by

line-jumper

When did I become a line-jumper and what is a line?

A line in this sense is a border that we shouldn’t cross.

Shouldn’t, – as defined by society, ethics, manners, conscience…mom and dad…
But nobody said “mustn’t” cross, except Grandma, because she knew stuff nobody else did.
That borderline is not an Iron Curtain or a DMC Zone with armed police patrols and watchtowers and minefields physically preventing me.
Although, when I think about it, it actually is, because if you cross such a line in public, boy you know about it.

In the privacy and seclusion of my thought world, however, I don’t jump the line, I use it as a venerable starting point for my imaginary excursions into ‘forbidden’ territory.
The world that opens up there is beyond description in intensity, pleasure, horror, reward, naughtiness, audacity…
If mind police would exist they would have squad cars lined up on my line: in gear, engines revving, foot on clutch, ready to pounce, because he is a serial offender.
And, if judgment day considers any line-jumping, I am in for a terrible surprise, like a ton of bricks as a ball and chain, forever suspended over a bunsen burner up my tenderness.
Not one soul will want to help me in that situation.

I became an lj as soon as I recognized that there was this “shouldn’t” side to a line. Initially cautiously, circumspectly, even fearfully, but driven to explore and quick in learning to return to the line as if nothing happened, lest you wanted a lecture.

Of course, because I am a line-jumper I think everyone else is too. We just don’t flaunt our line-jumping prowess like a gold chain. Despite the intention not to wear the line-jumper brand, and remain incognito, I have the feeling line-jumpers somehow know about others. I am also careful and skeptical of those who are line-jumping judges. They must have exemplary mind control or are just liars.

There is one side of line-jumping where you want to light an atom bomb in someone’s face or be stupidly daring.
There is another side too.
It’s not bad, but it is nevertheless also beyond the line. If ‘they’ make a strong enough case against you, you might end up in a place that really exists, but is so far from the line for most of us, it might as well be called Bedlam’s Cuckoo’s nest.
This other side of line-jumping I want to refer to carries the unenviable baggage of being branded delusional. The mere mention of the adjective has the sirens of the cuckoo’s nest proclaim an emergency upon me. So I have to tone down the delusion and call it an illusion born from a vivid imagination and now I’ll just skirt the gates of admission. Close call though. Where was the line now? That rigid line had flexible inserts. Much like having a bulldog-shrewd lawyer on your side that finds those inserts and turns delusional into inventive, ingenious and now suddenly judge and jury jubilate and acquit me.

I don’t walk the line.
On a good day, meaning when I have that acceptable (pre)disposition to the world, I might slalom over that line, hitherto and fro, like an inebriated driver attempting to follow the white line, but that is only because the world is watching me with a magnifying glass. As soon as I feel unobserved I flatten the pedal and pull back on the stick and dodge even my own surprises.

Somehow it always happens that I return to the line though, as if without it there wouldn’t be a reason to do anything. There is comfort, safety and sobriety around the line because it can get pretty rough out there. The line is like my bed, it is not where I spend my life, but only about a third of it.

Are you a line-jumper?
I’d love to know, – for my own sanity.

by

The Scream

The Scream

Pastel on cardboard created by Norwegian Expressionist artist Edvard Munch 1895: was sold for nearly US$120 million, at Sotheby’s, in 2012.

I wail and scream. I howl
I bleed and I implore
Desperate cries distort my lips
Torn into a grimace
fearful open the visage
Clueless and lost I am
Anguish is upon my soul

Dark wrinkles now remain
where tears in streams
once hoped in vain

A devilish nightmare
horrible and mean,
from inside my ulcerating stomach
and my flailing heart,
forced its shadow onto my scene
Warning me, ‘beware’

A thousand cellars deep in agony,
dank with acid, bile, and irony
It’s me

I bang my head and bite my nails
My soul from sorrow is impaled
and my spirit poison has inhaled
wishing for the comfort in the grave

