Here's the shelf where I found the missing book in my wife's studio.
As I’ve continued to practice dowsing, I’m becoming more familiar with the state of mind I need to be in for it to work. It's something like passive concentration.
It’s passive because my mind must be relaxed, meditative. But there’s concentration because, at some deeper level, I must visualize the “target” as best I can.
When I first dowsed for the water lines in the neighborhood, I held an image in my mind of water pipes running beneath the sidewalks and toward the street. Walking forward with my L-rods, my mind relaxed, thinking only about the underground pipes -- but not thinking so hard as to break the serenity – the rods then would react to the presence of the pipes as I’d hoped.
The Missing Book
I mention all of this because of an incident a couple of nights ago.
I went upstairs to Christine’s art room where she makes her dolls. I sat in a comfortable chair and began to unwind, but she was in a tizzy. She said she’d spent two days looking for a book and still couldn’t find it. What’s worse, she couldn’t remember the title. Nor could she remember the author.
What color is the book? How large is it? No idea. She only knew it had been given to her a year ago and she’d seen a photo in it she now wanted to see again.
Flush with victory from a few days earlier – when I’d found the water bottle I’d had her hide in the yard – I thought, Why not? I relaxed and thought only about some sort of generic book. At this point, the size, shape and color weren’t important. I only thought about “book” and “the book Christine wants to find.”
I mention all of this because of an incident a couple of nights ago.
I went upstairs to Christine’s art room where she makes her dolls. I sat in a comfortable chair and began to unwind, but she was in a tizzy. She said she’d spent two days looking for a book and still couldn’t find it. What’s worse, she couldn’t remember the title. Nor could she remember the author.
What color is the book? How large is it? No idea. She only knew it had been given to her a year ago and she’d seen a photo in it she now wanted to see again.
Flush with victory from a few days earlier – when I’d found the water bottle I’d had her hide in the yard – I thought, Why not? I relaxed and thought only about some sort of generic book. At this point, the size, shape and color weren’t important. I only thought about “book” and “the book Christine wants to find.”
Is This It?
As usual, you know where this story is going.
A few seconds later I stood, walked to her bookshelves (nearly floor to ceiling) and began scanning the shelves. I ran my fingers along the spines of several books and within a minute pulled a thin book from between two heftier ones. It was Anonymous Was a Woman by Mira Bank.
Is this it?
She looked at the book and answered, “Where was it? How’d you do that?”
As usual, you know where this story is going.
A few seconds later I stood, walked to her bookshelves (nearly floor to ceiling) and began scanning the shelves. I ran my fingers along the spines of several books and within a minute pulled a thin book from between two heftier ones. It was Anonymous Was a Woman by Mira Bank.
Is this it?
She looked at the book and answered, “Where was it? How’d you do that?”
I'm not really sure.
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