In Hollywood they say opportunities are where luck meets preparation. But how do you prepare for something like being onstage with Prince? He’s notoriously anti-social, unpredictable, and no amount of money could buy an experience like this.
Manifesting: The Secret is no longer a secret and affirmations are commonplace. All these approaches toward starting a brighter future in the mind have been rather cosmetic for me, an exercise I tried and saw little sprouts of hope, but nothing so profound and direct that once it came about, it felt like deja vu. That’s how I’d describe being on stage with Prince. Once I was there – I owned it – I was not shy and it felt like something I was made for. And that, when considering the years it took me to shed my insecurities is a miracle! I’m a baby manifester, I’ve had to learn how to imagine things very specifically and am not super visual. Second, I had to bust through layers of shyness, and third, I had to have some karma on my side.
About the imagining thing: it must be specific. The way you have a craving for THAT mac n cheese and leave your house at midnight to find it. It didn’t take me my whole life to manifest getting on stage w Prince, it took me about 1 year, when I saw a YouTube video of him kicking Kim Kardashian off the stage for not dancing and I thought “Oh if that had only been me. All that ass and she can’t shake it.” (click here to see video) After that, Prince’s stage was pretty much my happy place during meditation. Though one could also argue that I’d been creating this since an early age – when I used to put on WHAM and MADONNA shows for my grandmother every Friday night. I’d always been a Prince fan, but the obsession decidedly began in 2011.
Imagination is just part of manifesting, another key part is the soul prepping.”Can you HAVE it?” my psychic Kris Cahill asks. Your organism and spirit know if what you desire is something you can handle, digest. I believe this is true just as much for the trials in our lives as it is the dreams. A few years ago, I never would have been able to HAVE the experience I had.
In fact, had it happened sooner, I might have peed myself like Ms. Kardashian. Growing up an only child I was shy to the point that I was unable to eat or chew in front of people. I had the posture to prove it, curved shoulders, protected heart. I knew I had to shed my self consciousness if I was ever to enjoy life. During my adolescence I took a “fake it till you make it” approach, earning two degrees in Theatre and in Psychology – constantly trying to heal the introvert. As my yoga practice grew alongside my other pursuits I ventured into the more “Hoo ha” territories – reading the greats like Wayne Dyer and Louise L. Hay, beginning to flirt with the metaphysical, but never quite investing my faith. This was in the 1990′s before the Secret came out and the law of attraction became spiritual pop. Once other people started talking about it, it became easier to live with these ideas – and just like anything else, practice makes perfect.
One thing I’ve noticed: when it’s fun and kinda trivial – I can manifest pretty quickly. I haven’t manifested a winning lottery ticket yet, because I just need it too bad and my desperation fucks up the vibe. But with fun things – I am seeing my daydreams materialize. One of my favorite examples is the time I forgot to pack my underwear (hippie!) on a trip to SF. I was bummed about going to a mall while in San Francisco, and went to the fun places instead, hoping I’d find some kind of underwear on Haight street. On the verge of giving up, I went into a store to pick up a newspaper and met a nice man (whom I believed was a grower due to the wads of cash and skunky smell) doing the same. We struck up a conversation and I told him my predicament. He marched me down the street to an artsy boutique that had a small lingerie section in the back. “Whatever you try on, I’ll buy” he said. DONE! And it was just that easy. We parted ways after the shopping spree. I never saw him again, but I remember the power to manifest every time I put on my fancy knickers.
May 8, 2013. Prince came to Anaheim. A few shitty things happened before the show. My friends flaked on me and I had to drive, some drunk tripped and poured her entire beer on my head in the parking lot, “Shouldn’t have worn your dancing shoes,” she slurred “its all slow crap.” I missed getting in the general admission line early to help a stranger charge his cell phone w my car charger so he could find his friends again. Said stranger happened to have a VIP bracelet from the early show that he managed to rip while giving to me. I happened to have scotch tape in my console. Things started looking up. Killing it in a purple velvet onesie, the VIP bouncer didn’t look twice at my botched bracelet. Prince was playing with his “garage band” 3rd Eye Girl. The drummer came out to make an announcement. “We want you all to be present, put away your cell phones and cameras or you’ll be asked to leave.”
Indeed, the set started with way more rock than I like, nevertheless, Prince made the guitar talk and I listened. He was a cross between Hendrix and Dr. Spok, with a neoprene-ish black turtleneck, fro, and big shades. Things started to get a bit more interesting when he sang “She’s Always in My Hair” and threw himself into the audience. Events took an exciting turn when Prince said “Let’s get old school” and I started cutting a rug. Thank God I had worn my dancing shoes – until the strap snapped! A scout came down into the VIP section and pulled me out “You’re ready to be on stage, aren’t you?” he said. “Follow me.” I quickly tied a knot in my sandal strap, and was whisked up the stairs with 7 or 8 others. “Is this really happening?” we were all saying to each other – and then – the pathway opened.
Prince was on the farthest end of the stage, behind keyboards. He played the first few notes of “Nasty Girl” and let his new “dancers” on stage. I made like Eddie Murphy in Beverly Hills Cop and started gyrating while scoping out my target. The only way to fuck this up would be to pull a Kim Kardashian. I slinked my way over toward his majesty and then he started playing Sign O the Times. I stayed about 10 feet away from him and basked in all the energy coming off that pint-sized miracle. I knew he wanted to jam on the key boards and let us do the crowd pleasing. He played with the care and the intensity of a surgeon and it dawned on me that’s why he often called on his keyboardist that way “Doctor!”
Prince – Hot ThingThanks to all the meditation and yoga I was able to be present. It was one of those moments that was so singular, I knew there was no space for doubt or insecurity, no time for meta analysis a.k.a. “how does this look?”consciousness. As I was dancing on stage, I knew I had created the experience because it felt so real, so familiar, so right. So many, many times, I’ve imagined myself as pop star wearing flashy outfits, dancing, singing, and playing with the crowd – an energetic ring leader. I had danced to these songs so much that their notes were in the very fibers of my feet.
I got into onesies when I saw P’s Sign O The Times tour, where he rocked one sexy onesie after the other. Fittingly, most of the songs in the medley were from SOT. I busted out my splits for Hot Thing and my samba for House Quake. Prince was mixing it up – changing the rhythm for us and improvising with his band – and that’s why we lasted up there so long, stage center, for 20-30 minutes. The more I shook my ass the more Prince switched up the beat. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked the bassist and they increased the pace – I kept up. When I went back into the audience people said “It looked like he was playing for you.” “I don’t know” I said, “but I was sure playing for him.”Honestly, I funked it so hard I expected a call from Prince the next day.
Well.. that’s where our story ends, for now. I’m still waiting for that call. I can hear his voice – low and overly serious on the phone: “Are you the woman in the purple onesie?” “Yes” “Come over at 2 am and teach me the splits again.” Dialtone. That’s how it might go down – but then, my imagination is getting carried away again. Or is it?