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Decorate Your Field

Decorate your Field
by Silver RavenWolf

Everyone has a personal energy field.  Think of this field as if it is your apartment or home.  Your thoughts make up the decorations in this living space.  The longer you hold onto them, the more permanent they become.  For example, if you have focused on darkness and sorrow, then you are probably living in an energy field like the House on Haunted Hill.

Our personal energy field merges with the physical world around us.  The world around us matches what we think — it sets itself on our frequency of thought.  Each thought you have, then, manipulates your spiritual, mental, and physical reality.

You are always the center of your own world.

How about doing an experiment with me?  Right now, while you are reading this, imagine you are sitting in the middle of a bubble filled with mist.  Every droplet of mist represents one of your thoughts.  The more you focus on a thought theme, the more the droplets of mist that are a result of that theme draw together.  As the mist condenses as a direct result of your focus colored by emotion it uses the same magnetic property that created it to eventually draw the same vibratory energy from the outside world into your bubble.  Thought is the object.  Emotion is the color.  Together, they combine to make the decor of your life.

As within, so without.

Let’s go mind shopping!  Think of the energy field around you as an empty bubble.    How would you like to decorate it?  Since you are living here, what cool things would you like in your bubble?  Don’t be shy!  This is your bubble!   Your limit is only your imagination!  Let’s put way-cool things in your bubble right now!  As you put wonderful things in your bubble, breathe deeply three times as you formulate the thoughts and then color them with happy, joyful feelings.  Then, move onto the next thought (or decoration).  Fill your bubble with a wonderful, loving, happy, exiting motif that matches your overall goals or positive dreams of the future, because that’s how they come to be — by thinking of them as if they are in your bubble NOW.

Because the bubble is always there.  With you.  Always.  And it contains only what you allow in it by the nature of your thoughts and the color palette of your emotions.

Since we can’t see our personal energy field — we either forget or don’t realize it is even there.  We go forth in our daily tasks and limit our understanding to only that which is within the confines of our flesh and bones, when really, we also occupy the real estate of the energy field around us, too.  We own it.  We can use it.  That’s why we have it.  Indeed, you’ve already decorated it.  Have you filled it with mind vomit or the crisp, clean visage of a beautiful fall morning?

And you know what is so cool?  You can change your decor in a heartbeat.  With a single, focused, streaming thought…that manifests a good feeling…that pulls great stuff to you.  Your feelings heighten the magnetic property of your thoughts.  Feel good?  Get more good.  Feel bad?  Guess what zooms toward you!  Your feelings intensify the power of your thoughts.

It all starts…and ends…with you.

Think of yourself as an interior decorator that is constantly provided the opportunity to continually create the most magnificent living environment ever.

What’s in your field?

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Where the Muse Takes You

Where the Muse Takes You
by Silver RavenWolf
copyright 2010

Morning.  A bit chilly out there.  Sun’s up.  That’s good.  I stare at the computer.  Check Facebook.  Wander into the kitchen.  Make my father breakfast.  Sit at the dining room table and realize that this morning is totally unusual.  The day lies before me unblemished with errands, or doctor appointments for my father, or… whatever.

A day to myself.


Coffee.  Okay, two cups.

Um.  Hmmm.


Okay, now what?  I’m so stunned with a no-do-day that I don’t know precisely what I want to do with it.  I could…nah.  Or, maybe…nope.


I could go to the historical society and cruise through the newspapers — do a little research.  Funny thing about looking through those old papers.  If you thought murder, death, and mayhem are only a product of our times, try reading through a 1928 city newspaper!  That’s an eye-opener for you, let-me-tell-ya.  There’s fodder there for a thousand stories.

I walk aimlessly into my office.  Okay, so we call it the Rat Room because my pet rodent lives there in his spacious cage; but, most people look at me weird when I call it the RAT ROOM, so I don’t usually mention it outside the family.  I give Chi (the rat) a treat, then plop in front of my computer desk.

Old newspapers… I swing my creaking chair around (darned thing has been with me since my first book twenty years ago) and my knee knocks over a box I stuck under my desk months ago.  My collection of vintage photos dumps onto the hardwood floor, slipping and sliding in various directions.


Old newspapers… I begin picking up the photos, looking at the familiar faces — folks without names still waiting to be included in one of my art projects.  These unknown souls are my treasures from flea-markets and antique shops.  I gave them a home, albeit a dusty box at the moment; but, eventually they will make their way into post card or art trading card designs.

When I’m in the mood or not too busy.

I hold up one sepia picture in particular.  The young woman looks like she didn’t get enough sleep the night before her image made its way into the earthly form of a photograph, that a hundred years later, I would hold in my hand.

Old newspapers… She reminds me of a story I read in the Carlisle Sentinel.  A fairly gory one, actually.  Around 1928 a young lady of the city was engaged to be married; but, a family friend insisted on pursuing her.  Finally, she broke down and accepted a theater invitation from the gentleman.  Upon returning home from their evening out, she seated the fellow in the parlor.  When he once again announced his passion for her, she sternly reminded him of her love for her fiancée.  Furious at her uncaring dismissal of his feelings, the family friend flew into a shouting rage, whipped out a hunting knife, slit her throat and ran screaming from the house into the night.  They never found the bugger.  She, however, amazingly enough, did survive.

You couldn’t write fiction any better.

Lost in the memory of the article, I slid the vintage photo I held in my hand into my scanner…and the art began.

That was days ago.

Welcome to Raven Hollow, Pennsylvania.  Its a strange place.  The newspapers here are full of macabre and ghostly tales sure to titillate the reader with ghastly news on Halloween night — a particularly potent time in this odd little town — when the veil between the worlds is thinnest and the residents grasp the full power of eccentricity and make it their own.

Old newspapers…

make magick!