The Power of Intention
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Last week I spent a lot of time reading the latest book on how to get rich quick. Well, not a lot of time--I mean, that would violate the whole get-rich-quick concept.
The title was something like The Secrets of Wealth or The Wealth of Secrets. Maybe it was Three Steps to Untold Riches or Untold Steps to Tripling Your Riches.
Not a lot of steps. Five at most.
I'm drawn to these books for the same reason as any urban man. Each has the same underlying premise: that wealth is like a loose woman, and easily seduced. That if you wear the right clothes, act confidently, and put forth positive emanations, wealth will run to your arms with a bright smile and flying golden hair.
In fact, you find the identical advice in books written for men who want to seduce actual women. Don't go pandering after affection, say these authors. Find a room with plenty of potential partners, then square your shoulders, put a bold look in your eye, and she will pick you out of the crowd.
It's not about skill, but purpose. Not about hard work, but clear goals.
I devoted a whole lunch hour to this book, for I knew that very evening I would be in the right room.
It was a charity affair in a downtown hotel, and the room was filled with dark-suited men and white-pearled women. Outside, as the book advised, I paused a moment to think big. I made sure I was radiating assertive selfhood. I developed more than a positive attitude--I put up a hand to tousle my hair.
For a time, nothing happened. The dark-suited men ignored me, and the white-pearled women did not rush into my arms. Still, the book promised that if my attitude were sound, things would just happen. Some universal law would work in my favor if I just allowed it.
So yes, the Urban Man simply stood there, radiating his desire for incalculable wealth.
And lo, sure enough, when we were called in to dinner, a miracle occurred. Through some seating error, I found myself at a table with an actual billionaire--a man whose face you see in the papers every week and whose young wife wears many strings of pearls.
Immediately, I thought, "Gee, it's all true."
I became talkative, very talkative--and if the billionare was only half-listening to my words, I thought, "well, half a billion isn't bad."
After I gave the universe a teensy bit more time to align in my favor, I began to decribe a little project I have going--you know, in a really casual and offhand way. "Just a little project," I said, "sort of on the side."
The billionaire paused...then said he really had to speak to someone else, far across the room.
My heart fell. But...lo again: it seems the billionaire's wife had been listening all along, and now she asked me to explain.
"Well," I began, noting the golden color of her hair. "My project concerns..."
Immediately, she interrupted. "I have a project in Africa," she said.
"Africa?" I replied, confused. "No, you see I'm talking about--"
And then she went on for 20 minutes about her own bold goals and clear intentions. And though I tried to redirect the conversation six or seven times, she never really noticed, and never got my name.
In fact, by the end of the evening, it was clear that all my emanations had gone for nothing.
So what about that book on attracting wealth? Well, I haven't yet read the last chapter. Who knows...maybe it holds one extra step, a further exotic technique, or some powerful seduction the Urban Man has yet to grasp.
If so, I'll let you know.
Copyright © 2007 Marc Porter Zasada. All Rights Reserved.
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