A Note from the Universe
Long, long ago, before there was even sand in the hourglass, there was a teeny, tiny dot—so small it was virtually invisible—that was presented to you as a gift.
At first, puzzled and perplexed, you thought it was a joke. Yet, trusting and inquisitive, your intuition led you to accept it and, before long, to carefully examine it.
And lo, after becoming extraordinarily teeny and tiny yourself, you found there was an entrance of sorts into this little treasure, in the form of a long and winding path. So inside you went, through the densest grove of ancient, moss-covered, bending oaks you will ever see. And before long, you found a shiny, gold, old-fashioned key that had been left upon a large, rounded stone, as if especially for you.
With key in hand you proceeded down the path until you arrived at a massive gate. Just above it there was a handwritten plaque for all who might pass beneath it:
"Welcome to the Jungles of Time and Space,
Where nothing is as it seems,
Yet all things are possible.
Should you ever feel lost or weary,
Forget not from where you have come,
And follow the signs..."
Peering between the wrought iron bars, you could see the entire Milky Way Galaxy and a hundred billion galaxies beyond it. Your thoughts raced, your imagination ran wild, and as you raised your key to the sturdy, reinforced lock, slowly slipping it in, and gently turning...there was a sudden flash of light and burst of sound. Whereupon, seemingly light-years later but, in fact, no longer than an instant, you found yourself in the most beautiful human form, living on the most beautiful little planet, having a wonderful life, a wrinkle of curiosity on your brow, reading this very Note, right here and now, as YOU.
Talk about a sign—The Universe
Inner space came first. And yes, all things are still super possible.
Initiative
David Leonhardt
If you didn't send a merchant ship out to sea, there is no reason to wait for your ship to come in.
Waiting for your ship to come in? Stop. Did you send out a ship? If not, load up a ship and send it out. In fact, send as many out as possible, and you might be surprised how often your ship comes in.
The Music of Language
Words Are Energy
When we speak or write, we use the vehicles of words to carry meaning, as well as energy, from ourselves to another person or group of people. We may be speaking to our baby, our boss, or to an audience of 500 people. We may be writing a love letter, a work-related memo, or an entry in our own diary. Whatever the case, each word we speak or write has a life of its own, a vibratory signature that creates waves in the same way that a note of music creates waves. And like musical notes, our words live in communities of other words and change in relation to the words that surround them. When we are conscious of the energy behind our words, we become capable of making beautiful music in the world. If we are unconscious of the power of words, we run the risk of creating a noisy disturbance.
Some of us know this instinctively, while others come to this understanding slowly. Most of us, though, speak without thinking at least some of the time, blurting out our feelings and thoughts without much regard for the words we choose to express them. When we remind ourselves that our words have an impact on the world at the level of energy, we may find within ourselves the desire to be more aware of our use of language.
A fun way to increase our sensitivity to the power of words is to simply make a list of our favorite words and notice the energy they contain. We can write them down and post them where we can see them, or we can speak them aloud, feeling them reverberate in our bodies and in the air around us. This is like learning to consciously play an instrument that we have been playing unconsciously for most of our lives, and the effect can be startling and delightful. As we grow more comfortable and confident playing the instrument of language, we will begin to compose beautiful messages, creating positive energy every time we write or speak.
A Prosperity Blessing
©2004 Veronica M. Hay
May you be blessed with an amazingly abundant day today!
May the clouds break and the heavens pour down upon you
more joy, more love, more laughter, and more money
than you could have ever dreamed of.
May the sun shine its golden light of prosperity
through every cell of your extraordinary body.
May you be cleansed today of any resistance or feelings
of unworthiness that you may still be holding onto.
May your false illusions of doubt, fear, and scarcity gently
fall away like soft white feathers on a gentle breeze.
May you be willing, simply willing, to allow the
Universe to shower you with miracles today.
May the Angels wrap you in their shining wings of opulence.
May the fairies deliver you to their pot of gold
at the end of a majestic rainbow.
May your eyes shine with the glorious truth of who you really are,
and may that truth uplift others in your presence
to their own inner knowing.
May your ears hear the sound of perfection ringing in your soul.
May you taste the deliciousness of every precious bite of life
as your day unfolds moment by moment with amazing grace,
heartfelt love, and a bounty of magnificent money.
