Oldsmobile Rocket 88 - Courtesy Wikipedia
By eight-thirty on a beach day, my mother had made lunch, my sister and I had put on bathing suits and gotten towels, and our dad had packed the ’53 Oldsmobile so we would be parked by the boardwalk ahead of traffic. Lunch was tuna fish, potato chips, Oreo cookies, and warm orange juice—(that from the spigot of a round, wide thermos tasted like no other orange juice).
During my early experiences with metaphysical energy, I met Lawrence Furman* who told me, in my inexperience, that I wanted to go slowly—as energy could be dangerous. I related to him how I could face a candle, and then looking away, see small shapes of light floating at arm’s length that changed arrangement and color—reforming. Impulsively, I'd reached out my hand that first time, and one light had slowly moved up my arm to my shoulder, then—suddenly—was back at arm’s length. "They're being playful with you"—he'd answered knowingly.
In later years, I discovered my memories could emerge to merge into a new identity. With a counseling client who felt that progress was too slow, I’d said to imagine two bottles—one of orange juice and one of water. Put a spoon of juice into the water and the water changes, but it isn’t yet orange juice.
My realization is, "We can use words about what we are practicing, or we can think of an image that may playfully shows us our progress."
*Lawrence Furman describes himself as "a trance medium of unusual quality … a skilled and sensitive healer."