Journal Entry
Thursday 11/25/2004
Thanksgiving Day
Afternoon
Max’s brother used to call him Toad. It had a way of sticking. In fact, one Christmas I bought Max a little light-up toad for his jacket. He even deigned to wear it when he was in the mood. And we ordered “Mistletoads” labels for all our Christmas cards. Toads had become a delightful way of celebrating our lives.
Then, one day we were telling each other stories about some of the shenanigans we got into when we were kids. Max confessed that one time when he was no more than a tyke, he did something “just plain stupid.” Of course, he did this thing because his parents had told him never to do it.
He had been playing a game of, “I wonder what would happen if….” and, as if to challenge the very laws of nature, he stuck his tongue up against an icy pole. Well, needless to say, his tongue stuck to it. That must have been spine-chilling enough. But, to make matters worse, the boy soon realized that no one was around to help him “unstick” it.
What a quandary for such a small child. What could he possibly do?
Well, before long, Max figured out that whenever he exhaled, the warmth of his breath melted some of the ice. And in minutes (seeming like hours) he was finally able to retract his tongue without undue suffering… except perhaps for the indignity of it all when he finally told his parents about the ordeal.
*****
So today, I’m sipping a mocha coffee, my Thanksgiving dessert, while watching a Muppet movie. And what, or who, should appear on screen? Why, it’s a tiny toad. But the poor little fellow is crying for Kermit’s assistance. Due to toady’s miniscule size, I am barely able to make him out. It seems he is saying something like this: “Ermie, elp ee! Elp ee, ermie!” He moans but to no avail. Then, as the camera rolls in, I finally catch a glimpse of the toad in full view.
But alas, the little guy’s tongue is stuck to something.
No, it can’t be.
Yes, it is.
A pole, an icy pole.
I’m “losing it,” coffee backfiring through my nostrils, splattering all over my jeans. I grab a heap of napkins from the table and shout, “Wow!”
“It’s like déjà vu,” I cackle, catching dribs and drabs of coffee straight away.
Then, in a flash, comes a high-spirited sound… like from where, another dimension?
Regardless, the words are clear and strong: Luv, it’s like déjà went! he cries.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
What is The Hope and the Knowing?
The Hope and the Knowing is an upcoming book written by Mandy Berlin. Her journal manuscript contains a chronological account of paranormal and supernatural happenings which began just hours after the death of Max Blau, the author’s husband. Along with the mind-blowing and sometimes miraculous events witnessed by the author, she details a number of bizarre and inexplicable occurrences reported to her by mutual friends and loved ones dear to Max. Ms. Berlin, a former agnostic and research scientist, has kept a fastidious and comprehensive account of episodic data. She refers to a phenomenon as an event, beginning with those that happened the night of Max’s departure, December 23, 2003, and ending with the incredible event that occurred on the first anniversary of his death.
Through research and review conducted after the occurrences of these uncanny activities, Ms. Berlin learned that the phenomena she and her cohorts observed, heard or perceived tended to cluster qualitatively into a number of classes. These categories include but are not limited to: the physical movement of objects in and around rooms; numinous dreams; apparitions and other spirit encounters; synchronicities; automatic writing; the movement of rare coins; object alteration; electrical demonstrations and electrical breakdowns; third eye phenomena; spirit communications received through clairvoyance, clairaudience and clairsentience; astral travel; guide communications; validation of an event through event repetition; and the discovery of validating written records after the occurrence of the significant event. The writer examines these and other topics in the sections that follow key events. These sections, labeled Post Scripts, are reserved for post-event research and review where she offers explanations and an interpretation of the event in question.
Although the time frame of Ms. Berlin’s book is December of 2003 through 2004, the paranormal, supernatural and synchronistic happenings have gone far beyond the boundaries of one journal year. Surprisingly, the rate of occurrence increased in 2005 and 2006, especially with respect to synchronistic activities. She attributes this fact, in part, to an increased focus on event recording over time. The author believes she lost track of some of the paranormal happenings just after her husband died, because she either misplaced her notes or neglected to record them in the face of such awesome activity. Although Mandy’s incredible encounters with Max have not been as frequent as in the early years, they do happen from time to time, notably on special occasions. For this reason, she has staunchly continued to document rare and unusual events, even into the year 2010.
