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If only these walls could talk

From my chair to yours…

“You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. What you’ll discover will be wonderful. What you’ll discover is yourself.
-Alan Alda

I have always believed that energy manifests in unlimited forms. I have entered houses in different capacities: space planner, realtor, energy consultant and simply visiting. Being aware of some vibe in many places. Mostly, I guess I felt there were stories in the walls, just like trees and people have histories to share. I’m not talking about spirits that may be taking up residence and I believe that occurs often, but about actual events that happened where the residue energy sticks around. Happiness, rage, murder, joy of birthing and loss.. all the vitality left from those times that were actively lived.


You know how you get something? Finally, understand what someone has been telling you? Our mother’s or a group, even ourselves? “Why didn’t you listen to me?” “Geez, I’ve been telling you that for years!” Whatever the “it” is won’t be heard until we are ready to get it. To really get it.

Visiting these places and sensing a stamina, a personality in some, I’ve always wondered what the walls, furniture and odds and ends might say if words were used. There are people that use their sense of this ability to educate this ability. To delve into how they may use it to communicate. People are amazing. Human beings are a vast tribe of many talents with the capacity to expand to potentially anything. Do your best to create a moment of silence sometime. To listen to your walls! Or a particular piece of artwork that has been hanging on the walls for years. A favorite chair, coffee cup, or clock. Have fun with an imagined conversation, and if you actually can sense “it” talking to you, you may enjoy engaging!
(This post was inspired by a friend’s comment. Thank you A!)

Here is a story I enjoyed playing with looking at my clock from different viewpoints.

The Clock on the Wall
A Practice in Perspectives

My clock on the wall has a face that is old and weathered.
It says Coteaux de Loire. In the background on the face, it has a sketch of a winery with farm-like buildings. Again, the face appears old.
I often just look at it and listen to the ticking of my clock on the wall. It has become a mystical, quiet ritual.
The numbers are roman numeral style and the hands on my clock are the kind I have seen on a metronome. Delicately made, precise and sharp like arrows.
The edging all around the face has the look of something that had burned but was caught in time.
Interesting phrase; caught in time.
The soft ticking reminds me of a kitten curling up to a heartbeat. I watch the hands move on a graceful curve. Then, in one minute, the smaller of the two lands on the number lll. The other on XII.

“I have been on several walls, in many rooms, many places.
You have wrapped me lovingly. Carefully placing me in a box over countless years.
Remembereing to remove my batteries so I could sleep in darkness.
Then, I awakened while being placed on a new wall, a new home for us.
I am like a guardian to you. I am aware now and then you just listen to my heartbeat.

My relationship with my clock on the wall is a kind of love and blessing.
It has grown deeper over the years.
There are never any disputes or interludes of passionate display.
My clock on the wall is always dependable, and pleasing to look at. It never disrupts my concentration or focus.
It is a quiet serenade that keeps me in my zone.
I cannot imagine a more perfect, silent partner. I have been aware of this since the day I discovered my clock.
It is like finding that kitten, just a few days old, that still needs the beating heart. Only I am the kitten and my clock on the wall is always beating for me.
My friend.
I believe it feels that same way.

Have an interesting week!

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