Paris Got Me Floatin’ / Feel Like Deepak Chopra

For anyone who only reads this blog for Kanye updates and only Kanye updates, please allow me to lay some foundation for the story that I need to tell.

You may or may not know that I have been studying abroad in London this semester. This week is our “Fall Break” and serves as an excuse/opportunity to go all sorts of crazy all over Europe. I am lucky enough to have an aunt and cousin living in Paris, and I have been crashing at their flat with a friend while they are away for the weekend. I am currently sitting in said flat in complete awe of life.

Here’s why.

Yesterday after a four hour tour of the Louvre and a lunch of stellar food and wine, myself and my traveling companion made our way back to the apartment to rest up before attempting to meet up with some other kids in our study abroad program. Once home, I browsed my Aunt’s bookshelf, looking for something to kill some time while overlooking the Parisian streets.

Rosemary's Bookshelf

One book caught my attention: The Spontaneous Fulfillment of Desire by Deepak Chopra. I did not know who Deepak Chopra was or what his books were about, but I knew that Kanye West gave him a shout out on Yeezus, and since I am dedicated to the craft of understanding Kanye in totality, I started reading.

The book focuses on the power of coincidence, and the idea that things that happen everyday that we call coincidences are actually in a sense miracles. Chopra explains that the my decision to pick up his book and start reading was not mere chance, it was the result of a series of life events and moments that have defined who I am and shaped me into the sort of person that would pick up his book for some reason.

This was true. Had I not seen Kanye on the Glow in the Dark tour back in high school, I might not have gotten as crazy about him as I did, which in a sense lead to me creating this blog, which lead to me paying a bunch of attention to all of the lyrics to Yeezus, which eventually led to my familiarity with Chopra’s name and my decision to pick his book over all of the others on my aunt’s bookshelf. All of those instances could be seen as “coincidence,” but really they are defining moments that in a sense made me who I am today.

He goes on to explain that this logic is not only true for the reader’s selection of his book, but for every moment in your life. Seemingly random occurrences – when you’re thinking of a friend you haven’t seen in a while and they call you out of the blue, or when you’re singing a song as you walk to your car and the same song comes on the radio as soon as you turn the key – are not simple coincidence. They are a result of the interrelatedness of all energy and matter. Chopra explains that if we can harness the power of what he calls “synchrodestiny,” we can in effect control the world around us and consciously shape our own destinies by recognizing the coincidences around us as they are happening and taking advantage of them.

I know that might sound like an oversimplification of reality, but I swear it’s way more compelling coming from Chopra. In my mind, this dude had just gone Neo on the Matrix.

I burned through the first fifty pages of this book before my friend and I decided to go find a few bottles of wine, as two or three more friends might be coming over later that night. It was Sunday around 7pm (19:00 heures).

Paris

As we walked, I did my best to explain what I had read to my friend. The whole concept of interrelatedness is something I’m into, specifically with regard to gambling; I am a firm believer that I can personally will a team to victory as long as I believe in them hard enough. The trick is to make your mind believe that you exist in a reality where the outcome that you desire has already occurred.

The walk continued and we quickly realized that everything was closed, a possibility my aunt had warned me of. The two supermarkets that we knew of were shut down, and even the semi-shady corner stores had already brought down their gates. A light rain started to fall. We decided that we would walk for one more block in an attempt to find our alcohol. Inspired by Chopra, I said the following words out loud to my friend:

“I am going to will a wine store into existence.”

We turned a corner, and there it was. Not a shady corner store. Not a supermarket with a wine section. A straight-up wine and wine only store, with bottles on bottles on bottles. It was seemingly the only place open on the block that wasn’t a street vendor peddling sandwiches.

I was shocked. I had literally told the universe what I wanted and was instantly rewarded. I felt like those guys in the State Farm commercial. We walked back to the flat and enjoyed the wine as I contemplated my newfound power.

The night carried on with more drinks, merriment, and Haribo gummies. A later, much longer walk took place in which a small cafe that had Heineken on draft was found. Around that moment my memory of the night slowly fades to a pleasant blur.

The following morning I woke up surprisingly hangover-free. I walked out to grab some breakfast at a bagel place across the street. I had brought cash, but underestimated the price of European bagels, leading me to reach for my credit card.

It wasn’t there.

I don’t know if you have ever lost your credit card in a foreign country. I hope you haven’t. But if you have you know the instant dread that spikes up from your gut to your mind and starts screaming “FUCK. SHIT. FUCK.” over and over and over.

I checked the pocket I keep my wallet in. I checked my other pockets. I checked my wallet again. Attempting to look sane in front of my bagel-rista, I stopped sticking my hands in my pants and pulled out the necessary extra cash to pay for my meal. But I wasn’t hungry anymore.

Back at the apartment, I know my card is officially lost. I don’t even bother checking around in my jackets and pockets and such; I keep my card in the same slit of my wallet at all times. If it isn’t there, it is because I did not get it back after a purchase, because if I had gotten it back, it would immediately go back in that slit of my wallet. I attempted shield my panic from my company, I assure myself that my card is not lost but found. I decided that I had left it in the wine shop; that is where it had to be.

So I set out to find this wine shop again. I wandered for a half hour seeing nothing I recognized, which was frustrating because I knew I had taken the same turns as the previous night. Maybe I took one too early, maybe one too late. I couldn’t be sure. Then I see one pastry in a shop window that I think I had thought about purchasing the previous night. I turn with purpose for the first time of my mission. I make it to another corner that I recognize and follow intuition.

All of a sudden, my wine shop has rematerialized in front of my eyes.

I walk in, anticipating the struggles that the upcoming francophone conversation is sure to present to me.

“Bonjour!” is the pleasant greeting I receive from the girl at the register, who sadly is not the person who sold me my bottle the previous night.

“Bonjour,” I reply, “Tu parle l’anglais?” (this is almost the entirety of the remnants that five years of French have left in my brain).

“Un peu.”

A little. She speaks a little English. Whelp, here goes nothing.

“Uhhhh, last night, J’ai acheter un bottle avec mon credit card.” I make a swiping motion with my right hand.

“Oui, oui!” says the register woman, reaching for the card swiper and indicating that I was able to purchase a bottle with my credit card if that was my desire.

“Non, uhhh, tu trouve un credit card?” – rough translation – “You find credit card?”

I was speaking like a caveman, but a French caveman. I was pleased with my effort.

“Un moment…”

She rifles through three different cabinets, all the while I am standing and staring at her hands thinking, “My card is there. My card is there. My card is there.”

My card is there.

I collapse to the floor. Literally collapse out of joy. And this is not some stupid writer on some stupid blog using the term “literally” in a figurative sense.

This is some stupid writer on some stupid blog who actually fell to the floor with relief and wonder when he realized that he had indeed, never lost his credit card.

I pass along as many “MERCI BEAUCOUPS” as I possibly can and run back out onto the streets of Paris. I jump in the air. I run to the flat. I scream “YES.” at the top of my lungs. I get stared at. I don’t care.

Then I arrived back at the flat and started writing this article.

Deepak Chopra taught me how to control the universe with the power of my mind. I now have the ability to will wine stores into existence, and find my credit card in foreign countries on a whim.

I have broken the matrix.

I am The One.

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4 Responses to Paris Got Me Floatin’ / Feel Like Deepak Chopra

  1. Pingback: The Hypothetical Supercontest – Week 8 | Tuesdays With Horry

  2. jakeks19 says:

    Wait, are you Yeezus?

  3. Pingback: Coachella’s Eve | Shitty Banter

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