Author’s note: To protect my friends, loved ones and colleagues, I have changed their names in my forthcoming journal. However, I assure you that no character nor story in this book is fictitious. Each and every incident documented in The Hope and the Knowing is true to the best of my ability to capture and record the quintessence of a phenomenological event.
Through research and review conducted after the occurrences of these uncanny activities, Ms. Berlin learned that the phenomena she and her cohorts observed, heard or perceived tended to cluster qualitatively into a number of classes. These categories include but are not limited to: the physical movement of objects in and around rooms; numinous dreams; apparitions and other spirit encounters; synchronicities; automatic writing; the movement of rare coins; object alteration; electrical demonstrations and electrical breakdowns; third eye phenomena; spirit communications received through clairvoyance, clairaudience and clairsentience; astral travel; guide communications; validation of an event through event repetition; and the discovery of validating written records after the occurrence of the significant event. The writer examines these and other topics in the sections that follow key events. These sections, labeled Post Scripts, are reserved for post-event research and review where she offers explanations and an interpretation of the event in question.
Although the time frame of Ms. Berlin’s book is December of 2003 through 2004, the paranormal, supernatural and synchronistic happenings have gone far beyond the boundaries of one journal year. Surprisingly, the rate of occurrence increased in 2005 and 2006, especially with respect to synchronistic activities. She attributes this fact, in part, to an increased focus on event recording over time. The author believes she lost track of some of the paranormal happenings just after her husband died, because she either misplaced her notes or neglected to record them in the face of such awesome activity. Although Mandy’s incredible encounters with Max have not been as frequent as in the early years, they do happen from time to time, notably on special occasions. For this reason, she has staunchly continued to document rare and unusual events, even into the year 2010.
Author’s note: To protect my friends, loved ones and colleagues, I have changed their names in my forthcoming journal. However, I assure you that no character nor story in this book is fictitious. Each and every incident documented in The Hope and the Knowing is true to the best of my ability to capture and record the quintessence of a phenomenological event.
Dumb Animals?
I’m taking a break from my book postings to tell you a story about something that happened last week:
Wednesday 11/24/10
Around 2:00 p.m.
Some say cats are just dumb animals, but I’m here to tell you that 'ain’t' the case.
The day before Thanksgiving, I’m in the mood to meditate but I’m also feeling tired, what with all the rushing around before the holiday. Then, around two o’clock, I can’t seem to stop yawning and start to think it would be great to break all protocol and meditate lying down. (Maybe not a good idea to try this at home. Otherwise you might miss your meditation altogether.)
Tiggi (my cat pictured at bottom of blog) is sunning herself on the love seat as I pull up some stones I bought for meditating. Remember, stones are derived from the energy of the earth. Just as uranium emits powerful frequencies of radiation, stones emit varying energy frequencies. Today my objective is to clear the chakras or energy points of the body, especially those in my throat (thyroid gland) and the frontal lobe (third eye area; seat of the soul). For those who don’t go in for that kind of stuff, simply think of the breathing process involved in meditation and the intense focus on specific areas of the body. The mental concentration along with deep-breathing tend to have a stimulating effect on the thyroid gland while clearing the brain/mind to receive more information.
So I lie down on the couch and put a rose quartz pyramid stone on my forehead, centered just above my eyebrows. I’m sure you can imagine how funny that must look to an outside observer. Nevermind… getting into it, I center a polished green malachite at the base of my neck. Malachite is a lucky stone that aids in sleep, as I am soon to find out. I had temporarily misplaced my all-purpose quartz stone, so I decide to use malachite because of its intense energy properties. Used properly, malachite guards against radiation of all kinds, making it appropriate for a low-functioning thyroid.
Soon I begin the deep breathing process and focus on the malachite and my throat. Feeling good… and in a little while… my alpha brain wave state streams into delta and I drift into a twilight sleep. Sorry to say, I never even had a chance to focus on my forehead or the pink pyramid, but you see, my state of bliss is already complete. So what do I care?
