Accentuate the Positive

Recently, I’ve been practicing “real time”; that is, paying less attention to the clock and more to making better use of the present moment. I’m also aware that what you say isn’t half as important as how you say it. The universe responds to positive or negative in equal measure—worry that something good may not happen and odds are it won’t. By the same token, worry that something bad will occur and it probably will.

I think it was Mira Kelley who prompted me to test the universe with the way I word my intention. Rather than unconsciously intending to be late by consciously worrying about being late, my newest metaphysical guru recommends changing up the mantra to something like, “My timing is always perfect.” And don’t say it with sarcasm, wise guy. Say it with conviction, then see what happens.

You know what? It works. Truly. I’ve lost count of the occasions when I’ve been embroiled in some end-of-the-day work task that’s run long. I glance at the clock, blanch, then shut everything down, grab my gear, and head for the elevator in a flutter of fear that I’m going to miss my ride. En route to the lobby, I catch myself, suck in a breath, and recite, “My timing is always perfect.” I kid you not, on these occasions the limo is either pulling up as I come through the breezeway or it’s already waiting for me at the curb.

How is this so? Good question. All I can surmise is that it’s about physics. Like attracts like, ergo using negative words or thinking in a negative manner will attract negative energy and you become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Flip the switch to positive and the same thing happens. Gain enough momentum and suddenly you’re hitting all the green lights and getting all your necessities on sale. I’ve even managed to make ten bucks last through the week simply by saying I have enough cash to make it to payday—which, if you know anything about my social calendar and tea budget, you would appreciate as a miracle of biblical proportion.

It’s fun to test these theories. It certainly can’t hurt; that’s why I enjoy playing Philosophy Quest with Ter. She reads all the books, delivers the highlights, and I take ’em to the lab. My perfect timing is almost a fully ingrained habit; I have the odd relapse, but by and large I accept that I’ll make my appointment on time no matter if I am delayed or not.

Try it. You have nothing to lose … unless you want to.

Aqua Aura

This is how conversations go in our house: 

Ter:     Where do you want to go on our drive tomorrow?

Me:     I thought we were going to hit the farm stands on Old West Saanich.

Ter:     You still want to do that?

Me:     I know you’re out there every day, but it’ll be a novelty for me.

Ter:     Okay. Which ones do you want to see?

Me:     I dunno. Whichever. I thought we could just drive out, have lunch and take a few unexpected turns on the way back.

Ter:     Okay, we’ll do that. 

Next morning: 

Me:     I’ve been thinking about our day trip. Let’s go to Sidney, look at the shops, have lunch, and hit the stands on the way back.

Ter:     That’s what I thought last night! Go to Sidney.

Me:     Why didn’t you say so?

Ter (shrugging):      You seemed to have your mind set.

Me:     Well, now that we’re agreed, let’s do Sidney. 

To the uninitiated, this probably seems fairly predictable – one so concerned with pleasing the other that she doesn’t speak her mind freely until the other expresses the same thought. That happens a lot with Ter and me. One of us inevitably has the same thought as the other within everything from a few hours to a nanosecond. An almost daily comment is, “I was just thinking that!” But my birthday trip to Sidney last week had a purpose unbeknown to either of us at the time we decided to make the town our destination. 

There used to be a great card shop out there. I play card tag with Nicole, so any time I can hit a good card shop is a bonus, ergo I got all excited at the prospect of picking up some dandies in Sidney. Alas, the only thing constant is change. The card shop no longer exists. It’s been split into three shops, one for kids’ clothes, one for ladies’ wear, and one called “Pitt and Hobbs” that appeared from the sidewalk to house cards of some sort. So in we went. 

I did get some neat-o cards for tag, but I also spied … in truth it spied me and sparkled up a storm to get my attention … a piece of aqua-coloured quartz that shimmered like iridescent gold in the light. It sat among less glorious minerals in a curio cabinet and I immediately thought, Ter has to see this. If she liked it, I’d buy it. Well, she liked it, we bought it, and now it’s sitting on a table in the Ocean Room, radiating beams and shooting stars from every angle. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, and apparently we were meant to have it else we wouldn’t each have been prompted to go to Sidney—a town where we shared our first apartment, but where we visit maybe once every two years. 

A shiny piece of stone may seem a trivial thing. I have no idea of its greater purpose, but the way it came to us is significant to me. A lot of my life with Ter—and with others—has been lived by mutual consent. What fascinates me is how we arrive at that consent. More often than not, it’s with silent prompting on either side. We’ll each have a thought yet not speak of it until the other one blurts it out some time later. We communicate like ordinary people every day, but on a deeper level, we’re this close to telepathic with a brief satellite delay. In truth, I’m less mystified by it these days, but when Ter looked up “aqua aura” online, she discovered that our new treasure’s primary property is to open and strengthen lines of communication. 

I can feel that satellite delay getting shorter. I wonder when we’ll start getting radio signals from Mars.