No place left to turn, but the pictures on the wall..

If there has ever been a painting hung on a motel room wall that I have considered to have any artistic merit whatsoever, It has become a custom and a ritual for me to hide money behind it’s frame. I have done this a number of times now, mostly in budget Mom ‘n Pop places across the country. I do this firstly as an acknowledgment to art itself, as the active spirit and positive energy field in the world for which I am always grateful to encounter.

I also do this because I once decided that cold hard cash was going to be the standard inter-dimensional expression of gratitude to those ancient fringe gods that kindly selected it for me to see. For them, my offerings work on a sliding scale of sacrifice and the spiritual nutrition comes from the heart of the devotion and not in the actual bank notes themselves. The cash belongs to the roaming material being of a future present yet to be determined, but heading this way, crackling with blue sparks and the smell of burning hair.

This deliberate act of sending money into the future in real time, yet to be found as though teleported there in the instant of its discovery, is my small single fruit loop of good fortune, or a mysterious crazy karma turn around for the soul who finds themselves in this room with no place left to turn, but the pictures on the wall. This is my gift to you. 

I think about this person, here, but there and alone, seeking refuge, quarantine or detox and finding themselves laying on this same bed and reaching out, remotely, with their mind, beyond their physical desperation and reasoning, out to the edges of the room with searching psychic tendrils, feeling for the folded bill tucked behind the frame. Enough for either a bag, bottle, pack, a little gas, or a bite to eat. Sometimes not much of something can mean everything to someone. I know this. I also figure, if someone is in the mindset of looking behind motel pictures in the first place, for whatever reason, they deserve to at least find something there, just once, to be announced to the room with the triumphant cry of “I told you so!”.

I check behind them myself too now, in hope of finding important and personal instructions, perhaps from my parallel universe self anticipating my arrival in this cross-space-time-line. I have never found anything so far and if I did, I would not take it unless it was intended for me alone. This is part of the Astral Projectors code.