Then, from nowhere, I hear a bleating sound like a goat. Once more, I’m wide awake. But the stones are rearranged all cockeyed and I don’t want them to fall. So I fiddle around with them until they’re dead center again. Lying there, I’m thinking, “Did that sound really come from a cat?”
In next to no time, I sense the warmth of a small body as Tiggi’s head converges on the target; wriggling nose about two inches from my face. I glance slightly to my right to find her eyes moving back and forth from the pointy pyramid… to the malachite stone… and back to the pink quartz again. Soon her green eyes grow nearly as large as the verdant malachite as she releases the eeriest vilification I’ve ever heard coming from the bowels of a cat:
“What the heck are you doing, you strange person?!” She hisses. (Well, that's to put it mildly.)
The stones fall to the floor because I’m no longer able to contain my belly laugh. “Tigg, it’s alright!” I hoot and pick her up and give her a thorough brushing. “See, mommy’s just having a little fun!”
Now Sweet Stripes is purring in my lap, and life is fine once more.
Wednesday 11/24/10
Around 2:00 p.m.
Some say cats are just dumb animals, but I’m here to tell you that 'ain’t' the case.
The day before Thanksgiving, I’m in the mood to meditate but I’m also feeling tired, what with all the rushing around before the holiday. Then, around two o’clock, I can’t seem to stop yawning and start to think it would be great to break all protocol and meditate lying down. (Maybe not a good idea to try this at home. Otherwise you might miss your meditation altogether.)
Tiggi (my cat pictured at bottom of blog) is sunning herself on the love seat as I pull up some stones I bought for meditating. Remember, stones are derived from the energy of the earth. Just as uranium emits powerful frequencies of radiation, stones emit varying energy frequencies. Today my objective is to clear the chakras or energy points of the body, especially those in my throat (thyroid gland) and the frontal lobe (third eye area; seat of the soul). For those who don’t go in for that kind of stuff, simply think of the breathing process involved in meditation and the intense focus on specific areas of the body. The mental concentration along with deep-breathing tend to have a stimulating effect on the thyroid gland while clearing the brain/mind to receive more information.
So I lie down on the couch and put a rose quartz pyramid stone on my forehead, centered just above my eyebrows. I’m sure you can imagine how funny that must look to an outside observer. Nevermind… getting into it, I center a polished green malachite at the base of my neck. Malachite is a lucky stone that aids in sleep, as I am soon to find out. I had temporarily misplaced my all-purpose quartz stone, so I decide to use malachite because of its intense energy properties. Used properly, malachite guards against radiation of all kinds, making it appropriate for a low-functioning thyroid.
Soon I begin the deep breathing process and focus on the malachite and my throat. Feeling good… and in a little while… my alpha brain wave state streams into delta and I drift into a twilight sleep. Sorry to say, I never even had a chance to focus on my forehead or the pink pyramid, but you see, my state of bliss is already complete. So what do I care?
Then, from nowhere, I hear a bleating sound like a goat. Once more, I’m wide awake. But the stones are rearranged all cockeyed and I don’t want them to fall. So I fiddle around with them until they’re dead center again. Lying there, I’m thinking, “Did that sound really come from a cat?”
In next to no time, I sense the warmth of a small body as Tiggi’s head converges on the target; wriggling nose about two inches from my face. I glance slightly to my right to find her eyes moving back and forth from the pointy pyramid… to the malachite stone… and back to the pink quartz again. Soon her green eyes grow nearly as large as the verdant malachite as she releases the eeriest vilification I’ve ever heard coming from the bowels of a cat:
“What the heck are you doing, you strange person?!” She hisses. (Well, that's to put it mildly.)
The stones fall to the floor because I’m no longer able to contain my belly laugh. “Tigg, it’s alright!” I hoot and pick her up and give her a thorough brushing. “See, mommy’s just having a little fun!”
Now Sweet Stripes is purring in my lap, and life is fine once more.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
INCESSANT MURMUR SURROUNDS MY BED
Journal Entry
Sunday 11/21/2004
At 6:45 a.m.
