There is an obvious difference between looking and seeing, or listening and hearing.
To look or listen, all that is required is a functional sensing apparatus. When you say, "I see..." or, "I hear ya,
good buddy!" an understanding of the message received is implied. A common foundation of knowledge must exist for communication
-- a language, if you will, that both parties can comprehend.
Everything you learn or experience is filed away in a "universal translator" in your brain,
for future reference. You only need repeated exposure to the unique for the mental computer to begin stringing the ABC's
of this something new into ideas, and then into words that have meaning. As you encounter Life, you become fluent in
countless types of languages other than speech. There is body language, the language of love, the language of art, poetry,
and music, the language of the stars, and even the language of your automobile!
The translator is a function of the first language that all things in existence learn --
a vocabulary of mental images given meaning by experience -- before words are acquired. This language of the Self --
based on sensory input -- is the common dictionary for communicating with anything in creation. Powered by emotional
intent, when we think, these pictures are broadcast across the unseen force that links all of Life and allows communication.
Thus, all of Life and Nature not only picks up our signals, but also understands what is being thought.
I was sitting in the living room one morning, with my dogs asleep at my feet. The day
was gorgeous, and the thought of my usual routine of housework was depressing. Out of the blue, I decided to take my
canine children for a walk through the woods.
I had barely completed the thought (with a rush of joy and excitement), when the dogs jumped
up as if on cue and began their glad-to-be-going antics. I hadn't moved a muscle or said a word, and there they were
-- wagging, leaping, barking, whining, and nudging at me with their noses -- telling me to get a move on! I told them
vocally that it wasn't polite to push me like that when I hadn't even finished my thought, let alone asked them if they wanted
to come along! (This message they ignored, as dogs will do when they know they have you wrapped around their little
claws.)
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At one time, I kept a decorative flower pot at the barbershop where I worked. The planter
had a glazed green jungle scene encircled with tigers, leopards, and jaguars, and contained a variety of vegetation.
I grew quite affectionate towards this little verdant island, afloat alone in the sterile ocean of florescent lights, mirrors,
and white tile. All the plants flourished -- especially the yellow-speckled croton at the center of the arrangement.
Tall and straight, this light-lover soon began to tower above its neighbors, disturbing
the symmetry of design. Morning after morning I arrived at work and contemplated cutting back this overachiever.
I would look at the same spot on the stem and picture the tips of my utility shears snipping through the thin wood.
I being the Queen of Procrastination, this went on for weeks, with my becoming more irritated every time I set eyes on the
plant. If I looked at the croton I'd think, "I'm going to prune you -- right there!"
Surprise me -- I came in one day to find that this green creature had topped itself during
the night! Or had I caused the damage through my intent? Across the spot I had concentrated on cutting was what
appeared to be a black burn-mark, one-sixteenth of an inch wide. From this point, the once lofty head was bent over
as if in submission. None of the other flora was affected. I rooted the disconnected top in water, and
it continued to grow (as did the rest of the planter), long after the incident.
I wondered if my negative thought had performed like mental pruning shears, or if
the croton -- in its desire for the return of affection -- had somehow cut off the flow of nutrients to this one spot.
Unable to tell which, I have tried ever since to be very careful of how I direct my thoughts toward living things.
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Harvesting sunflower heads one autumn, I was disgusted to see that some of the kernels were
infested with small, brown worms. Deciding to salvage what I could, I picked up a sharp little twig and gouged out the
first invader.
The instant the tiny body hit the ground, a large wasp flew in from the side and landed directly
atop the unfortunate caterpillar. Curious, I bent down to get a closer look. With her prey clutched tight to her
breast, the stinging insect sharply rose on a line perpendicular to the ground, and almost smacked me in the forehead!
Luckily, I was as quick as the wasp, and together we came up until we were face to face. Like an airplane signaling
by dipping its wings alternately, this usually fearsome creature swung its body from side to side the width of my head, in
three gentle arcs. As she hovered, I mentally acknowledged the very clear "Thank-you!" that I had understood from this
flying dance. Her mission and aerial ballet complete, she flew off with her little arms full.