Eyes in white rage ajar
now burned out,
once upon a time two sunny stars

My fists are clenched,
spiked with ragged bony hands
stabbing aimlessly at burned out plans
I once knew another side of this fence

Screaming threatening,
helpless windmills are my arms
Harsh and vile the words accusingly escape
Hear me whoever and whatever you may be:
You are fearsome, belligerent, debilitating,
uncompromising, ruthless and emetic
I am on a vertex uncontrollably forlorn
Sickeningly, rhymeless, unpoetic
Pushed too far, beyond repair I’m harmed
I suffocate
It’s deadening

Disappointed, disillusioned, hurting bad
Events heaped upon me that made me crying sad

Life’s definition –
amongst buried papers, dogmas, egos
and coated in red tape:
An endless suffering caravan of greed and hate
Controlled by law enforced by society
I scream some more
It is too late
Piety, sobriety, and deity, notorious dubiety

What now?
I scream again, I scream
I tell the universe I’m sore
Sick of all the hell, right to the core
Liberate me, bring about a change
Never will I accept some fate
Turnaround my life
I still believe it can be done somehow

But scream I must
till then
Before I settle into dust
and blow away,
Scream, scream, scream in pain
Amen

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It was fascination …

On reflection. In hindsight. Looking back.

Connecting the countless breadcrumbs life spills: splodges, pools, and deltas of crumbs;
from the thinnest of silk threads to glistening rays of desire leading to my intimate blue skies and starry nights;
the weaving print of dots showing the way to the source of every reason for my doing.

Looking eyes lead us to see and that evolves into understanding. Eventually, and sometimes, a conclusion happens upon you, – a knowledge befalls us.

It was ‘fascination.’

I was bewitched, charmed, spellbound, entranced and grogged by so many things to such an extent that everything else, even the sensible stuff, bounced off this cloak of enthusiasm cast by my absorption.

Nature and music were the earliest and probably most potent ingredients in my life in the conglomeration that became a soaring rainbow union of interests.

In this Ferris wheel of creative engagement in one’s life, any capsule or gondola of curiosity can take precedence over another. The wheel turns and everything can experience the wave-like motion of flight into the heights and then feel the grounding stability of rest at the bottom. The man-made gyroscopic effect of stability and direction existing only long enough to affirm the intrinsic flux of things.
Fascination ignites randomly in no particular, predictable firing order. The pistons of our inner engine rumble, spin, whine, screech, thump and think along like an orchestra to a rhythm defined by the great conductor of creativity within. Fascination is crazy, polarizing and unifying in an energizing flurry of dynamism; meditatively still and laser-like in its exclusive, focused concentration. The elixir composed of imagination fuses with fascination and propels us on – deliriously clear-headed​, super receptive and hyperactive.

Your fascination should become your occupation. Why spend many hours each day slogging along when you could surf the day blown by the wind of fascination in a sea of happiness and fun?

You can’t force fascination or buy it. It is either present or not and as such is a gift to enjoy and the most important tool to guide us.

But, what is fascination? How do I bring it about?
It happens sub-consciously when any of the senses feel pleasured. When thought is enamored and I am attracted.
We are already fine tuned to what fascinates us; to what we like and what we want. You either are or aren’t fascinated.

Fascination stares us in the face with an uninhibited invitation to follow.

A fascinating trail of crumbs leading to the only possible source, – fascination.

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high, deep, far

there is no great introduction here, the question is:

What is it that had the greatest influence on our (collective) human development?
Let’s use the past as if it was a puzzle to solve, and apply acute cognitive (self) observation to answer this.
Look high and deep and far.

Wherefrom cometh that intuition to act in a way that is most beneficial to our human progress?

How long should we look back in time into the human past?
So far back, obviously, that we get a clear picture of the energy that was responsible for igniting the flurry of human progress that we are experiencing.
Are one hundred years enough? Perhaps? Will that show what principles and ideas are at work pushing the frontier of our human ability and knowledge with such devoted pace and resilience?

