The blue pen, creation and the law of attraction
“To bring something into your life, imagine that it is already there,” wrote Richard Bach in his book Illusions. I needed to prove that I was the creator of my life, so I left my hometown and set out to find a blue feather. I gave myself 48 hours. That weekend I must have walked through every park, every nature conservatory, every preserve, every country road within a fifty-mile radius of my house. Eventually I even looked in my little yard, but no blue feathers.
It was Sunday night. My 48 hours are almost up. Finally, I gave up, gave up and decided to go to bed. As I reached for the light switch, I heard a voice inside my head. “Turn around. Turn around.” The voice was subtle, and yet it had a force that compelled me to obey.
The moment I turned around, my cat, Sesame, knocked over her basket of toys. Among the spilled catnip balls and mice was a blue feather. Once attached to a ball wrapped in yarn along with canary yellow and cardinal red feathers, the peacock blue feather had broken off and lay on its own as if to say, “Here I am. Can you see me now?” The pen was there the whole time. All she had to do was open her eyes and mind to see it.
I have told this story many times in workshops over the years when a workshop participant bested me. In that workshop, a year-long mystery school, The Sacred Path, we met once a month. Participants were tasked with manifesting a blue feather to show that they could create what they dreamed of for their lives. They had a month to do it.
When we met again, everyone had found their blue feathers. Everyone was excited telling their stories as we waited for one of the women to arrive late. Finally, she entered, breathless with excitement and a handful of feathers. “Will the white feathers count?” she asked her, and then told her story.
I was driving north on a dual carriageway toward our Sacred Path meeting. She was running a little late and was getting frustrated because she was stuck behind a slow moving truck and couldn’t get through due to traffic. Finally, she gave up, gave up, telling herself that she too could relax and enjoy the scenery. At that moment, the truck hit a pothole and her feathers flew right at her and right at her hand outside the car window.
I was following a truck full of chickens. Everyone in our workshop laughed with our friend, and our delight was to grow even more. She has another story to tell. “All these white feathers prove to me that if I make my intention clear, act towards what I want, and give myself to the process, I can manifest what I want. Still, these are white feathers and I wanted a blue feather, but I didn’t decide that the amount of these white feathers would take the place of a blue feather I was already here and I had this handful of white feathers then when I got out of the car I looked down and right there right in front of my feet where I almost stepped on it was this”. She raised her other hand and there it was, a perfect blue feather, a gift from a blue jay.
Diana Rankin ©2013