In a twilight sleep, I’m hugging a lump of something. Snoozing and waking, I’m inclined to think it’s Max. “I’m sorry I lost you,” I say as tears stream down my cheeks and onto fluffy pillows. A cheery hum fills the room, and in a little while, I come to the cosmic conclusion that the chirp is emanating from an animal of a different sort. Lifting my head nary an inch, I find myself sniffing the shiny mane of a black cat.
“Oh Allie!” I say, snorting and wiping fine hair from my mouth. As if put out, she lets out a high-pitched cry. So I stroke her ear and say, “There there, sweetie, it’s alright.” In a little while, she hangs loose and I pull her close to me. Soon we’re off and away once more.
But not for long. Now something else is trying hard to disrupt that dreamy state of consciousness I so rightly deserve. I groan, realizing I won’t get that extra Sunday snooze after all; for an incessant murmur seems to be surrounding my bed like a high-pitched electromagnetic charge.
Where is this infernal noise coming from? I put my ear up to my little one’s head and she gives me a sideways glance, like hey dude, what’s happening? Her purring has stopped yet the maddening drone persists. I close my eyes.
Before long, I’m able to make out the familiar timbre of it all. Max. And in a flash, an echo as his thoughts stream to the forefront of my brain:
You haven’t lost anything, and you have gained so much more:
in love and compassion, in insight into What Is; into All That Is!
*****
I sigh and breathe into fluffy pillows and relish my dear one’s sentiments for as long as I can without losing them. Then I turn to the end table where I (now) keep pad and pen. Quickly, I scribble his words down on paper for posterity, and maybe with a little luck, for all time.
Sunday 11/21/2004
At 6:45 a.m.
In a twilight sleep, I’m hugging a lump of something. Snoozing and waking, I’m inclined to think it’s Max. “I’m sorry I lost you,” I say as tears stream down my cheeks and onto fluffy pillows. A cheery hum fills the room, and in a little while, I come to the cosmic conclusion that the chirp is emanating from an animal of a different sort. Lifting my head nary an inch, I find myself sniffing the shiny mane of a black cat.
“Oh Allie!” I say, snorting and wiping fine hair from my mouth. As if put out, she lets out a high-pitched cry. So I stroke her ear and say, “There there, sweetie, it’s alright.” In a little while, she hangs loose and I pull her close to me. Soon we’re off and away once more.
But not for long. Now something else is trying hard to disrupt that dreamy state of consciousness I so rightly deserve. I groan, realizing I won’t get that extra Sunday snooze after all; for an incessant murmur seems to be surrounding my bed like a high-pitched electromagnetic charge.
Where is this infernal noise coming from? I put my ear up to my little one’s head and she gives me a sideways glance, like hey dude, what’s happening? Her purring has stopped yet the maddening drone persists. I close my eyes.
Before long, I’m able to make out the familiar timbre of it all. Max. And in a flash, an echo as his thoughts stream to the forefront of my brain:
You haven’t lost anything, and you have gained so much more:
in love and compassion, in insight into What Is; into All That Is!
*****
I sigh and breathe into fluffy pillows and relish my dear one’s sentiments for as long as I can without losing them. Then I turn to the end table where I (now) keep pad and pen. Quickly, I scribble his words down on paper for posterity, and maybe with a little luck, for all time.
Monday, November 15, 2010
VIVID DREAM OF MAX
Journal Entry
Friday 10/22/2004
Half Moon
Around 6:00 a.m.
I had another amazing dream. Well, not just a dream, more like a vision. In this vivid trance, I saw Max dressed in grey as he broke through the front door of our home. Frantically, he called out my name, “Mandy!”
“Mandy, where are you? I can’t see you!”
Awestruck by his wild appearance, I tried to speak or at least say his name. Yet, suddenly, I seemed to have lost my faculties.
At this point, Max became frenetic, pacing back and forth… roaring from the rafters like Panthera onca, “Mandy!”
“Where did you go? I need you!”
Though I wanted to speak, I was mute in the dream. Yet, I wanted and so needed to be there for him. And with that thought, came a sudden ability to scream, “Max, I’m here!”
“Over here!” I cried, running toward him. Our eyes met, like we had achieved some kind of lock-on delirium. He made a lunge for my body and raised me up to his corporeal being. In the dream, he seemed real, like a spirit who had a living, breathing body.