Progress is born out of the notion that when you think hard and long enough about any idea in your head, you will be required to manifest it.
So beware when you dream something up. Progress directly comes from doing that dream.
We humans also think? and insist that we have a choice, before the almighty unknown, as to what we do and how we react to something.

“We have! Don’t panic.”
This pacification tagline pronouncing that we have a choice has become the most sought after slogan wrapped in legal controversy on the advertorial altar, unobtainable even by the rarest jewels of judiciary brilliance.
“We have! Don’t panic” is (pro)claimed by moi.

We have an idea. We drop the idea.
We have an idea. We drop the idea.
We become an idea. The idea takes control and fuels itself.
It is always good grounding to know what the original question that brought the idea about was. That’s the idea’s manifest of its purpose of existence.

So what had the greatest influence?
Which propellant in the evolutionary cocktail kick started humanity into this dynamic era of modern day with so such vigor and intensity?

Did we arrive at a philosophical vertice-verge-corner, this very privileged viewpoint into existence, and from there the vision became clear?
Were we ignited to become the deities of our destiny by the words of the great philosophers, thinkers, and gurus?

Art is the hatching egg of creativity.

Something crystallized into focus and reflected into irresistible action.

What was that ‘thing’ that got us humans so frenetically deliriously going, when in comparison the stone-age must have lasted forever?
Can we go back to try and understand what energy that was, and what fed it?

Living life, – with ever greater awareness?

That nearly sounds hedonistic with a paradisical encore.
Addictively, good-feelings must have a lot to do with celebrating our humanity in imaginative ways.

Eventually, the momentum demanded a certain backbone structure to progress with ever greater speed.
This necessitated communication between parties that was faster than the Inca runners (Chasquis) or horseback messengers so we could organize parties for even greater celebrations in even more imaginative, fascinating ways of paradisicality.

Was the need for communication then the trigger?
Was the requirement for tranporting ‘stuff’ becoming a high-profile issue?
Surely communication and transport have catapulted us forward letting us implement our grandest ideas like none other?
As one part grew others followed to make the whole work.
i.e. agriculture, food science, textile, manufacturing, medical, academic, scientific, engineering, technological, financial, software, … all these parts were infected with tremendous growth and they contributed significantly in rolling the ball of progress faster and faster.

What are the one or ten that stick out as the greatest influencers?

There was a sudden rising awakening that we could do anything if we really tried. As if intrinsically sealed in some covenant.

Communication today: satellite, radio, 4K 3D TV, smartphones, books, the internet, tablets, video’s, gigabyte transfer rates and terabyte volume, must have been difficult to imagine in 1917. Communication is all encompassing and has mutated into something incredible and indispensable.

Communication has brought us together and transportation makes the experience tangibly real.

Our achievement on the transportation side is bespoke spectacular, breathtaking, beautiful, incredible… We are superstars in the transportation field and data transportation is crazy-frigging-unimaginably-ginormous and has by far the largest demand.
On earth, you can have something delivered to your door within 12-48 hours from just about anywhere. By plane, ship, car, truck, bike.
You can drive a blow-my-hair-back Italian sports car and your partner can drive the German version of ‘ein wildes Auto,’ tamed to respond, oh ja, like crazy artworks from a thesis project of motion.
And don’t get me started on airplanes, these graceful creatures of our meta-imagination.
Any motion that transports something could be viewed under the heading of transportation. Deliberate transport only, please.
A private jet in transportation is like an island in real estate, a yacht is like a ranch.

Transportation and communication are more than roommates. The one without the other is unthinkable and inseparable.
They are vehicles of imagination.

To answer the question one would have to look back, see the stuff that stuck out and that made an impact and imagine the future along this line and trend.

What is next?
Imagine and predict from vision.

