The Original Oracle
Shine from your deepest inside point, it's a swollen gold rooster. Become a Buddha stoned, who has gorged on love and half a peanut-butter smoothie. Be a pride made up of various freedoms and techniques. Be a drawn face, serene and precise on an alleyway wall (you know that scrawl you did amid the bins that time? Yeah, be like that). Be the thick smoke of self-belief, adrenalin and perfect teeth.
Say to yourself: my bills (once jutting out of everything) are now a big swirl of kindness and warmth. Imagine the cosmic iron of a cryptic Lord had just glided over them and paid them all. Say 'my troubles are banished, but they fly into the cupboards of no one for I have somehow forgotten to be vengeful to all of my enemies'. For best results forget how good you are at making enemies.
Say to yourself: my memories are curt, mere empowering flashes. Snippets aglow with my secure character really. They all savage my passages until I feel only glory and the raw honeys of electricity flowing through me. My life is an easy sky, a spellbinding thrust that ripples like a flexing set of muscles throughout this realm. My own physique is a freshly minced cocktail of sacred sexuality and discipline. For best results make your discipline non-competitive.
Say to yourself: my mental condition is a lone karate teacher. A bear-trap for a psyche, it lies in the forest of thought akin to a whale jaw ready to clamp the badly parked car-tyres of negativity. My skull is only comprised of symbolic crickets, warm cloaks and sharp pencils. My every gem and creation soaks up evil like the carpet in the depressing pokie-bar of self-doubt. I wring out the towels of joy with the clean and humble fingers.