I had to wonder what drew such an immediate response from this little predator. Was
it my intent to throw worms to the wind, or did the hapless invader give a scream as I was doing my dastardly deed?
Either way, there's no doubt the wasp benefited from having her "ears" on.
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Apparently, even inanimate items partake in the sending, receiving, and understanding
of the Universal Language.
I carry a book-bag so dark and deep that I have to mount a major expedition to locate the
little lead packet for refilling my mechanical pencil. One day, as I was throwing yet one more item into this fabric
abyss, something popped out with my hand: the tube of leads, and a voice in my head that said,"You'll need me."
"Yeah, right...," I thought, "I never get that lucky." Dismissing the gift as a random
act of chaos or chance, I tossed the volunteer back into the bag. Moments later, my next click of the pencil ejected
a little black nubbin, and I was out of lead! I shook my head at my lack of faith, as I found the packet, which
was waiting in plain view, at the edge of the abyss. I know even a blind hog finds an acorn every now and again, but
twice in one day?
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My old car had terrible trouble with the speedometer. Beginning with a slight bounce
in the arm that registers MPH, the problem progressed until that needle swept back and forth like a windshield-wiper!
Eventually movement ceased altogether, and I drove listening to the sound of the car itself, for communication of how fast
I was going. Certainly I became more proficient in the language of my automobile, but throughout the whole experience,
I unconsciously developed an attitude of expecting and waiting for the demise of the speedometer. Emotionally, I became
a nervous wreck when I drove, not knowing if or when I would get a citation.
I soon purchased a year-old used car and my old, steel steed was put out to pasture.
My new metal mount was in perfect working condition. After about three weeks of driving back and forth to work (thirty-two
miles one way), the speedometer began that old familiar bounce. Over a week's time, the arm began to rock back and forth
even worse. I couldn't believe it! Of course, I had kept my eye out for just this sort of thing (excessively obsessed,
out of habit), but never logically expected this problem ever to occur in any other car I might own; the odds were too
great against it.
Reevaluating my past experiences, myself, and both vehicles, I diagnosed my new car as neurotic,
from the nonstop mental images I was projecting. I apologized to my vehicle, demanded of myself that the picture-show
was over, and let go of my unnecessary anticipation. From then on, until I retired that fine car eleven years later,
I never had another thought for the speedometer -- nor did the trouble ever manifest itself again.
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If you think this was just a lucky coincidence, consider this: my girlfriend had a
similar experience a few months later. Her car had a chronic, progressive, ultimately fatal disease, so was
replaced with her grandmother's vehicle, which was luxurious as well as in perfect running condition. Liz was very pleased
with her new transportation, but began to complain a couple of weeks into ownership that the car was exhibiting the same symptoms
as her old vehicle!
Since we had shared studies for many years, I had no trouble explaining what was occurring.
Very strong in heart, mind, faith, and spirit, my best friend immediately ended her unconscious mental dialog with her car,
and the healing of the vehicle was instantaneous.
That two such incidents took place one immediately after the other was what caught my attention.
I perceived Life reinforcing a single lesson -- mind over matter: you are responsible for creating the events that unfold
before you. Speaking the Universal Language of Life, you can not only communicate with all things, you have to be careful
of what you think -- and of what you wish for, as well.
!["You'll need me.", they said. And I did!](/imagelib/sitebuilder/misc/show_image.html?linkedwidth=actual&linkpath=/imagelib/sitebuilder/pictures/animations/objects/lx00a10t.gif&target=tlx_new&title="You'll need me.", said the leads as they popped)
![My thoughts made my new car malfunction, too!](/imagelib/sitebuilder/misc/show_image.html?linkedwidth=actual&linkpath=https://rosepuggins-ivil.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/newcar.jpg&target=tlx_new&title=I "thought" the speedometer on my new car into)