Here is where it gets interesting.
We are in a position to deduct, predict, postulate, even imagine, based on data from the past.
Each individual of us can formulate his/her future by looking back and imagining a path.
Of course, the future is unpredictable but it is a guaranteed given and we can influence it.

If we don’t know the ‘what’ and ‘where to,’ which many of us don’t, then the past might give some clues how our pudding of reality should be like.
Sweet, no?
Anything to do with communication or transportation has amazing potential. Elon Musk thinks so too.

by

takeoff prophecy:

simple-life-about-everything

here is the simplicity:

you fly as high as a bird, a jet plane, a kite, a bug, – simple.

…because you want your life to take off.

we don’t want to be stuck.
ever rocketing towards that desired direction,
the bulls-eye of our life.

‘no legs on the ground’ dear people while your prophecy takes off.
emphasis is on ‘our’ chosen direction, not some boring, generic default.
choice becomes our rudder, dreams are the wind caught by the sails of our imagination,
therefore, part of, or the whole of us, has to fly, to fulfill that prophecy.
the spirit will lift.
clarity is found aloft.
prophecies are fulfilled at height when we soar and glide.
imagination’s heaven is up high.
you get there when you fly.

problems arise when we veer off the ‘simple-life-about-everything’ prophecy.
it is simple! quite simply because the world has only seven billion Einstein’s.
along the way we stall, falter, fall and doubt in unpretentious and perishable ways.
some begin to learn. growing understanding and wisdom.

‘simple?’ = current comprehension.

hedonistically life enjoys doing what one wants to do.
of course, this premise is infinitely arguable – of what this is truly about.

a fire requires feeding lest you settle for cold coals and ash.
incite a bonfire inside of you and fulfill the energy spiral.
the more you give the more you get.
spiral to your focus point.
burn a hole to your new horizon.

and maybe there is no prophecy.
so make your own.
adjust it along the way.
call it your own philosophy.
name it the Philosophia Galactica.
rock it liberally with controversy, shock the established norms.

normality is the cushion where slumber intoxicates action.
a circle is the starting point of mockery.
waiting is the result of not doing.
imagination is the soil where dreams grow on.

believe in the crazy stuff. see with distant vision. know that you can.
the track you are in as a youth becomes a canyon with age.
change track and tack.
right on.

dream it indefatigably and
remain that successfully dreamt wish who lives in fulfillment.

imagine: for a caveman living AD, having a glimpse of today’s busy civilization must have been a fantastic trip into deepest utopia.
and vice versa when we look back at cave life. truly.

flirt with your far-out imagination till it blooms into a love affair.

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make it real 

As if something touches me, it's how I feel
There's nothing I can see –

A week ago my life aligned, 
 I penetrated a wish of mine
 A willful effort gave it life
 carved from my dreams to rise

Perfumed like rainbow candy is the air,
 my nostrils seek the whispering wind 
 Like spumy foam of rose and honey my thinking thinks –
 Effervescent, present ever this affair 
 
My spirit lifts and floats away,
 unconfined this day
 
On the brink of real and magic
 my mind dwells,
 fluttering its wings to a broomstick's spell 
 Passion-power, imagination,
 mojo fuelled with elation,
 fondness for the sky,
 I am on the fly!

The wheel then turned
 Today-o'clock is present time
 Loud rings my chime again
 proclaiming: another wish affirmed

Today is real 
 as true as now,
 the pain I feel,
 and what I miss
 and what I see
 and consciously allow
 
This very wakeful moment
 a torch into my memory shines
 Archive of the past, 
 like an empty bottle reminding me of wine
 Sweet though it was, bubbly and alive,
 that flight has landed, – now I drive

Part of this moment
 in the future rests,
 inspired by the past
 It visualized and learned
 Towards the light it yearns,
 then takes to flight once more,
 leading to my heaven's door
 
T'is not the last time
 that I'm flying higher than the stars
 Climbing, reaching further and afar
 Sending rhyme and prayer to the lofty shrine
 When I'm flying, paradise is mine

Something touches me, it's what I feel
There's something I can see – 
I think I'll make it real
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Ready for the bang?

