Emotion is the fuel of Thought
This is a Truth I’ve come to realize over the years. It has been pounded into my head time and time again. Yours too. It’s time to accept it as real.
First, how many self-help books tell you that you create your own Universe and that you must believe in yourself before you can succeed? Your “thoughts” concerning yourself help manifest your reality. This isn’t really a paranormal-only viewpoint, and it goes without saying that if you don’t think you can do something, you probably won’t be able to do it.
Next, besides believing in yourself and willing/influencing your destiny, you must be passionate about achieving your goals. Every self-help guru and/or personal success coach will tell you that. We all know that to be self evident, right?
So it only stands to reason then that what I’m about to describe in the following story has led me to understand just how deep and powerful those truths really, truly are. Thought is the building blocks of the Universe, and Emotion is it’s fuel.
Phoenix, Arizona 1981
Just before I turned 20 years old, I left the suburbs of Chicago after a particularly nasty February blizzard to move in with my sister in Phoenix, Arizona. The lure of warm weather and the excitement of adventure in a new place was strong and so I left the security of familiarity.
After a few months in the new paradise though, I began feeling rather homesick. Mostly, I missed my Mom. Our family was/is a very emotionally driven unit, with a warm, heart-felt embrace every chance we get. Even during disagreements, no one forgets to give or get a hug. Especially Mom’s.
So one summer night I was feeling especially homesick for my Mother. My heart ached, and I felt a bit out of place without her. Overcome with detachment, I retired early to my bedroom around 8 o’clock and closed the window curtains and drapes to block out any remaining daylight. Turned out the lights , and stood in the center of the room in complete darkness.
I missed my Mom. My little sisters, too, actually. I had spent many years living with them all after my parents had divorced. I wished I was there at their Plainfield town house, just to see them once again and to get the loving hugs from them and my Mother. I missed them really bad.
As my heart swelled and I wiped a few tears from my eyes, I closed them hard and tried to visualize myself standing there in that town house. Imagining myself looking at Mom’s kitchen, remembering all the good times shared there. The meals, the games played, the friendly banter between all the family and friends that took place at that table.
Mom’s best friend Alice lived there too, with her two daughters. Seven people made up that home. Two adults and 5 young kids. That town home was built on love and fun and I really missed seeing them all.
So in my mind as I stood that night in my darkened bedroom in Phoenix Arizona, with a strong desire to relive the emotionally fulfilling memories of being at my Moms, I “looked” into her kitchen and tried to remember everything about it. Every little detail. Starting with that kitchen table and it’s white frilly table cloth. The polished wood grain of the chairs tucked under it and the matching cabinets on the walls around it. In my mind, I then reached out with my hands to touch the sliding glass doors that would have led to the backyard and instinctively, protectively pulled on the handle, checking to make sure it was locked. It was. Then I turned to look at Mom’s kitchen sink. With her wash cloth hanging next to it. Spice rack to the side of it, and refrigerator alongside. As I looked along those items, I reached out to touch them all. Remembering how they all felt. My fingertips actually tingled a little bit with those memories reawakened, and I felt good. A little re-energized. I felt Loved. I felt reconnected to my Mom just a little bit more right then.
Feeling some contentment, I then looked towards my Mom’s family room. So I moved into it. I saw the familiar couch and her TV sitting on the entertainment stand with the accompanying VCR. The place where we all shared movie nights together and the strong smell of freshly pan-popped buttered popcorn. In my mind’s vision I ran my tingling fingers over the top of the television and then touched the fabric of the couch, imaging the energy of everyone in the past having fun there. I smiled. Which then brought my gaze to the front door entryway at the bottom of the staircase. The staircase lead upstairs to the bedrooms, but to the left side of the front door would be a collection of seven people’s pairs of shoes all lined up. I couldn’t exactly count out seven pairs though because that part was a little fuzzy, but I knew from memory that should be the case, especially at this time of night. So I turned over my right should and peered up the staircase.
I knew and anticipated what I’d see up there. I began visualizing myself slowly going up the stairs, sliding my fingers along the handrail until I got to the top of them. Deliberately seeing every step to the top where I paused and focused on what I remembered. To the left would be the kids bedroom. Yes, all 5 kids shared one bedroom. It was a good sized bedroom and they were all pretty young still. But instead of looking that way, I turned to look right down the hallway. Immediately on the left was the hall bathroom, door closed. Next beyond the bathroom was Alice’s bedroom, door open. And most important to me was right across the hall from Alice, my Mom’s bedroom. Door open too.
So I moved in front of my Mom’s bedroom, standing at her door. Missing her so much I tried to visualize her laying in bed, probably reading a book. I tried to imagine perhaps an end table lamp on, illuminating her face. But oddly, I couldn’t. In fact, I couldn’t see her at all. Just a bed.
After a moment or two I grew disappointed at my failing to create seeing an image of her reading her book, so I gave up. Tired, but still warmly remembering the rest of this “journey” around my memories of Mom’s place, I cleared my mind and laid down on my bed to go to sleep.
The Next Day
Just a normal day. Seriously, Nothing out of the ordinary. My sister and I did what our normal routine was, until later that day when I wanted to call my Mom – at the time when I knew she’d be home from work.
So I called her. She answered and I felt the Love again. Hearing her voice felt reassuring. It balanced me, and all was well in my world again.
We caught up and what was going on in our lives, my sisters’ lives, and my brother’s. We talked about normal chit-chat, and as we drew our conversation to a close we exchanged well wishes. Heart-felt “I love you”s were the concluding words, and then suddenly my Mom exclaimed, “Oh wait!”
“I almost forgot to tell you!”, she hurried to say so as to not let me hang up. “Last night Alice so a ghost in our house!”
Wow, I thought. “A ghost?”
“Yes, about 10 o’clock last night she saw a ghost float up to the top of the stairs from below. Just hovering there. She had been a little curious because she thought she had heard something from the kitchen a few minutes earlier. She couldn’t make out who or what it was, but she just felt it’s presence standing there. She said she felt like it was a man based on it’s shape, but had no idea who it might be. Crazy, huh? Then it floated between our rooms and she felt it was staring into mine! It waited a while there before finally just disappearing.”
With those words the realization hit me.
“10 o’clock last night?”, I asked.
“Yes. She told me about it when I got home. I was out with friends pretty late.”
That clinched it for me. It all made sense then, and the time line fit perfectly. 10 pm in Chicago was 8 pm in Phoenix. I shuddered to think that I was that ghost but she just described exactly what I did last night while reminiscing about my Mom. No wonder I struggled to see my Mom reading in her bed but ultimately couldn’t – because she wasn’t there! She just told me she was out with friends. And me giving up and going to bed coincided with the moment the “ghost” disappeared from Alice’s sight.
I was in two places at the same time. Not physically, but definitely at least in spirit. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, and confirmed unknowingly by my Mom through her friend.
Of course I told her… and yes, she believed me. I recounted this entire telling to her. I didn’t set out to astrally travel, but I apparently did exactly that.
My thoughts were the vehicle that took me there, and Love was the emotion that provided the fuel to do it with.
Now if only I could do it again.
Maybe I have. Maybe we all do. Maybe we just need someone to “see” us before we all realize we can, and do, this more than we ever realized?