So this blog is about the belief that I manifest things in my life. I vowed that I would not make it strictly about the good stuff. Here goes.
Last week my apartment was broken into. I came home in the afternoon and found my door ajar. I peeked in, saw things out of place, dropped my grocery bags and went outside to call the police. I heard noise in my neighbor’s apartment on the way out, but decided not to knock because I’d never met him.
While I was calling the police from the front step of the building, a strange man came out, said hello and kept walking briskly away. I knew he had just robbed me and probably my neighbor and I watched him go as I excitedly told the 911 operator what was happening.
The hours that followed were a blur. My cousin, my brother, and a friend came to offer support. The police were helpful. The locksmith did a great job. I answered questions, tried to piece things together, gathered my thoughts.
Why did I manifest this intrusion?
To feel immense gratitude. Call me crazy, but that is what I feel. I could have not stopped at the grocery store and walked in a few minutes earlier while the intruder was in my apartment and who knows how that would have gone. I could have owned more things with the kind of “worth” this robber was seeking, but my items of value will get nary a red cent from a pawn shop because they are treasures of the sentimental or artistic kind.
Also, I made a phone call to my brother and was flanked by him and my cousin within the hour. I didn’t ask them to come, but they came. I didn’t ask. They came.
Somewhere in there might also be a lesson about being able to ask for help. Not a bad notion. But for now I’ll stick with being grateful and taking a deep breath.