The day started with a bang.

It was a loud bang that nobody heard, not even yourself.

Still, you thought that today was going to be the day where everything you ever wished, dreamt, wanted, would happen, – all at once.

Gasping for breath you hardly managed to open your eyes. Wobbly feet supported your entry into the next 24-hour marathon of existence. The mirror threatened with a name change to morror if your tousle-head looked into it any much longer. It would take all your reserves to stay in the run today. Quitting was out of the question as you were informed of the bombardment by real manifestations of every request you ever conceived.

Today was a lifetime-squared in a day exponentially expanding.

Today was an avalanche and earthquake resulting in a tsunamic eruption with heart-stopping potential. Your coffee better is laced with caloric excess to sustain the relentless exposure to life’s unrestraint storm of surprises sweeping you aloft and around.

Are you ready to face exhaustion only to re-compose yourself again embracing the next wave of meteoric showers realizing your every desire imaginable?

Tell me, be honest, were you ready today?

I was.

I saw it coming. I tempted and instigated it. I planted the seed and then charmed it to pop with the flute of my imagination. I just couldn’t forecast the precise day, but I was as ready as I’ll ever be.

The bangs banged from every conceivable corner of my day as the revolver of life spun through its cylinder furiously spending wish-fulfilling cartridges as if every minute only had one chance to be the most spectacular firework in my history.

I was drenched to saturation experiencing life between and during every breath in such kaleidoscopic intensity on a vehicle of rainbows amidst the big bang of my unfolding momentous reality.

It was a rush of such gigantic blow-me-away intensity and a vertiginous high that even space travelers, sages, and heroines would give up their vocation to experience it.
I was in a sea of availability with a horizon of infinity under a sky of reality shone upon by the sun of possibility. Drunk and sober, overloaded to sparking point, boiling with uncontrolled energy, surreal in behavior to all but the initiated, consumed to transcendence by metamorphic passion, assisted by forces leveraging universal laws unleashed by the power of today.

My day. Mayday-Mayday. My day today.
Today was one day filled with a lifetime.

Now imagine having eighty-years of days of such events soaring your spirit with a thousand super-nova-octanes past the verges of any limits till your soul is satisfied and eternally at peace.

I am ready again and again.

Are you?

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The ‘Go’ in ‘Wait’

Waiting is paused life while time slides along.
Asynchronous parallel behavior fills the waiting void.

Why the wait?
Was I too fast? Was I too slow? Did I venture off my course?
Waiting is watching for something with intent. Waiting is hoping for a wish to gain fulfillment. I am waiting for alignment and synchronicity with life. I am waiting for a door to open, for an event that wakes me up again so I can proceed.

Wait for me, I can’t wait for you, but waiting is what I seem to do.
Waiting is a way to say there is something out there that could make my day.

Wait for a little but not too long, when nothing happens you know it’s wrong.
Wait is a Stop sign implying an indefinite Go. It’s a ping wishing for a pong, incalculably slow or unrecognizably fast so that I have to wait again for it to show.

I was born under a dangling sign that spelled ‘Wait’. Unclear the exact event. I ventured hitherto and fro perpetually dissatisfied and penned. In limbo and at double speed, more than once, I went around the bend hoping for the Wait to end.

Waiting is like the colon (:) after a sentence: Are there facts following that bear any resemblance to the thought that inspired the pronouncement (wait) or has the plot been lost in the waiting wake?

Why do I wait when I should fly and gain perspective from up high? Waiting does not please me if anything it makes me cry (and do other things).

