My Outlook On Shifting: Last Thursdayism

Reality is YOU.

Literally stop looking for proof in the physical plane. Whether it is manifesting your dream life or shifting, there is no need to look for proof outside of you when the entire reason the outside even exists is inside. Your inner being. Your reality is YOU.

It isn't even mirroring you or reflecting you. IT IS YOU. It is completely and utterly you.

Your reality is every thought you chose to be, every state you embodied, every emotion you felt, it is everything you 'believed' to know without needing any proof. Your reality is YOU in the physical plane. The mental you and the physical you is the same YOU.

The entire reason reality even exists is because you exist. Without you it'd have no meaning. You embody a state of knowing and your reality becomes that state because it is you. There is no difference. There is no imagination or reality. There is only YOU.

YOU exist everywhere. And in both those planes, just in different ways.

I don't know why no one understands that reality literally cannot function outside of you because it is you expressed physically. You choose/decide/embody who you are in the mind where infinite possibilities exist and your mind accepts it because it's you, pure awareness the 'thing' that is existence itself.

The mind/mental plane follows you because you choose from it. It multiples what we choose. This is why when you saturate or affirm something continuously your mind will automatically follow those patterns after a while. The mind, the darkness is a place of creation where we can get anything we want if we choose it. Even when you assume something you are running with/choosing a particular thought and knowing it as true.

The physical plane doesn't follow the mind, it follows you, what you chose, what you decide to be. This is why even if you get doubts or disbelief you can still manifest/shift if you just choose that in the mind. Reality does not follow the mind, it is us. It is the mind that follows us through patterns.

(Clarification: When I said that reality doesn't follow the mind, I meant that it doesn't follow every thought, only the ones we chose. This makes us the operant power not the mind.)

We have already existed way before we were even 'human'. We are not the mind (thoughts), not the body. We are pure awareness and we can be anything we want.

This is why please y'all do not look at the 3D and think I haven't gotten it yet or blah blah blah. The physical plane is you. It is your entire being expressed physically. Do not get confused. The structure for your reality passes through you. You can change anything whenever you want. Reality is fluid. Because change is the only constant thing in life. Change is your nature.

Your mind weaves the thread you chose to have and your heart (the knowing) is how it express things in the physical plane.

It = Pure Awareness

Mind (The universe/infinite realities or possibilities)

Heart (The knowing through which things materialize in the physical plane)

You (Pure Awareness where creation, known and unknown exists/pure existence)

Finished this at 11:11. Good luck with this information lol.

SLAM THE DOOR AND DON’T OPEN IT AGAIN.

There is NO magical secret to law of assumption. Take Abdullah’s words seriously and stop asking where it is and how to get it. ASSUME!!!! Stop thinking your circumstances are stopping you because they aren’t. Your assumptions are all there is and all that matters here.

What you “need” to do is assume because that’s what the law says. Then, slam the door on “taking action,” “doing techniques (unless they resonate with you),” “trying to understand how it works,” and “doubts.” You are slamming the door once and then opening it after 5 minutes. But Abdullah KEPT slamming the door whenever Neville Goddard would come around like “omg Abdullah where are my desires? I’ve been persisting and nothing changed!!!” And then what happened? THE LAW WORKED LIKE IT ALWAYS DOES…. Duh… 😒

If you assumed then BOOM. It’s done and you’re a success story! YAY!!!🥰

It’s not rocket science. Once you know what the law of assumption says, you don’t NEED to know more. Go apply it.

when the fic was so good, you just sit and wish it was you there rn….

“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

Hate how lighting a candle does wonders to my mood. Like wowwww. Grug like fire? Grug not sad anymore because Fire in Cave? Wow. Real predictable of Grug.

ꨄ OUT WITH ALL THIS DRAMA ꨄ

let’s leave this shit once and for all

i feel like i’ve seen so much drama on my timeline this week when i don’t see that i’ll see people complaining about the drama or feeling discouraged. There have been so many losers prepping out of the cracks to start drama.

And i just wanted to say shit doesn’t have to be bad if we choose to make it good

To my lovely bloggers and to those who are just in the community, let the haters talk to themselves. Utilise that block button and that “delete reply button”. Blocking doesn’t mean they won and that you’re scared, it doesn’t validate their suspicions.

You know who you are

You don’t owe anyone shit

Those who make a whole account to expose people when they haven’t manifested their dream lives is dumb asf. And it will show when they’re still here in 2027 still holding their conspiracy theories under their belt along with misery and “proof”. And it will DEFINITELY show when it’s all said and done and they have more exposing posts on others than they do success stories.

And they’ll be the same ones talking about how they miss the “old loa tumblr with the lack of drama” yet you’re bringing the drama? That’s like saying “i miss my red nails” and then painting them blue every time i get them done. It makes no sense. The same ones who are obsessed with talking about how drama free the old loa/void tumblr was are the same ones indulging in the drama. Let them parade around the old loa/voidblr they loved so much and the “peaceful environment” it says a lot about the fact that they are actively contradicting the peace which they once loved so much

∘˚ 𖦹𓏲 ⌨️ 𓆸 ∘˚

Personally? All i’ll say is making a whole tumblr page dedicated to a coke rant is insane 💀💀.

Protect your peace and block, delete that reply, delete those asks don’t give them your time of day.

Every community has its ups and downs but: THIS PLACE DOESN’T HAVE TO BE TOXIC IF YOU LOOK AWAY

Look away from them and let’s focus on what we’ve always been focused on, uplifting each other, sharing success, having fun. Let them talk to themselves and validate each other in these delusions, they’ll be in their sad corner like

“THEY BLOCKED ME, THEY CONFIRMED MY SUSPICIONS, IM RIGHT AHD THEYRE SO SCARED”

anyway…

You don’t owe anyone pictures

You don’t owe anyone a response or a conversation

Share that success story, you deserve to share it.

You know who you are, you are “I AM” and you NEVER have to prove yourself.

Yes there are liars out there, i’m not stupid. But what these people don’t understand is that they’re discouraging people who actually have successes from sharing because they don’t want to be harassed for pictures they don’t want to share.

And to those feeling discouraged, just know that some people are really bored, this is all they have going for them. 2025 is the year where you’re gonna get everything, lets focus on that, apply, remember you already have everything you want. Don’t let weirdos brake your confidence.

The drama is non existent anymore, if we look away and take our awareness away from them: they don’t exist.

Being this community i think we all know by now that life is what you make of it, literally. So just know this community can be fun if we make it so!!

ꨄ OUT WITH THE DRAMA AND IN WITH THE LEVELLING UP PLEASE ꨄ

hope everyone’s doing well, let’s get back on track

do yall just ever sit and wonder if you’d be able to get your dr s/o if you didn’t script it… cause yeah me too

tag your fav writers here to show some appreciation! <3 i'll go first: @cherikolya @osarina @tonycries

you know what.

I am so fucking tired of rape fics. I am a sexual assault survivor and you sexulise rape. why. why do I work so hard to get better and it all get ruined by some horny asshole just like last time. THESE CHARATERS DONT WANT TO RAPE YOU. rape is horrible, its NOT sexy. its traumatizing. why do you keep talking about it and writing about it. STOP MINIMIZING MY PAIN WITH YOUR DERANGED FANTASIES.

Simon Riley isnt a rapist

Leon Kennedy isnt a rapist

and belive it or not Jonathan Crane ISNT A FUCKING RAPIST

dont tell me not to kink shame

do not tell me to skip it

you cannot tell me that my trauma doesn't matter

STOP WRITING RAPE FICS

Every black girl is so pretty

*reblog if you agree*