Sitting cross-legged on the deck of the boat, the Viking writes in a notebook with a fountain pen, a compass, a coffee and nautical charts around him — The Hammock and the Hummingbirds, practical guide to writing
Hummingbird, the icon of the practical guides of The Hammock and the Hummingbirds

How do I know what I really want?

The Universe isn’t Amazon

You place an order. It doesn’t deliver. It replies — and its reply is a to-do list.

The keyWrite your request, then write the reply. It’s the reply that teaches you something.

“The universe isn’t Amazon. It’s a mirror.”

Chapter 35 — A Message in a Bottle…

When it happens to you

You’re going round in circles. You know something’s wrong but you can’t say what, so you make lists of what you’re missing. The lists get longer and nothing moves.

Why the shopping list isn’t enough

Asking is easy: it takes 10 minutes and changes nothing. The sticking point is always on the other side — what you’d have to stop doing to free up the space. As long as you only write the order, you can’t see that half.

Rule

It’s not what’s missing that blocks you. It’s what’s already taking up the space.

How to write the two letters, in 4 steps

  1. Your letter. You write to the Universe about everything you want, without censoring or sorting. Nobody will read it. 20 minutes.
  2. Its reply. You write it yourself, in the first person, as if the Universe were writing to you. The rule is simple: it grants nothing without conditions. It lists what you have to stop doing.
  3. You read its list out loud. That’s where it happens: you discover you already knew the answers, and had just never written them down.
  4. You keep just one, the smallest, and you do it this week. Not all seven. One.

⚠ The list isn’t a shopping list

The exercise is there to show you what you’re holding in place without realising, not to order a new life. If your letter is mostly about what other people should do, read it again: the only useful line is the one that starts with “I’m stopping”.

What it changes for you

You go from “something’s missing” to “I know what I have to let go of”. It’s infinitely more uncomfortable and infinitely more effective, because the second version can start tomorrow morning.

How to practise

Once a season, no more. Put the letters away and reread them six months later: it’s the only way to see you’ve moved, because from the inside you never feel it.

Remember

The universe delivers nothing. It sends back one thing to do today.

You may be wondering

Do I have to believe in something to do it?

No. Here the Universe is a writing device: it lets you tell yourself things you wouldn’t write in your own name.

What do I do with the letters?

You keep them, in a sealed envelope with the date on it. Don’t show them to anyone: that’s what lets you be honest in them.

My list of conditions reads like a punishment.

Then rewrite it. A fair condition doesn’t say “you don’t deserve it”: it says “that’s taking up the space”. If there’s blame in it, it isn’t the Universe writing, it’s the Ghost Captain from guide 15.

Watch the hummingbirds

Watching the hummingbirds means changing your point of view.
Seeing things from every angle.
Accepting every part of ourselves. And of other people.
And laughing about it.

A hummingbird has every colour. So do we. Our shadows and our light.
You take one step to the side: green turns pink. Then gold.
Nothing has moved, except you.

What a practical guide is for

Trying out a tool.
Changing your point of view.
Laughing at something that weighed on you this morning.

What it isn’t

It isn’t therapy.
It isn’t a diagnosis.
It isn’t a courtroom: nobody’s looking for a culprit.
It isn’t a rulebook for good behaviour. You do what you like.

What it’s for

Accepting that we’re human. And fallible.
Our shadows. Our light.
Taking the drama out, to melt the resistance.
Not judging ourselves. Not judging others.
Laughing about it. It works better, and it’s more fun.

Nobody gets judged here. Least of all you.
We don’t know anything you don’t. We just wrote some tools.

Where these guides come from

Nobody made them up. They came out of a novel, chapter by chapter — in the order I learnt them. Not in logical order: in the order life threw them at me.

What you get, end to end:
Not getting stuck in the middle.
Not having to prove your worth.
Understanding the other person without carrying what’s theirs.
Spotting what keeps repeating.
Setting the limit, and holding it.
Naming the manoeuvre, which is enough to defuse it.
Getting out when the judges are also the accusers.
Listening to the body, which answers before we do.
Sorting out what we keep.
And finally: choosing where we’re heading.

I only saw the logic afterwards, reading it back. That’s why it holds: nobody drew it up in advance.

If something feels too big for you, see a professional. A guide is a tool, not a doctor.