Long ago in a far away land called Palo Alto, I watched two young men named Steve present a prototype of their technical invention at a regional marketing meeting. They called it a personal computer. To the naked eye it was just a box which, if you took their word for it, performed all sorts of calculations in the blink of an eye. I observed their presentation of mathematical magic tricks from the perspective of an ingￃﾩnue advertising "creative," or what in those days were called "crayons." As the name suggests, like most crayons, I didn't care much about black and white mathematical magic tricks, or really, math in any form. Where was the color, shape, pizzazz? So when the Steves declared that in ten years every household in America would own one of these boxes, I was more than a little skeptical. I thought...why? Why would anyone want a big, dull, clunky box that does speedy math? Please!
OK, so I wasn't a high-tech visionary. As far as households go, I understood the value of math in the application of economics, and that was about it. To me, a big box that helped me pay bills would only take up room and complicate the process. (Just sit down and pay the bills, already! With your check book! What's the problem?) Had I understood the bigger picture (or more importantly, had I understood that the Steves understood the bigger picture) I might have had a different reaction. That is, if I'd understood that math is no less than the language of the universe, of sound and sight and symmetry -- that all elements can more or less be reduced to mathematical code -- I may have listened. (Or not. We'll never know.)
Alas, all these decades later, like most people, I am a shameless slave to my dull, clunky box. And like most households, we own more than one. And let's not even get into the miniatures. The personal computer has taken its place in history, not simply as a tool of calculation, but of communication. And most importantly, transformation. It has transformed the world into a virtual blizzard, a blizzard capable of building reputations, businesses, even nations--and tearing them down. This may be a greater destiny than even the Steves had in mind.
The Internet is the blizzard, of course, but it's the computer that allows us to gather, send and receive this vortex of information, good and bad, straight into our personal lives. The dichotomy of this tool is equal to the dichotomy of the humans who use it. Some days it's put to higher purpose, other days not so much. It has infiltrated the ether from all points north, south, east and west, filling what the great Jesuit visionary Pierre Teilhard de Chardin called the "noosphere" (the membrane of thought that wraps around the earth) with prayer and curse and every manner of thought, intention, and impulse that lies between.
We know the evil it can do -- pornography, theft, infidelity, seduction and recruitment into the descent of our weaker nature. But what about the good? How can these agents of transformation actually transform us, and in the spiritual sense, enable and empower us toward our manifest destiny?
Like the programs that have allowed us to digitize our lives -- it's all about the code. Pass codes, that is.
The other day, in an effort to get organized, I typed all my accounts and numbers on a sheet of paper beside their pass codes -- banks and financial institutions; Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest; insurance and medical; etc. It was all there, clearly displayed in all its unbearable utilitarian plainness. In most cases the pass codes were predictably similar to each other, if not the same. The experts have warned against this time and again, but still. I'm lazy that way. I don't enjoy taxing my memory for uninspired reasons. It's a crayon thing.
But if our codes unlock the portal to our identities, I thought, then maybe there's a way to combine those identities with our goals and intentions in one easy to remember, easy to execute method -- making our computers as transformative as our minds and spirits. In other words, combining purpose.
I crossed out the alpha-numerical passwords and instead wrote the associated goal or intention for each account, such as, Wealth, Friendship, or Compassion. I made the codes not only easy to remember, but easy to change should my goals advance, becoming ever more lofty or optimistic.
It's easy to do.
Next to your IRA account, for example, write your retirement goal: "Key West beachfront" or whatever you imagine yourself doing. This is your new passcode (with or without spaces). Every time you access that account, you'll reinforce the specific reason you contribute to it. By clarifying the goal, you will also clarify your motivation to save. If intention is the foundation of manifestation (it is) then you advance your cause every time you type your password.
If you're an author, next to your Gmail account you can write -- "Bestseller: (TITLE)." For Facebook -- "Cherished Friends." Twitter business -- "50,000 Customers." For your medical account -- "Thriving Health" or "Long Life"; etc. You get the picture.
Turn your intentions and goals into the virtual keys that unlock your dreams. Make them really work for you. Using this system, I am able to quickly see which codes are dated and which are still viable intentions. I alter the codes where appropriate and when. The codes are organic to each account/goal and radically different from each other, harder to hack. They are deep, whimsical, spiritual or philosophical, but most of all, they are meaningful and productive. I code my accounts with blessings, prayers, and wild aspirations, knowing that the more frequently I type the codes, the clearer the intention, the larger the thought form, the more possible the dream.
For a device to be truly personal, it must be integrative. Not just integrative on the business level, or even the social level, but holistically across all platforms of our lives, including the spiritual. After all, our goals and intentions give meaning to our daily activities. If we lose sight of them, we risk losing sight of ourselves.
And there's nothing more personal than that.