There, at the landing, we held each other in desperation. “Mandy, I’m so sorry,” Max said sadly. “I won’t leave you again.”
“I promise.”
“Max,” I sighed, relieved just to hold him again – and to hear his sweet, soulful sound. Yet, perhaps because I was afraid he might evaporate into thin air, I would not, could not, loosen the grip I had on his arm. He had left me before – in death, that is – and I wasn’t about to let that happen again.
Standing still, it seemed I could read his thoughts and sense his every emotion. As I held him close, I let the water from my eyes bathe his aching heart and soothe his restless soul. Before long, I understood, all these months he had been just as weary as I. Nevertheless, I wasn’t worried, because I knew that together we would find peace and wholeness again, even in a dream….
Hand in hand, like children we drifted out to a captivating Land of cascades, sea green gardens and trickling waterways where every enchanting wish comes true. A breathtaking sense of delight washed over my body, mind and spirit. Falling further and further into a state I can only describe as freedom and joy, at last, I loosened the vice grip I had on my darling’s hand. I certainly didn’t need to hold him so tight… for my consciousness, my entire being began to merge with his as we moved into a state of harmony… into a synchronous state of divinity… a place of endless bliss where we carry on together though physically apart.
*****
What a downer waking up can be. It is at first, but ultimately I know it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is the vision… more real than life itself.
Friday 10/22/2004
Half Moon
Around 6:00 a.m.
I had another amazing dream. Well, not just a dream, more like a vision. In this vivid trance, I saw Max dressed in grey as he broke through the front door of our home. Frantically, he called out my name, “Mandy!”
“Mandy, where are you? I can’t see you!”
Awestruck by his wild appearance, I tried to speak or at least say his name. Yet, suddenly, I seemed to have lost my faculties.
At this point, Max became frenetic, pacing back and forth… roaring from the rafters like Panthera onca, “Mandy!”
“Where did you go? I need you!”
Though I wanted to speak, I was mute in the dream. Yet, I wanted and so needed to be there for him. And with that thought, came a sudden ability to scream, “Max, I’m here!”
“Over here!” I cried, running toward him. Our eyes met, like we had achieved some kind of lock-on delirium. He made a lunge for my body and raised me up to his corporeal being. In the dream, he seemed real, like a spirit who had a living, breathing body.
There, at the landing, we held each other in desperation. “Mandy, I’m so sorry,” Max said sadly. “I won’t leave you again.”
“I promise.”
“Max,” I sighed, relieved just to hold him again – and to hear his sweet, soulful sound. Yet, perhaps because I was afraid he might evaporate into thin air, I would not, could not, loosen the grip I had on his arm. He had left me before – in death, that is – and I wasn’t about to let that happen again.
Standing still, it seemed I could read his thoughts and sense his every emotion. As I held him close, I let the water from my eyes bathe his aching heart and soothe his restless soul. Before long, I understood, all these months he had been just as weary as I. Nevertheless, I wasn’t worried, because I knew that together we would find peace and wholeness again, even in a dream….
Hand in hand, like children we drifted out to a captivating Land of cascades, sea green gardens and trickling waterways where every enchanting wish comes true. A breathtaking sense of delight washed over my body, mind and spirit. Falling further and further into a state I can only describe as freedom and joy, at last, I loosened the vice grip I had on my darling’s hand. I certainly didn’t need to hold him so tight… for my consciousness, my entire being began to merge with his as we moved into a state of harmony… into a synchronous state of divinity… a place of endless bliss where we carry on together though physically apart.
*****
What a downer waking up can be. It is at first, but ultimately I know it doesn’t matter.
All that matters is the vision… more real than life itself.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
THE ETHEREAL EYE
Journal Entry
Saturday 10/23/2004
Around 6:45 a.m.
I woke up to discover the “ethereal eye” in the center of my visual field. When I first noticed it, my eyes were closed. Nevertheless, I have seen this eye in the past as recorded in my journal entry of 6/3, for instance. Sometimes the eye “pops up” as I meditate or as I first awaken.
I find this eye to be mystifying and, at times, entertaining. Sometimes it blinks or moves around in my visual field, but mostly, it remains centered with eyes closed. I have been perplexed and often wonder what is causing it to appear. What does it all mean? I do not know. Prior to February, I had never experienced anything like this.
