By Caroline Patrick

Haste Doesn’t Always Cause Waste

My family sometimes accuses me of being impulsive. I beg to differ. I spend many hours and sometimes years mulling things over in my mind, until I make the plunge. I just don’t announce my current plans to just anyone, until I feel they are foolproof. Since my husband builds powerhouses, the nuts and bolts of any project up for discussion must have merit to work. This is called a yang world. I respect his perfectionism, but I know being a feng shui consultant, artist, and herbalist, that mother earth’s magic is the other half of life’s formula. This other half-life’s harmony is called yin. Intuitive, receptive and nurturing.

One day several years ago, after moving once again, I decided I wanted to return to my career as an artist, only have my own studio. Working with the educational system as an art instructor for many years, I now wanted to pursue my own style of creativity which becomes very limited working with colleges. The paperwork was demanding and left little time to be creative. I now have the time to go forward with my silent vision. The kids were out on their own living their own lives. Money was always tight it seemed. I could later see that as a married couple we chose house plans when buying and renting homes which reinforced a lacking wealth corner. This far back left corner of a floor plan helps to balance prosperity for the occupants. We had recently bought a home with a supportive wealth section and money was blessing our home for the first time in many years. I felt my art studio vision was securely fortified with a well thought out plan. I cooked a wonderful gourmet meal and lit the dinner candles. Of course my husband figured something was up and couldn’t settle down to enjoy the feast until I spilled the beans. "I want a studio of my own. A place to dream, create, make herbal tinctures and become one with myself," I droned." Sure, sounds great, if it will get those smelly paints out of the house….lets eat, " was his comment. That was too easy, I determined, but now I had to help it happen. He didn’t even comment on my supposed impulsiveness.

I placed cures and correction in all the necessary sections of the house and yard. Next I began to throw away and start sacks, boxes and bags of unnecessary, unused items. Removing twenty-seven objects is the first path to the art of placement called feng shui. Removing old blockages starts the flow of new beginnings. This is the number one rule for life changing actions. It creates a new space for new ideas and actions. The next morning after retrieving the local newspaper from the front bushes of the house and bringing it inside to read, I opened the paper to the COMMERCIAL RENTAL section. My eyes focused to one particular heading. STUDIO TO SHARE. Woman wants to share studio space with another artist. I called the number and the lady answered the phone. We agreed to meet and look at the space in the next hour. My excitement grew as I waited for her arrival at the location. After looking over the space, I decided it was a great start. Later the same day, I reread the note I had placed in my helpful people and travel area of my home. "I want a perfect studio to share with another woman artist without problems or complications." This last little notation on the intention note was to free me from unseen situations which might result due to impulsiveness. Some people might consider this action a little strange, writing a note to the universe to assist the action of change. Feng shui sees this action as transcendental, or a prayer to the powers or god source asking for assistance in using their unique talent given by god to share with humanity. This was four studios ago. My family has become believers in this 4000-year-old Chinese system of balancing the actions of wind and water.

I must close this column now. I just received an emergency phone call from my four-year-old grandson asking if I had checked the airlines for a ticket to come and see him and his two-year-old brother go on their Halloween Trick or Treating venture. "Well, sweetheart, I reasoned its eleven o’clock and grandma lives twelve hundred miles away, it’s not possible." It was actually 11:11 on the clock’s dial. This is a special number with a high spiritual meaning. Undaunted by my reply, he told me again there is a ticket waiting for me at the airport. I hung up the phone with tears in my eyes. "Why am I so far away from these children? It’s not fair," I determined. "If there is a flight out of here by three, I could make it by six." "I’ve lost my mind," I concluded. Yes there was a ticket waiting for me at three fifteen, which got into Phoenix at six p.m. I raced to the airport when I realized I hadn’t even asked my son if they would be at home to trick or treat. I called him quickly on my cell phone. My impulsiveness didn’t faze him. He had seen it many times during his childhood when I would pack a picnic lunch and head for the nearest mountain pass to eat and explore, or wake him up to see certain stars in the night skies as they traveled across the universe.

Looking for the red wagon pulling my grandsons was easy. They were as cute as could be. Was the older one surprised? No, he was sure my ticket was waiting me and it was. We made memories to last forever. It was meant to be, as they say. Little ones are still close to magic and make-believe. Impulsive, yes. Perfect, yes. Getting in my car two days later at the airport, I glanced down at the clock on the console. 11:11 p.m. The hour of spiritual perfection.