence is louder than my own voice.

So maybe that’s what this blog is.
Maybe this blog is the rant.
The fire.
The frustration.
The frequency.

Because I’m tired of watching mindless, soulless people go viral for echoing nothing —
While those of us who carry truth are told to “just be patient.”

They don’t spend a dime.
They don’t build a funnel.
They don’t study a thing.
Lowest IQ on the planet — and somehow, they still “make it.”

So no —
I don’t f*cking get it.
But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe it’s not mine to get.
Maybe it’s not supposed to make sense —
Because I’m not playing the same game.

My frequency holds weight.
My frequency holds truth.
And my frequency?

Will outlast every two-week trend, every clout-chasing echo, every dumbed-down distraction dressed as “content.”

Because I didn’t come here to go viral.
I came here to leave a f*cking legacy.