I was browsing the “new books” section at the bookstore and picked up a copy of E-Squared by Pam Grout. This book offers nine experiments to prove what the author already knows…that a field of potentiality exists and it’s available to everyone 24/7…a sort of convenience store for our manifestation pleasure. The first experiment was a whopper: a test to determine if The Big Dude exists.
This I had to try.
I took the book home and filled out the lab report at the end of chapter one. Start time: Thursday, 11 p.m. End time: Saturday, 11 p.m. I gave The Big Dude forty-eight hours to give me a sign, a blessing, something that couldn’t be written off as mere coincidence.
Then I slipped into bed.
At 11 p.m. on Saturday night I crumpled up the lab report and lobbed it into the trash. I had the urge to send Pam Grout an email: I bought your book. I tried the first experiment. The result? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. No sign of The Big Dude. I suppose you’re going to insist that it’s my fault, that the field does exist and I just missed seeing it.
The next morning I remembered another failed effort: the time I tried hypnosis. I had refused to lift my arm on command because I was waiting for some invisible puppeteer to hoist it for me.
Okay, I told myself. If this universal energy is for real, if it’s doing its vibration thing in every cell of our being, then maybe I can make a little effort here. Maybe I can be a conduit for someone else. Maybe I can beam a smile at a total stranger because who knows, maybe that stranger just read E-Squared and they’re waiting for a sign, a blessing of their own.
So I drove to the nearest Peet’s Coffeehouse and bought a hot chocolate. I sat at one of the round tables and turned to the woman at the next table over and smiled the most beatific smile the universe had ever seen.
The woman didn’t even notice.
Her gaze barely flicked over me.
Oh, so that’s it.
I took my hot chocolate home.
I fished the lab report from the trash, smoothed the page, crossed off the dates and wrote new ones. Twenty-four hours this time. Twenty-four hours for The Big Dude to prove that it existed. And this time I’d pay attention.
Then I sat outside on the grass under a lemon-yellow California sun, seventy-five degrees in the middle of winter, sipping rich dark chocolate as a Robin sang merrily from a nearby redwood tree.