Mantra #2: Abundance

The kettle clicks off.

Morning light reaches across the kitchen table. Steam rises from my cup and fades against the window.

Beside the cup rests an envelope, a folded page, and a canvas market bag. The envelope holds payment for work I finished last month. I leave it sealed in the light.

Our breakfast begins at ten. I offered to bring bread and fruit. My list also says coffee, cream, jam, flowers, extra cups, and three things nobody asked for.

I unfold the page and read the first line aloud ~

Pipes knock once inside the wall. A bus exhales at the corner.

“I am wealthy, and I am provided for without having to suffer.”

“I make money in my sleep.

I get paid to exist.”

The envelope stays sealed. I do not add or subtract anything.

“Money flows easily into my life.

The Universe delivers the goods.”

Outside, a driver lowers crates of oranges from a truck. A baker turns on the lights behind a fogged window. Wheels cross the curb. Crates pass through open doors.

I put on my rust-colored coat and dark teal cap. The folded page goes into one pocket. My list goes into the other.

“I am wealthy in every sense of the word ~ more than money, gold, and material.”

At the bottom stair, my neighbor holds the door with her elbow while balancing a carton of milk. I take the weight from her, and we pass each other smiling.

“I’m rich in spirit and rich in love.”

Striped awnings cover the market. Coffee rises in white steam. Coins cross counters and return as bread, fruit, and change.

The bakery line reaches the next stall. I check the clock above the awning, then feel my fingers tighten around the empty bag.

I loosen them.

“I do not rush.

Everything I want is coming to me.”

When my turn arrives, I buy one warm loaf, four apples, and a small bunch of late flowers. Everything else stays on the list.

Through the open gate, I see the long table already covered. Someone has brought coffee. Someone else has brought cream, jam, plates, cups, pears, eggs, cheese, and two more loaves of bread. A jar of yellow flowers stands in the middle.

My friends move around the table, making space without measuring it.

“We have everything we need, and we get everything we want.”

I step through the gate.

“The universe works for us.”

The old seam at the bottom of my bag gives way.

The loaf drops into my arms. The apples strike the bricks and roll beneath the table.

Before I can bend, a child stops one with her shoe. A man catches another against the leg of his chair. Two hands appear beneath the table and return the others to daylight.

No one waits to be asked. They hand back the fruit and return to their plates.

“People always help us without us having to ask.”

My friend takes the bread from my arms. Someone brings a wooden bowl for the apples. I fold the torn bag and set it beneath my chair.

“Money flows easily into our lives.”

There is room at the table, and enough has already arrived.

I take the list from my pocket. Every item has arrived, though no one followed my plan and nothing sits where I imagined it would.

“We know exactly what we want, but we don’t know exactly how it’s going to happen.”

I fold the list once.

“That is okay.”

I fold it again.

“We don’t try to control things like that.”

The paper becomes a small square. I place it beside the torn bag and sit down.

“We let things come to us.”

The bread moves around the table. A knife follows. Coffee pours. Someone breaks an apple into clean slices and leaves the bowl within reach of everyone.

“We are so grateful.”

For a while, I keep noticing what could be done. A cup could be filled. A plate could be cleared. The jam could be passed.

Then I let the table move without me.

The woman across from me sees my empty cup and lifts the pot. I do not reach for it. I hold the cup steady while dark coffee rises toward the rim.

“The universe works for me.”

A warm piece of bread arrives from my left. The bowl of apples arrives from my right. I make room for both.

“I get the things I need to thrive, right on time.”

Steam touches my face. Chairs scrape, cups meet the table, and voices overlap.

My palm rests open on the table as I speak the last line ~

“I am so grateful.”