Between Space and Time

I have no outline for this blog.  I’d love to be tidy and tell my stories chronologically, but really it’s too hard to remember everything in order. But on this entry I will start from the beginning.

Most folks can remember back to four, three years old….maybe even two. Experts say it’s highly unlikely to remember anything before one year of age because that part of our brain is still forming blah blah blah… but please recall we’re shoving conventional wisdom aside for this blog.

I’m not sure my first memory is even a memory so much as my first metaphysical experience. I’d no idea how young I actually was until I told my mom about it. She looked at me at little incredulously as I described the room: where my bed was, where the door was in relation to my bed, er… crib.

“You weren’t even a year old,” she said, giving me that you’re-freaking-me-out-yet-I-find-this-intriguing look I’ve grown used to.

This is where it gets a little profound so please bear with me. You see, I remember lying on my back just having woken from a dream. And I do clearly remember the dream but that’s not important now. What I must convey is that my awareness there in that crib is the exact same awareness I have now. I was not aware of my infancy, nor did I identify as “Jennifer”, but whatever makes me me was as “old” then as the me that’s typing now. I had a place in the universe. I always had.

Every once in a while I feel that place between space and time…that place I felt in my crib. But it’s impossible to describe.  I lack vocabulary to convey that otherworldly feeling so let me just tell you the last time it happened.

A few weeks back  I was watching tv with my daughter Sophia and my friend John. I turned to say something to John and my travelling eyes saw the outline of a man sitting next to Sophia on the couch. My eyes made it to John before my brain registered the man.  But I recognized him.

My grandfather.

The room slipped away.

Peace. The space pulsed with love. My mouth fell. It was the exact same feeling I had in that crib 34 years ago. Our collective and eternal existence. The absence of time. I couldn’t hear the television.

All of a sudden the room flooded back. Sophia looked to her right then bolted off the couch.  John’s mouth was agape; he felt it too.

I called my Dad later that day to tell him about Grandpa. My Dad is a scientist yet never flinches when I share these encounters with him. I knew he’d appreciate hearing how Grandpa was “keeping up with the family.” But he stole my thunder. He confided that Grandpa had ‘visited’ him that morning too.  He thought he’d imagined it but my experience substantiated his own. I love that Grandpa allowed me to ‘feel’ where he is. Wherever it is, whatever it is, it’s real. And it’s amazing.

I’ll leave you with a picture.

They needed someone with an infant to play Mary at our town’s annual Nativity Scene. This photo has always intrigued me…not sure what the bright thing is over my shoulder. But I know it ain’t dust.

More later.


Reluctant Psychic

I hesitate to call being psychic a ‘gift’ because ‘gift’ implies I’ve got something you don’t. And that is not the case. We all have intuition. But like any other skill, some are just more adept than others. I mean, we can all add but it doesn’t mean we’re good at math, right? Same thing here, we are all intuitive but most people don’t pay attention.

For anyone already tuning me out, I ask mothers out there: Do you not know when your child’s up to no good, whether you’re with them or not? For anyone out there, can you not walk into a silent room and feel there’s been an argument? We’ve all had the distinct feeling that something good or bad was about to happen, right? And were you not right?

I already know the answer to the above questions, so please hear me out.

I realize “psychic” is a loaded word to a lot of people, especially in the Bible belt. But call it what you will: intuition, ESP, telepathy, discernment of the spirit . . . whatever. It’s the same thing. What we do with this ability determines its being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ . . . but this isn’t a lesson on semantics so I’ll get to that another day. This is about my experiences as an intuitive woman. I’m going to share my ghost stories with you and perhaps more importantly, my angel stories. Five years ago I thought angels were Biblical lore. I was wrong.

I promise to tell you the truth. I will embellish nothing. Ladies and gentlemen, this is non-fiction. I do not think everything can be explained by science, math, or man’s interpretation of God’s word. So I come to you with no explanation, only a lifetime of proof that we are not alone. I’m not talking aliens, I’m talking God.

And all this started before I was one year old.