Yep. In the title, I called it the Law of Attraction theory. I know, I know. You’re thinking, “How can it be both a law and a theory?”
It can’t. Can it?
As a caveat, before we go any further, I am compelled to clarify that this post is written with the belief that you know what the law of attraction is, and that you are familiar with Abraham-Hicks. If not, start your search at YouTube, and tune in to a few episodes (of hundreds) to familiarize yourself with both Abraham and the Law of Attraction, and then return here.
So…although I am a certified LOA coach, to back up my epiphany that the law of attraction is a theory, I give you this evidence:
I’ve heard Abraham say (paraphrasing) that “when we croak,” we are really happy to be back with Source energy. That part, I believe is mostly true. I’m guessing it will feel pretty good to be out of our cumbersome bodies, particularly if those bodies are starting to fail us.
I’m even thinking it would be super exciting to connect with our cherished loved-ones who passed over prior to our arrival back with Source. I imagine a homecoming party unlike anything on Earth! Woohoo to the highest level!
Anyway, the stick in my spoke to the law of attraction came when I was remembering Abraham saying something (again paraphrasing) about us choosing when we “return to Source.” I accepted this idea as truth. It resonated. And then, seeping up from my memory came the reminder of a man I met when I was working as a Realtor® in California.
My real estate office was in the busiest tourist section of San Diego, and this gentleman was one of thousands who walked past the business each night. It was a Friday, and the streets were packed with party seekers, the dinner crowd, and with those who wandered, or window shopped, or people watched.
I walked out and said hello to the gentleman as he stood looking at the sales flyers posted on the glass window. As I got nearer, warmly greeting the man with an overly friendly, salesy chant of, “so…do you see anything you can’t live without?” I could clearly detect the scent of alcohol. I could also see it across his reddened eyes.
The man appeared to be around or just above his mid-sixties. He wore an expensive tailored suit, and looked at me as if I had triggered a memory that he was trying to drown.
We made small talk for a while, with him mostly quiet as I showed him how he could tap on any individual flyer on the window, and an electronic voice recording would tell him everything he wanted to know about that property. It was truly “state of the art technology,” I boasted.
Still he said little, except to say he was staying at the Hilton Hotel, nearby. He never smiled. I remembered that fact, because the usual prospect is on vacation or in town for a celebration. Smiles are the norm in that atmosphere, but not for this guy. In time, I handed him my business card, and wished him well as I moved on to the next tourist to approach the talking window.
Several nights later, again during the dinner hour, the man returned. It was only by chance that I was working that night, as all the sales people took turns on floor time, and yet here I was, face to face with this man again.
This time, he was the first to speak. “You may remember me,” he said. I assured him I did in fact recall our prior conversation. He told me that he had lost his wife, and that only months later he also lost everything he owned in a notorious California wild-fire that had burned thousands of acres just weeks before we met. His year had been one of total devastation. The silver lining of the fire, he said, was that he no longer had to wonder what to do with his beloved wife’s ashes. The fire took care of that challenge. He went on to say that he had received the insurance check, and that on the night we met, he had a revolver in his coat and was returning to the hotel where he planned to suicide.
He went on to tell me that when the money ran out, he fully intended to take that final exit door out to be with his wife.
There are angels among us, and sometimes, we are the angels for others.
When the man told me about his plan for suicide, I told him that I could not work with him or move forward in any way with him as I was the mother of a child who died by suicide. “I will not get close to you, if you are going to die intentionally,” I told him. “I won’t do it. So you decide. And if you choose to live, I am happy to be your Realtor® and your friend. But not if you are going to kill yourself.” I was adamant.
No doubt my expression was one of simultaneously glaring, pleading, and reasoning with him. Once more, I detected the familiar scent of booze, although considerably less pungent than on the previous encounter. He left, and I hoped in my heart for him to find a reason for choosing life amidst his profound, unfathomable loss.
The next day, the gentleman showed up and asked me to lunch. As we chatted over a delicious fresh Ceviche seafood dish, and crusted artisan bread, complimented by a crisp Chablis, he told me he was 68 years old, and that he and his wife had married right out of high school. She was the only woman he had truly loved, and when she was on her death-bed dying of cancer, her hand in his, she cussed for the first and only time in her entire life saying, “I’m pissed off.” And then she was gone. She was gone too soon. She wasn’t ready.
This is where my conflict over the Law of Attraction has its roots. This beloved wife, was clearly not ready to return to Source. She loved life, and she loved and was loved by her husband. It was one of those Hallmark stories, but with the wrong ending. It’s hard to imagine that she was happy to return to Source, particularly when her dying words were a curse of being “pissed off.” Sorry Abraham, but I find it impossible to rectify that anger with a simultaneous eagerness to happily rejoin the Source from which she came. Again though, in an attempt at silver linings, that premature passing did prevent her from having to experience the loss of everything she owned to a wild-fire a few weeks later….
In case you’re wondering, the man did eventually choose life. He purchased a condo in the Little Italy district of downtown, San Diego. A couple of months later, he attended a class reunion. Although I don’t recall for certain, I think it was his 50th year. Oh, and at that reunion, which I fervently prompted/prodded him to attend, he met up with a high school classmate who professed to having “had a crush….”
I guess the Hallmark ending was intact after all.