The other day I was talking to some friends about moving, and mentioned that I always ask prospective landlords whether anyone there has died tragically. I suppose a natural death wouldn't bother me too much, but I definitely wouldn't want to live at the site of a past murder or suicide. As usual, my friends started mocking me for bringing up such a morbid topic. "Fine," I said. "So you all would be totally okay with moving into an apartment where someone was stabbed to death? Or drowned in the bathtub?"
The answer was a resounding "hell, no." One of my friends brought up the story of a formerly expensive apartment in the area that had been lowered hundreds of dollars due to a previous suicide. In the end, all the members of our group, including those who had no belief in the supernatural, were firmly committed to staying away from living in spaces with tragic pasts.
But why? We are far safer with the dead than with the living. I've lived in lots of places that weren't safe, and most of the time I was well aware of it beforehand. I've lived in neighborhoods filled with drug dealers, and places where theft was a common occurrence. I've had my apartment broken into; I've been mugged at knife-point. Living in a crappy neighborhood can suck, but I have done it willingly, many times. There were sometimes shootings outside of our apartment, and I did worry about it...but not very much. I was still able to handle living there. But if I had known that someone was accidentally shot and killed in a lovely, safe apartment in a great neighborhood? You could never get me to move there. Not in a million years.
I think that even the most practical and skeptical of us can feel the energetic imprints of past events. Think of all the times you have walked into a strange place and just couldn't help noticing a certain negativity. Or maybe it was the opposite; perhaps you entered a new place and felt instantly lighter and safer. People who spend their entire day crushed into cubicles can sense that stagnant, depressing energy that gathers around groups of malcontent people. I always think back to how depressed I was at my telemarketing job when I was a teenager. Stuck in a cubicle, repeating the same phrases over and over, with no distraction from the utter boredom that was slowly eating away at my spirit...I would have sold my soul for a window, a glimmer of life beyond the gray and all-encompassing walls.
This is why I spend so much time and money creating a happy place for patients at my office. I can be in the worst mood, and the moment I walk into Healing Point Therapeutics, my spirits instantly soar. Patients are constantly commenting on how great they feel when they walk in here. Yes, I have put a lot of work into making a warm, inviting space...but to be honest, I felt that good energy here even when it was just an empty room. The whole office just radiates good stuff. If you've been here, you know what I mean.
I've just made plans to move into a new home, and my apartment search has made me acutely aware of how very different each space is. Each place I saw had a distinct personality, and it had little to do with size or amenities. I saw attractive, spacious, completely updated apartments that I could not even imagine living in; a few of them completely disturbed me on a deep level. I saw other apartments that were tiny, old, and unkempt, but they still gave off a comfortable vibe that made me want to be there. I don't know the histories of these places, but wouldn't it be an interesting project to find out? I'd particularly love to research the history of the apartment I talked about in a recent blog (you can read it here at http://www.healingpointtherapeutics.com/blog/2012/06/20/Neglect.aspx) . I just know there is a crazy story behind that place!