I first began keeping a journal in 1975—a lifetime ago, it seems. This written record of my life has allowed me to see the pattern of events that comprise this strange history of mine. There were the big events—like the poltergeist phenomena I witnessed, or the extraordinary people I met. But there were also so many small, uncanny occurrences that would have been unrecognized or forgotten if I hadn’t kept a journal.
The thing that amazes me most is just how often my dreams, hunches and feelings turned out to be precognitive (predictive of future events). There were numerous instances when I would get the feeling that someone was going to call or write or visit soon, and they would. There were also a number of occasions when I would have an intense dream of my ex-boyfriend—only to run into him within the next day or two. This didn’t happen every time I dreamed about him, but most of the time, I could feel when the dreams would be precognitive.
Once, during one of my meditations, I “saw” an image of a group of people in wheelchairs. Little did I know that I would later get a job in a nursing home, something I never expected to do. I became quite close with the residents of that home, many of whom were in wheelchairs. Another amazing incident: a full 6 years before I met my husband, I made a note of his name in my journal and wrote, “He’s coming! Yes!” Imagine his astonishment when, after we’d been married for a while, I showed him that old entry with his name in it!
Sometimes my precognitions could be a bit chilling, too. The ones that stand out most involve my father. For a couple of weeks before his death at the age of 53, I felt a distinct sense of his energy ebbing away—even though his health didn’t appear to be worsening. On the night before he died, I found myself lying in bed wondering what our family would do if we lost him. Then, on the day he passed away, I began to have a cold, pervasive feeling of something being terribly wrong. At 4 PM, the time he died, I felt a strange, disorienting jolt, like time going awry—and the van I was traveling in with a group of nursing-home residents nearly crashed into the vehicle in front of us. To make the story even stranger, I found out later that, around the time of my father’s death, a close friend of mine also had a premonition. She was napping, and she dreamed about a man who was cut down in the street by a speeding car. He resembled my father, and she woke up with the horrible feeling that something might have happened to him.
With all this strange history behind me, how could I not believe in a sixth sense? I’m not sure where psychic ability comes from, but I think all we humans have it, to some degree; it’s part of the great, complex mystery of who we are. Maybe that’s why writing about things psychic—in my novels, journals, and blog entries—is such a passion of mine. It’s the mysteries in life that really fascinate me and ignite my imagination. How about you?
