“I believe in miracles!” I texted my daughters, along with a photo of my kitties, Lucy and Ricky who were sitting in proximity of each other, closer to each other than they had ever been in a relaxed sort of way. Lucy was munching on the large patch of wheatgrass growing for them on the patio, as Ricky watched.
Of course, Ricky didn’t stand that for long. Within seconds, the race was on, with young Ricky (not yet a year old) chasing 10 year old Lucy, until she put the brakes on and whacked him firmly on the nose.
This whole scenario transpired at the precise moment when I was about to give up on my Bacon Bits article. I’m not getting anything! I’m getting NOTHING! I complained to God and Spirit. Help? I sighed in gentle, wistful prayer.
I thought, I’ll just do this. The title to my article will be:
Writer’s block
By Summer Bacon
and then I’ll leave the page blank…or maybe with one word:
Help?
I’d been sitting on the patio for an hour, staring at the trees, listening to the cars and trucks whiz by, wondering why the bird baths were as empty of birds as my mind was of words.
But, Lucy’s whack on Ricky’s nose was the hit of inspiration that I needed.
I was suddenly transported back to a psychic reading that I did in 1996. A middle-aged woman sat silently on the couch in front of me, staring at her hands. All I knew was her name, and she had no questions to ask me. Stubborn, skeptical clients were the most challenging. If there was a stoplight that was both green and red at the same time, well, that was my challenge. Read me. Don’t read me. I want to know. I don’t want to know.
I looked at her, and looked at the coffee table in front of me. The coffee table had nothing on it except for a brand new, newly sharpened pencil. I suddenly became far more interested in the sharpened pencil than I was in reading this stubborn woman.
Why in the world is there a pencil sitting on the coffee table? I thought to myself.
And, why am I getting nothing about this woman? I asked Spirit.
Pencil. Nothing. Pencil. Nothing. Pencil… Nothing…
“You have writer’s block!” I shouted at the woman, nearly jumping out of my chair as the revelation hit me.
“Yes! How did you know?” she exclaimed, nearly jumping off the couch.
Duh. I’m psychic. I quietly thought to myself, as I internally gloated about my sudden victory.
I went on to help her with her writer’s block. But, most of all, I learned an important lesson for myself.
Nothing is something.
And hence, this empty space is filled.