I wait because in waiting I think the answer to my future is being formulated.
A Wait, however, is the universe’s encouragement to me to do something different or un-wait related. Do I really want to sit around and wait, doing nothing? Unequivocally not!
The longer the wait the clearer the message to do something else does sound.
Wait actually means to motivate me to ‘Go-go-go‘

The greater or longer the waiting the louder the call to fill it with activity.
The more Waits the better. Each Wait is a wish of sorts. Like this, I instantiate and created ideas galore like a Rosemary or a chain of Waits so to speak. There should be so many that when their manifestation occurs I can say, “OMG, I didn’t even remember that I waited on this idea.”

In our human existence with a mind full of thoughts enlivened with imagination, waiting on something can also consume us and make us a waiting wreck. Nature, apart from us, has no waiting equal. In our mind, the Elephant waits for the drought to pass and the Lion waits on the Impala to feed, but in reality, I doubt there is any waiting going on. We have created this concept of waiting and we suffer the consequences as long as we don’t see the message to accelerate the ‘Go’ between the Waits.

So go and wait, er, wait and go, go, go!

by

turbulent saudade

Verandah rain

Ver and Ah

Like a thousand times before in my life, I stood on the verandah.

I overlooked a flourishing green garden that could creditably claim the term ‘Lebensraum.’ An Olympic stone throw away gaps between the trees provided glimpses of the mountains in the distance.

One could mistakenly say that I was looking, but I wasn’t entirely just seeing something ahead of me. It was a seeing, – but more in a knowing way seeing in my mind, – all that what was around me, even assuming a deep metaphysical dimension too. I saw with my mind’s eye, – that eye, which adds imagination to vision, – in parallel to my real eyes that were somewhat inexplicably staring in a removed way, out of focus from reality.

A pronounced and conscious experience of the present unfolded itself. An enamored bond, – of having been here in this exact location a thousand times before, thinking similar thoughts, – enacted itself like a ritual. A magnetic attraction to a place of origin pulled me along.

In case you wondered, I was not having the cognitive experience of let’s say a visitor who comes with a fresh, curious and receptive look.

I was in reflecting mode and felt encouraged with hope as I stood on the open verandah, refreshed deep down into my soul by the view directly into nature. However, I was also prone to flooding by emotional thought drowning from the weight of the intensity of my imagination reliving events.
At the opposite extreme was a determination and belief that my reality is adjustable to my wishes and dreams, perhaps whims too, if I can only get in touch with this inner being called ‘Life.’

The land of nature presented a captivating view.

Grass spread like a living, deep-pile carpet towards bushes and shrubs giving way to trees sloping gently down towards a river hidden from view. There was an un-invaded openness and the occasional hill posing like a sentinel, – guarding the dragon mountains that pronounced themselves behind the horizon on a background of the deepest blue sky, smudged with white blobs and the dew point flirting with ambient temperature in the creation of a baby called Rain.

An inner turbulence of Saudade, – a melancholic hue with a cloudy patch of shadowy sadness and an indeterminate incompleteness, was in abstract contrast to the warmth and light of the late summer’ midday.

The summer-rain latitudes express boundless gratitude with profuse growth and breathless beauty in nature. A thousand colors pinked and perfumed with Double Delight and Mint, with touches of plumbago blue, bottlebrush red, cumulus white and Chinese-lantern orange, escalating into undocumented green presentations beyond the scope and comprehension of mere definition. Thoughts were punctuated by the melodious call of the Black-headed Oriole and the announcement of the Red-chested Cuckoo with long moments of haa-haa-haa-de-dah of the Hadeda’s, awakening the last slumbering senses.

