My Private World
The world I live in is a very private world. Though I rarely speak of it, it does exist somewhere between metaphysics, religion and psychic experiences. I can relate to moving between metaphysics and religion, to be comfortable with both and to be aware of the similarity between them. But the psychic is a very different story.
I’ve known so many things that sound strange to others. Deaths at the moment of death, accidents right after they’ve happened and welcoming ghosts of my departed loved ones. Does that not sound strange? Of course, and yet I think it happens to many. Though I’ve often wondered why the knowledge is usually alarming and very rarely comfortable.
For example. My uncle Bobby and I were raised together. He was my mother’s brother and was born six months after my birth. We both experienced pre-World War II and the later war years. He became an army pilot and I worked as an inspector and editor in the aerospace industry. He went off to England. I lived with my family in San Diego. Then I married while he flew fighter planes over Europe.
I was very young, so was my husband. Young enough to be drafted into the Navy. Yes, they did draft into all military during World War II. I felt so fortunate that he was in boot camp here in San Diego and I waited impatiently for his first leave. Finally, on the 4th of July he received a pass to leave the base. We traveled to Chula Vista (about thirty miles from home) to have dinner with his family. On the return trip he began feeling ill. So I stopped at the first drug store to buy medication that might help him, asked for water from the pharmacist and walked out the door. I took two steps, looked up at the sky and became frozen in terror. In the sky were many, many white doves circling around a plane in flames that was falling to the ground. When I reached the car I was sobbing. My husband asked what was wrong, and I answered, “Bobby’s dead.”
The first telegram the family received stated that Lieutenant Bob B. Bobrof was “Missing in Action”. I knew we had lost him but the hope that the rest of the family displayed broke my heart. The second telegram, several weeks later, announced his death. His plane was shot down over Tours, France on July 4th.
It is interesting that my children accepted these strange insights. I think they really believed that I was a witch (which is the case for many mothers who seem to see from behind). They heard stories of my being at my friend’s home when the telephone rang and while it was being answered, I asked, “What has happened to my grandmother?” She had been crossing a boulevard and was hit by an oncoming car. Fortunately she survived.
Or when they also heard about my directing a play, in a social hall, and the double doors behind me swung open. I turned to see a police officer, walked quickly toward him and asked, “What happened to my son.” After verifying that I was indeed Mrs. Dennis, he explained that during the Boy Scout field trip Bruce had missed the log with his small hatchet and hit his leg. He was in emergency, but all right and ready to go home. I’m afraid incidents like these gave my very young children reason to believe.
The fact that my children had faith in me proved to be vital when my son and his friends planned a summer getaway. Bruce and his friend Harvey along with two other boys had spent the summer as a musical quartet, playing for parties and dances. They had all graduated High School, were to about to enter college and before returning to school they decided to take a trip to Big Bear City to relax and have fun.
I woke up early that morning, before Bruce was to leave. I woke with the knowledge that I had to stop his going. That he must not go. He looked up when I entered his room and I said, “You know Bruce that all your life I have wanted you to enjoy and have wonderful times. But this time I must beg you not to go.” For some incredible reason he responded with “They’ll be here soon, Mom. What will I tell them.” I replied, “Tell them that you need to go to work with me today. That you need the money for college.”
The boys arrived in an open bed small truck. I tried to suggest that Harvey not go if Bruce wasn’t going. (I just couldn’t stop them all) Harvey was determined about going and they left. Bruce went to work with me and approached my desk a few hours later with tears in his eyes. He explained that the plan had been for two boys to drive and two to sit in the open bed. That would have been him and Harvey on the way up and the other boys on the way down. As they drove the Rim of the World Highway, leading to Big Bear, they hit a soft shoulder and the truck rolled over Harvey killing him instantly. I was so sad for Bruce’s loss of his friend, and so grateful for my psychic awareness.
A very sad happening was the death of my daughter-in-law’s father. Her mother and father, Lolita and Harold Schwartz, were on a cruise celebrating Lolita’s retirement. At dinner one evening her father said that he didn’t feel well. They returned to the cabin where he laid down on the bed and died. That night I was visiting friends at a distance from home when my brother called to say that Schwartzy (most people called her father by that name) had died. I returned home close to midnight. Too late to call Debby and Bruce. I would wait until morning.
When I entered my home I walked to my bedroom at the end of the hall. Found that everything was all right until I got near my bed. A strange smell surrounded the bed. I moved into my adjoining bath. No odor. I moved down the hall. Still no odor. I returned to the bed and the odor was strong. I stopped for a moment and then I knew he was there.
“Schwartzy,” I said, “I know you are here and I understand. You did not have time to say goodbye to Debby or to tell he how much you love her. She knows, but I will tell her that you came and that I promised to say it for you. Be at peace because I also promise you that for as long as I live I will always be there for her.” The odor left slowly, as though a sigh of relief.
The next morning I called Debby, spoke to her for a while and before we hung up I asked, “Did your father ever use anything like Bengay or Icy-Hot or any analgesic?” “How did you know?” she questioned, “My mother rubbed Icy-Hot on his shoulders every day before he went to work.” I could then tell her what had occurred and was able to send to her, her father’s love. How blessed I was that he chose me and that she understood.
I have had many psychic experiences and strangely, a white dove has accompanied any death. With the death of Papa and the white dove, that only I saw on the roof, I have always known in advance when death was near. What does that mean? What does the white dove represent? I don’t know. Perhaps, one day, I will understand.
