You are the owner of all that you perceive. But you can’t perceive apart from your vibration. Feel your way, little by little, into a greater sense of abundance by looking for treasures that the Universe is offering you on a day-to-day basis. Abraham-Hicks
“It is amazing how the Universe lines up with us, brings us what we are attracting in magnificent and unexpected ways.” That was the last line of a blog-post that I finished this morning. It was an essay I felt good about. I had worked on it for four hours. I had allowed the words and the story to flow. I had carefully proofed and crafted it into paragraph after paragraph that brought me delight. And then in one fell swoop, as if a magic trick got away from me, I made it disappear with my very own hands. All of a sudden, it was no longer standing there in front of me on the computer screen dressed in its fancy font. It was nowhere to be found. It was gone.
And okay, I confess, I was hurrying near the end. I was determined to transfer this newly-birthed essay of mine from Word over to my blog-site, determined to push “post”, before rushing off to a jewelry–making workshop at Joy Center. And okay, I have another confession. There was more to it. Cam was bugging me. He was coping with the sudden dramatic shift in the weather by building a fender for his winter bike. And I know that this is a good thing, and I cheer him on as he, snow-lover like me, finds an innovative way to be happy in this sudden season of melting mud. But it was annoying to my sensitive trying-to-concentrate ears, the way he, in his frenzy, barged into the house and out to the garage, in and out, in and out, in and out. And when did that door turn squeaky? I wondered. So, okay, my mood wasn’t the highest of vibe when I pushed “Paste” when I meant to push “Copy.” And okay, maybe I shouldn’t have kept pushing things after that initial blunder, but I panicked. And my panic, it turned to despair, thirty minutes later, when my computer-savvy friend, on the other end of the phone, the one who I was pleading with, said that there was nothing, nothing at all, that she could do to find my missing high vibe essay.
And I’m not exaggerating when I say that it was a high vibe essay. It really was. It was an essay about a high vibe weekend, last weekend, when Cam and I flew west to Salt Lake City on Friday for three days of play with our son, Chris, and his girlfriend, Diana. It was an essay about the magic that happens, the synchronicities we attract when we’re in this feeling-good high vibe place. And what snow-lover wouldn’t be in a feeling-good high vibe place while driving up into those Wasatch Mountains, into the clear high-altitude air and the blue blue sky and the crisp white snow? What snow-lover wouldn’t be bursting with it all, with all that heart-pumping playtime and all that whoosh of speed and all that mountain-top beauty and all that brilliant sun? Of course it was a high vibe essay. How could it not be when after the ski-time, there was the evening and the warmth of the valley and the heart of the city and the best, the very best Neapolitan wood-fired pizzas on this side of the Atlantic. Of course, I had stories to tell. Of course, the four of us attracted synchronicities. Of course a bagpiper showed up in the center of a town of Mormons just after we happened, just happened, to be speaking of our Scottish heritage. It’s like that when you’re in the flow.
But what about when you are home again and spring has sprung a little too abruptly and your snowy playground is fast disappearing and skate-skiing is your favorite, your very favorite, sport? What about when your words, your carefully-crafted words, when they are disappearing, too? What about those unexpected surprises that don’t feel so high vibe, the ones that throw you for a loop, that toss you down into the muck? How do you find your way out of the muck and back up into that clear blue-sky vortex place where you are, once again, in alignment to receive those feel-good gifts?
Cam built a fender today. And it lifted him right out of the muck and back onto his winter bike which he now can ride on those sloppy spring trails while staying vortex-clean and happy. And me. I drove to the highest ground I could find, to County Road 510, to the trail of slushy snow, and, wearing my sundress and leggings, I skied. I skied over the tracks of wolves, over twigs and pine cones and the poop of partridge; I skied my way up that emotional scale. And when the trail caved in and became a running stream, I stopped in my tracks, and I stood there facing the sun and the warm breeze, and I smelled the sweet fresh air and I listened to the sound of running water, and I felt my feet beneath me. I wasn’t melting away with the snow. I was solid and strong, and I was confident in this strength. I was back in alignment. And I knew that there would be something else fun after the snow disappeared, that I would attract it to me. I always do. And I knew that there would be other words that would come, other essays that I would create. And I knew that it is amazing how the Universe lines up for us, brings us what we are attracting in magnificent and unexpected ways.