Memory was choreographed against a scenery of unrestraint growth painted with the tincture of eons of existence and strains of loose imagination. Events re-lived themselves as if their stories had to be highlighted once more and gain attention, connecting the thread of existence with the fabric of eternity, materializing in this unique present. An invitation to re-read the past with the lantern of ‘now’

(‘now,’ this whole, current cognitive, conscious awareness experience a human has: re-inventing itself periodically through subconscious actions on a different level to the physical, with emotional, compassionate and passionate growth)

illuminating pages hitherto less exposed, their meaning obscured until now, as the dots of life started connecting through lines: revealing a path, pointing to a purpose, exposing a gift, – presenting a meaningful picture that quite naturally highlighted and indicated a preference. The invocation of one’s creative spirit in a way that kindles meaning and brings benefit and pleasure to all concerned.
(There are many rituals, ideas, substances, practices to invoke the spirit – ideally find your own)

Everything rhymed in colorful poetry as nature’s hormones reacted to a dose of growth-vaccination in the form of heavenly water.

Remembering became an act of adding content to what seemed an immutable forest on the canvas of life by superimposing events sometimes so grossly out of touch with the underlying reality that they created a contrasting inset of disharmonic visual irritation. When the drive to understand life is also an incognito mission to retain sanity, then answers are essential for maintaining stability. They provide views through a stabilized gyroscope in the turbulence of Saudade. Answers are the voices in our silent universe of thought and they are the conversation that leads to more enlightenment and knowing.

For the 1001’s time I am standing on the verandah, – once again looking for knowing and starting the ritual from the beginning, accompanied by a deep sense of feeling.

Signed
Mel an’ Choly

by

Miraculation

I kind of have an understanding that if anything is given enough time then amazing stuff happens.
Given a few billion years and algae are using smartphones, eat burgers and pizza and drive SUV’s, shoot guns and are astronauts. Finguck whow!
Quite fantabulously ama-zing.

And all this is simply explainable by evolution or the work of God’s hands? Hmm, – really?

I must add that I can not comprehend the magnitude of billions of years and all they can accomplish.
I have a similar difficulty trying to fathom this deity thing.
Given my inability to understand time, I have to grasp towards another concept, equally inexplicable, but somewhat more manageable for my mind.
I can manage it better than time because it doesn’t use time, it happens instantly and just requires that I believe in it.

Miraculation. The making of miracles.

Miracles do not use the slow lane of evolution or any such time-based concept.
Miracles are immediate and that works for most of us because we don’t have a billion years.

However, and for whatever reason, miracles also don’t just happen when you command them. I don’t know if you have to earn their trust first, prove that you believe in them (which takes time we don’t have) or show them that you are not just flippantly wanting to miraculate through life. (Why not?)

Are miracles strewn about by Lucky in a haphazard way randomly falling on some and omitting others?
Should I build an altar for Miraculous so I can submit my miracle requests directly to its presence?
Or, should I expose myself such (go out on a limb) that only a miracle can save me, thereby forcing the issue?

I have in a way narrowed it down to some points that ‘seem’ to have an effect on miraculation:

The basis is that you have to believe in miracles as a concept that you allow to exist in your life.

Saying you want a miracle to happen and then leaving it up to the Miraculator to decide which miracle you need, isn’t good enough in my experience. There are millions of miracles, so being a bit more specific helps to shrink the options down. Too specific and the Miraculator will think you can do its job and obstinately nothing will happen.

Sketch the problem/desire without going into the bits and bytes or genetic level or assuming the role of the project manager.

Rise every day with the conviction that today is a miracle day. A day in human terms is twenty-four hours. Don’t look at your watch every five minutes and declare at 0830 in the morning that no miracle is happening for you and therefore miracles suck. In any case, the Miraculator’s watch might not work in time at all, it is, after all, a human invention.

Fine tune your anticipation to a point, but stay clear of too overwhelming an expectation because such behavior only fosters frustration.

Give the Miraculator room to operate and assemble the components leading to the miracle.

Be ‘somewhat’ consistent in your thoughts of the miracle required.

Ask for one miracle at a time.

Miracles are in abundant supply.

And, if you are of the persuasion that you think you are the Miraculator itself, Monsieur, Madame Miraculaire, then for your sake go miraculate immediately and become a mariculant.
Who would possibly want to live life without miracles?

Now, – lead a miraculous life.