The law of abundance teaches us that the universe is infinitely abundant -- that someone else's opportunity or benefit is not our loss. That there is in fact enough (food, resource, goodness, potential) to go around. Instead we believe in lack and limitation.

Some of us are trapped in one or more of the damaging illusions that Nichiren Buddhism has identified as the 3 poisons: Greed, Anger, and Foolishness. Our perception is so jaded through the lens of the 3 poisons that we can't even fathom -- let alone perceive -- the true nature of all phenomena. The world through these lenses is a game of war, is brutal, ugly. We believe everyone is either a threat or an ally and are always at the ready to fight and defend. We therefore wage war in all of our encounters, perpetuating a cycle or never ending war, brutality and ugliness. It is a cycle that we seldom recognize as being self-fulfilling. 

No, we will not always get what we want. Yes, some opportunities will have to be created by our own hand. No, we will not go through life without challenges. Yes, we may need to defend ourselves from those whose delusions threaten our life and livelihood. No, will not always win. Yes, we must choose what we stand for.

Imagine seeing the world through a lens of abundance and joy. Our losses become opportunities, our wins become salve, our compassion boomerangs, our joy multiplies, our sorrows become a kind of release. And we then fight only to protect the bliss of peace. Our indignation is righteous. Our goals are lofty. And we encounter a swarm of support and love. The universe rushes to our aid. Guidance finds us.

It seems nearly impossible until it just isn't. How do I know? I've tested out a few different lenses in my life.

"A candle looses nothing by lighting another candle."
~ Erin Majors

When's the last time you checked your lenses?

I didn't think I cared about the Royal Wedding...

I am a bit like Prince Harry... an iconoclast. I have never been obsessed with the monarch, nor terribly impressed with their grand gestures of opulence and influence. Why should I have been? I am an American. An African American. A woman who knows her history. The history of colonialism, imperialism, neocolonialism, and the slave trade... propagated on the content of my ancestry, in large part by the generations upon generations of the royal family over there in Buckingham Palace. Like most of us, I have felt justifiably detached and instinctually unmotivated to join the bandwagon of wde-eyed dreamers looking up at the castle. The headlines were sufficient. The Netflix show, The Crown, offered a new interest. But again, I am compelled by my DNA to give no more than polite acknowledgment of the main events and keep it moving.

When the news of Prince Harry dating the bi-racial American actress Meghan Markle began rolling in, however, my polite acknowledgment was accompanied by a raise of the eyebrows and one of those cocked head nods. Oh okay, Prince Harry. I see you. He suddenly seemed to be the realization and expansion of Princess Diana's global, humanistic perspective. He was breaking tradition in a bold and modern way, simply by courting Meghan. He defended her and his choice to be with her against the inevitable bigotry and vitriol that lines the underbelly of the west. I was becoming a fan. 

I don't remember when I found out they were engaged. I don't recall ever knowing the date of the wedding until it was less than a week away. The Friday before the big event, I laughed as my hairdresser responded to a client under the dryer, "Why would I wake up at 4 a.m. to watch their wedding? They're not going to wake up to watch mine."  I agreed. No extra effort would be made on my part either. I was certain I'd see the highlights the next day without even trying.

So before leaving to go bring some value to my community, I scrolled my Instagram, saw the dress, the reception dress, the tiara and the image of her pageboys and bridesmaids following her up the steps. I paused for a while on the image of her and her mom waving through the window on their way to the chapel. But all in all I was satisfied. The two of them looked radiant. I was happy for them both.

After teaching my drama workshops and absorbing all of the benefits of having been of service to the enthusiastic teens who attended, I found myself on the couch, deciding whether or not to press "Watch" under the picture of the glowing Megan and Harry on my streaming service. I had already received giddy texts form my aunt, grandmother and mother who had obviously watched. Why not. We'll have something to talk about.

CUT TO:
3 1/2 hours later I am typing hearts and flowers on twitter for the new Duke and Duchess of Sussex with stars in my eyes and a girlish grin. 

It was Meghan, it was the Gospel Choir, it was Serena Williams and Oprah Winfrey, it was the cellist, Sheku Kanneh Mason. It was the passionate Bishop Curry quoting Dr. Martin Luther King that hooked me. And not just because they are American excellence, but let's just state the obvious. It was because they were black. And they were not bystanders, they were not wide-eyed dreamers. They were the story.

It was Doria Ragland. Gorgeous, proud, emotional mother of the bride, Doria. So familiar. She was my aunt, my mother, my professors from university, my mentors. She was me. 

And let's just be real. The Royal Wedding was specular. I have a sense I am as feminist leaning as the Duchess herself, but what woman would deny such a grand affair for her day? None that I know personally. And as far as I am concerned, The Duchess of Sussex, like all women and especially all intersectional women, deserve to feel like a princess at least for a day. 

Congratulations, Duke and Duchess! May your fairytale continue to bring the west ever closer to harmony.