As this day ends, may you slumber wrapped in an exquisite
blanket of enduring peace and profound gratitude.
And may the last words you speak today be Thank You!
Magnolias
Edna Ellison
I spent the week before my daughter's June wedding running last-minute trips to the caterer, florist, tuxedo shop, and the church about forty miles away. As happy as I was that Patsy was marrying a good Christian young man, I felt laden with responsibilities as I watched my budget dwindle...so many details, so many bills, and so little time. My son Jack was away at college, but he said he would be there to walk his younger sister down the aisle, taking the place of his dad who had died a few years before. He teased Patsy, saying he'd wanted to give her away since she was about three years old!
To save money, I gathered blossoms from several friends who had large magnolia trees. Their luscious, creamy-white blooms and slick green leaves would make beautiful arrangements against the rich dark wood inside the church.
After the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding, we banked the podium area and choir loft with magnolias. As we left just before midnight, I felt tired but satisfied this would be the best wedding any bride had ever had! The music, the ceremony, the reception—and especially the flowers—would be remembered for years.
The big day arrived—the busiest day of my life—and while her bridesmaids helped Patsy to dress, her fiancée Tim, walked with me to the sanctuary to do a final check. When we opened the door and felt a rush of hot air, I almost fainted; and then I saw them—all the beautiful white flowers were black. Funeral black. An electrical storm during the night had knocked out the air conditioning system, and on that hot summer day, the flowers had wilted and died.
I panicked, knowing I didn't have time to drive back to our hometown, gather more flowers, and return in time for the wedding.
Tim turned to me. "Edna, can you get more flowers? I'll throw away these dead ones and put fresh flowers in these arrangements."
I mumbled, "Sure," as he be-bopped down the hall to put on his cuff links.
Alone in the large sanctuary, I looked up at the dark wooden beams in the arched ceiling. "Lord," I prayed, "please help me. I don't know anyone in this town. Help me find someone willing to give me flowers—in a hurry!" I scurried out praying for four things: the blessing of white magnolias, courage to find them in an unfamiliar yard, safety from any dog that may bite my leg, and a nice person who would not get out a shotgun when I asked to cut his tree to shreds.
As I left the church, I saw magnolia trees in the distance. I approached a house...no dog in sight. I knocked on the door and an older man answered. So far so good...no shotgun. When I stated my plea the man beamed, "I'd be happy to!"
He climbed a step ladder and cut large boughs and handed them down to me. Minutes later, as I lifted the last armload into my car trunk, I said, "Sir, you've made the mother of a bride happy today."
"No, Ma'am," he said. "You don't understand what's happening here."
"What?" I asked.
"You see, my wife of sixty-seven years died on Monday. On Tuesday, I received friends at the funeral home, and on Wednesday..." He paused. I saw tears welling up in his eyes. "On Wednesday, I buried her." He looked away. "On Thursday, most of my out-of-town relatives went back home, and on Friday—yesterday—my children left."
I nodded.
"This morning," he continued, "I was sitting in my den crying out loud. I miss her so much. For the last sixteen years, as her health got worse, she needed me. But now nobody needs me. This morning I cried, 'Who needs an eighty-six-year-old wore-out man? Nobody!' I began to cry louder. 'Nobody needs me!' About that time, you knocked, and said, 'Sir, I need you.'"
I stood with my mouth open.
He asked, "Are you an angel? The way the light shone around your head into my dark living room..."
I assured him I was no angel.
He smiled. "Do you know what I was thinking when I handed you those magnolias?"
"No."
"I decided I'm needed. My flowers are needed. Why, I might have a flower ministry! I could give them to everyone! Some caskets at the funeral home have no flowers. People need flowers at times like that and I have lots of them. They're all over the backyard! I can give them to hospitals, churches—all sorts of places. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to serve the Lord until the day He calls me home!"
I drove back to the church, filled with wonder. On Patsy's wedding day, if anyone had asked me to encourage someone who was hurting, I would have said, "Forget it! It's my only daughter's wedding, for goodness' sake! There is no way I can minister to anyone today."
But God found a way. Through dead flowers.
"Life is not the way it's supposed to be. It's the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference."
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