Before I got sick, I worked in mortgage banking. It was a high-stress industry, particularly for the loan processors who usually worked (for loan approvals) with multiple loan officers, under pressure from them and the realtors who represented both the sellers and buyers. (I believe it’s different now with loan officers entering applications themselves with pre-qualifications calculated by a computer.)
One day I watched a rushed, hard-working young woman trying to type an address onto an envelope. In a rush, she became frustrated and angry, yanked the first envelope from the typewriter and quickly turned another in. I saw “smoke” coming from the machine, which wasn’t ‘really there,’ but the typewriter stopped working just the same. Though I doubt machines have energy fields, something happened, and I had to acknowledge the relationship between our minds and machines.
Years ago, friends and I published a small, community newspaper that focused on people making a positive difference in the community. I will never forget those years and how fulfilling that work was, because we made a positive difference, too. Our equipment was older and we never had a lot of money—ah, vocations of the heart—and we were always on a deadline. We often had to pray over one piece of equipment (we jokingly called it “laying on of hands”) to get it to work.
At last we had to call a repairman (I know it’s hard to believe, but people actually repaired machines back in those days. They were built to last, not for planned obsolescence and to load up and poison landfills.) As the repairman worked on it, he asked how long it hadn’t been working. We told him we barely got our last issue out, but that it had been giving us problems for months. Incredulous, he called us to the machine and showed us where two parts had separated and said that it could not have worked unless the electricity somehow arced over several inches of space between the parts. We laughed and told him about our “laying on of hands.”
And that brings me to “Ol’ Bessie,” as I named my 1998 Mazda MPV a couple of years ago. Somehow, the car knows we need her (my daughter and I live on disability benefits) and she works for and with us. I often express my gratitude to the heavens, and to Ol’ Bess, with a pat on the dashboard.
It doesn’t make any sense that machines should be affected by our thoughts and prayers—they’re not living things like plants—but they are. I have “electrical” (bad attitude) problems with my computer and getting online. You’d think I’d know better. But my question is, if our thoughts and emotions can affect equipment, can you imagine what we are doing to each other, and the world?