I’ve known so many things that sound strange to others. Deaths at the moment of death, accidents right after they’ve happened and welcoming ghosts of my departed loved ones. Does that not sound strange? Of course, and yet I think it happens to many. Though I’ve often wondered why the knowledge is usually alarming and very rarely comfortable.
For example. My uncle Bobby and I were raised together. He was my mother’s brother and was born six months after my birth. We both experienced pre-World War II and the later war years. He became an army pilot and I worked as an inspector and editor in the aerospace industry. He went off to England. I lived with my family in San Diego. Then I married while he flew fighter planes over Europe.
I was very young, so was my husband. Young enough to be drafted into the Navy. Yes, they did draft into all military during World War II. I felt so fortunate that he was in boot camp here in San Diego and I waited impatiently for his first leave. Finally, on the 4th of July he received a pass to leave the base. We traveled to Chula Vista (about thirty miles from home) to have dinner with his family. On the return trip he began feeling ill. So I stopped at the first drug store to buy medication that might help him, asked for water from the pharmacist and walked out the door. I took two steps, looked up at the sky and became frozen in terror. In the sky were many, many white doves circling around a plane in flames that was falling to the ground. When I reached the car I was sobbing. My husband asked what was wrong, and I answered, “Bobby’s dead.”
The first telegram the family received stated that Lieutenant Bob B. Bobrof was “Missing in Action”. I knew we had lost him but the hope that the rest of the family displayed broke my heart. The second telegram, several weeks later, announced his death. His plane was shot down over Tours, France on July 4th.
It is interesting that my children accepted these strange insights. I think they really believed that I was a witch (which is the case for many mothers who seem to see from behind). They heard stories of my being at my friend’s home when the telephone rang and while it was being answered, I asked, “What has happened to my grandmother?” She had been crossing a boulevard and was hit by an oncoming car. Fortunately she survived.
Or when they also heard about my directing a play, in a social hall, and the double doors behind me swung open. I turned to see a police officer, walked quickly toward him and asked, “What happened to my son.” After verifying that I was indeed Mrs. Dennis, he explained that during the Boy Scout field trip Bruce had missed the log with his small hatchet and hit his leg. He was in emergency, but all right and ready to go home. I’m afraid incidents like these gave my very young children reason to believe.
The fact that my children had faith in me proved to be vital when my son and his friends planned a summer getaway. Bruce and his friend Harvey along with two other boys had spent the summer as a musical quartet, playing for parties and dances. They had all graduated High School, were to about to enter college and before returning to school they decided to take a trip to Big Bear City to relax and have fun.
I woke up early that morning, before Bruce was to leave. I woke with the knowledge that I had to stop his going. That he must not go. He looked up when I entered his room and I said, “You know Bruce that all your life I have wanted you to enjoy and have wonderful times. But this time I must beg you not to go.” For some incredible reason he responded with “They’ll be here soon, Mom. What will I tell them.” I replied, “Tell them that you need to go to work with me today. That you need the money for college.”
The boys arrived in an open bed small truck. I tried to suggest that Harvey not go if Bruce wasn’t going. (I just couldn’t stop them all) Harvey was determined about going and they left. Bruce went to work with me and approached my desk a few hours later with tears in his eyes. He explained that the plan had been for two boys to drive and two to sit in the open bed. That would have been him and Harvey on the way up and the other boys on the way down. As they drove the Rim of the World Highway, leading to Big Bear, they hit a soft shoulder and the truck rolled over Harvey killing him instantly. I was so sad for Bruce’s loss of his friend, and so grateful for my psychic awareness.
A very sad happening was the death of my daughter-in-law’s father. Her mother and father, Lolita and Harold Schwartz, were on a cruise celebrating Lolita’s retirement. At dinner one evening her father said that he didn’t feel well. They returned to the cabin where he laid down on the bed and died. That night I was visiting friends at a distance from home when my brother called to say that Schwartzy (most people called her father by that name) had died. I returned home close to midnight. Too late to call Debby and Bruce. I would wait until morning.
When I entered my home I walked to my bedroom at the end of the hall. Found that everything was all right until I got near my bed. A strange smell surrounded the bed. I moved into my adjoining bath. No odor. I moved down the hall. Still no odor. I returned to the bed and the odor was strong. I stopped for a moment and then I knew he was there.
“Schwartzy,” I said, “I know you are here and I understand. You did not have time to say goodbye to Debby or to tell he how much you love her. She knows, but I will tell her that you came and that I promised to say it for you. Be at peace because I also promise you that for as long as I live I will always be there for her.” The odor left slowly, as though a sigh of relief.
The next morning I called Debby, spoke to her for a while and before we hung up I asked, “Did your father ever use anything like Bengay or Icy-Hot or any analgesic?” “How did you know?” she questioned, “My mother rubbed Icy-Hot on his shoulders every day before he went to work.” I could then tell her what had occurred and was able to send to her, her father’s love. How blessed I was that he chose me and that she understood.
I have had many psychic experiences and strangely, a white dove has accompanied any death. With the death of Papa and the white dove, that only I saw on the roof, I have always known in advance when death was near. What does that mean? What does the white dove represent? I don’t know. Perhaps, one day, I will understand.
Hi Vailia,
ReplyDeleteMy name is Jane and I'm with Dwellable.
I was looking for blogs about Big Bear City to share on our site and I came across your post...If you're open to it, shoot me an email at jane(at)dwellable(dot)com.
Hope to hear from you :)
Jane