Chapter Twenty-Four
Mirabelle sauntered around Michael's den lovingly dusting off his art collection. She had been fascinated by his collection ever since she had first seen it and usually spent all her free moments during the day studying each and every piece. When she looked at a painting or statue or bowl she wondered about the artist: What was she like? Where did she live? What was the land like around her? What was the society and culture like? What thoughts resonated in her mind the whole day through?
"Each of those is a thought made real," intoned Michael, noticing Mirabelle contemplate his collection.
Mirabelle jumped up with a start. Her back was turned to the door as she perused the art collection and she had neither seen nor heard Michael enter the room.
"Oh, Michael," she said turning around, "You startled me."
Michael smiled and, from a small lacquered table, picked up a little figurine of an oriental lady painted in lusciously bright red and orange colours. "Pretty isn't it?" he asked as he held it before Mirabelle.
"Yes," replied Mirabelle while she looked at it, "They all are."
"Would you like to have it?" asked Michael.
"Oh, I couldn't, Michael," said Mirabelle self-depreciatively. It was always better to give than to receive, she had been taught.
"Please, please, take it," said Michael as he placed it in Mirabelle's hands.
"Oh, thank you Michael. It's lovely," Mirabelle said as she held the little figurine before her. Its fine porcelain made it feel weightless in her hands.
"I can give you something far more valuable," Michael said as Mirabelle continued to gaze at her colourful prize.
"What's that?" asked Mirabelle, her curiosity now piqued.
"What do you think you're holding in your hands?" he asked her.
"Why it's a little porcelain figurine, of course," replied Mirabelle as she rotated it in her hands. "And it's a very lovely one," she went on.
"It's something besides that," said Michael, mysteriously.
"Is it a priceless antique?' asked Mirabelle. She hadn't looked at it in monetary terms up to this point.
"It is," answered Michael. "But it's something else as well," he said, still not revealing his secret.
Mirabelle looked at the figurine for a few moments then stated, "I'm sorry Michael but I don't know what else it could be."
"What you're holding in your hands is an idea, vision, dream or thought made real," Michael replied.
"Excuse me," answered Mirabelle. "What was he talking about?" she wondered.
"That little figurine would never exist at all if it hadn't been created in the artist's mind and then fashioned by the artist's hands," said Michael to her.
"Oh yes, putting it that way, I guess you could say that I'm holding a little idea in my hands," responded Mirabelle. "That's pretty neat Michael," she said to him.
"It's more than neat, Mirabelle," said Michael. "It's a great secret!" he said enthusiastically.
"I'm sorry?" replied Mirabelle, she couldn't understand what he was talking about.
"Put the figurine down and let's sit on the sofa," Michael said to her.
Mirabelle placed the figurine on the small lacquered table of dark hardwood on which it had stood and sat down with Michael on the den's sofa.
"You were saying," said Mirabelle as she turned to look at Michael.
"You once asked me how, starting off with nothing, could I have become so successful," he said to her.
Mirabelle nodded. She rubbed her finger as she remembered their conversation on the porch.
"When I was a younger man I spent a long time wondering what was it that caused some people to be successful and caused others to remain unfulfilled in life," he told her.
Mirabelle waited for him to continue.
"By observation, experience, and contemplation," said Michael, "I came to the conclusion that people create their lives out of their thoughts, their dreams."
"Huh?" replied Mirabelle uncouthly. She didn't follow.
Michael looked at her then said, "As a young man, I wondered why some people succeed and others fail and I determined that the cause was their thoughts and their lives the effect."
Mirabelle looked at Michael with a blank stare. She was still trying to process what he had said.
"It's a pretty simple but at the same time a pretty difficult concept to understand," said Michael to her sympathetically.
Mirabelle looked at Michael. Perhaps he had a penchant for creating conundrums, she thought.
"I'd study people when I was young and growing. Everybody. Because I wondered why they and their lives were the way they were," said Michael.
Mirabelle continued to stare at Michael trying to understand his concept. She nodded her head slowly, trying not to appear moronic.
"I'd examine their character and life conditions, then by observing and talking to them I'd try to find the originating cause, the seed that grew into life they had harvested," Michael explained to her.
Mirabelle nodded. "Seed, harvest. Something, life experience," she reflected.
"The seed was their thoughts," replied Michael filling in the missing component to her formula.
"Their thoughts," parroted Mirabelle. She didn't understand it fully.
"Their thoughts," said Michael. "Dreams, ambitions, ideals, visions," he carried on.
"I know a lot of people who have dreams, ideals, and ambitions who haven't got what they wanted," retorted Mirabelle. She thought back to her various friends, family, and acquaintances.
"That's because every dream has its price and most people aren't willing to pay," responded Michael.
"What do you mean?" asked Mirabelle.
"We create our lives out of our thoughts," said Michael, "but thoughts don't materialize unless you do something to materialize them."
"What?" questioned Mirabelle.
"Act," replied Michael.
"Act?" said Mirabelle. "Like in a play?" she wondered to herself.
"Act. Do. Create. Take action," answered Michael. "People materialize those thoughts that they took action on."
Michael looked at her and remained silent for a while. After he had finished composing his thoughts, Michael began to speak again:
"When you see some tramp lying on a bench, that man is creating his conditions out of his thoughts, and his actions. He thought about living like a tramp and he took action on that. Being a tramp does not require a great investiture of energy. Now he may dream of being a wealthy millionaire while he's lying on that bench but he doesn't give that dream any energy so that dream never becomes real. He doesn't act. He doesn't create that grand dream. He creates himself lying on that bench dreaming about being rich." said Michael.
"If all you have to do is dream and act then why don't more people have exactly what they want out of life?" asked Mirabelle.
"Great dreams require great investitures of energy," replied Michael. "If you want to live your grandiose dream are you willing to dedicate your life to living that dream?" he asked her.
"Me?" asked a startled Mirabelle. She didn't even have a dream, she recalled.
"It wasn't directed specifically at you Mirabelle," responded Michael, "A person has to ask herself that question. It boils down to what do you want out of life. If you want something you are going to have to pay the price for it."
Michael looked at Mirabelle again. As she was silent, he continued to speak.
"It's important to take control of what thoughts you are creating in your mind," he said, pausing. "If you don't think your own thoughts, you think someone else's. And," he said as he looked at her, "You end up creating someone else's dream. You end up living someone else's idea of the life you should be living, not your own, because you don't have your own. It's a sure recipe for unhappiness."
Mirabelle nodded. What he said seemed to make a little sense.
"Most people settle for less in life," continued Michael, "It's their own decision."
Mirabelle nodded again. She wondered what thoughts she was going to create from now on. What was her dream?
Michael stood up from the couch and walked to the door. Before walking out he turned to Mirabelle and said, "Jeder ist seines Gluckes Schmied."
"Pardon me?" asked Mirabelle as she turned to see his figure amble away.
Michael turned to her from the hallway and gave his final piece of advice, "Everyone is his own luck maker."