*****
The eye was certainly a new and rather wild discovery for me back in 2004 when my intuitive side first began to open up.
How would you interpret the eye?
My Post Script for this entry will be forthcoming, on or before Halloween. Check back with me then AND SEE............
Mandy
ETHEREAL EYE - Post Script 1 - Posted on The Feast of All Souls, October 31, 2010
Searching for an answer to my “ethereal eye” encounter, I again broke silence and shared my experience with a few friends. I even discussed it with my work partner, Fred. For a number of years, Fred and I had consulted together on many government projects involving statistical analysis and the technical writing of manuscripts. Along with Steve, our trusty data warehouse guy, we presented our research results to a number of government directors over time.
I found Fred and Steve to be affable, analytical, and work-oriented sorts of fellows. Nevertheless, I also knew that when we weren’t busy blasting out statistical reports, Fred seemed to enjoy talking about non-technical matters and sometimes even topics of a more curious nature. As an all-around guy, he seemed to know a little bit about everything. And so, along with being a friend I could confide in, Fred had become a great source of information for me. For these reasons, I didn’t think it odd to tell him about my eye encounters.
So I told Fred about this vision, and like a seasoned doctor, he nodded as if he had already heard of the eye phenomenon. He said, “I think you’re experiences might be related to the third eye.”
Suddenly, the room began to swirl and something caught in my throat. Though I remembered watching a show about that on TV a long time ago, it was just too creepy. Quickly, I shook my head and changed the subject.
I see now that Fred’s suggestion was just too much for me to deal with back then.
Later on, I talked to another trusted friend on a different angle that had been swirling around my head for weeks on end: maybe Max is sending me signals in the form of an eye. Perhaps I’m receiving images through mental telepathy, i.e., thought forms or pictures from spirit. Is he trying to tell me something important? Like, “Hey, watch yourself!” or “Wait and see what happens next.”
Now it was Tara’s turn to shake her head. “Nah, too far-fetched,” was all she said as she lit another cigarette. She’d been gaining quite a reputation for her right-on reports. On the other hand, she still had to live down her crazy past with that motorcycle papa she married, who by the way, was really a nice guy. However, Tara’s new nickname, Wild Child, stuck. You see, Fred always teased her with it. Soon, everyone in the department was calling her Wild Child.
Honestly, I doubt she cared.
Nevertheless, I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable about revealing too much, even to Wild Child. “Oh well, just thought I’d bounce that doozy off you and see where it lands, ha, ha.” I never did let on that I still believed that because of all I’d seen, heard and sensed over the last ten months, Max might be trying to send images to my brain.
Was I overwrought? Well, weary yes, but so much had happened that was unfathomable, at least in human terms. Soon, I was beginning to think that there are absolutely no limitations, in terms of life and death possibility – or even probability. Therefore, nothing I could conceive seemed too strange. As a statistician and research scientist, that was certainly a new stance for me.
Before long, a new madcap question came to mind: is Max attempting to give me more information about his 1993 eye accident? This, in itself, was a hair-raising experience. About seven months after our wedding day and two weeks before Christmas, Max injured his eye. Earlier that morning, he had been designing a fire safety system at his place of business. In the process, he realized he needed some important codes from an engineering notebook, the one he had left in his truck. So he got up and went to the parking lot to retrieve it.
As he walked back to the office, he opened his notebook to search for the necessary codes. Reading and walking, reading and walking… I am sure he was just trying to be efficient. I admired how Max would often devised ways of getting his job done before the due date, and with such high precision. And, for this project, the due date was fast approaching. So, book in hand, he moved quickly and as he glanced up, he ran his eye into the corner of the open rear window of a truck.
Max nearly lost it -- his eye, that is. Minutes later, I received the word. I dashed from my office to his and drove him to his ophthalmologist’s where the staff was waiting kindly to receive him. I felt awful for my husband, in so much pain. I was also worried he might lose his eye. Yet, amazingly following the doctor’s swift treatment and three (very long) nights of moaning, Max’s eye began to heal. In the end, he regained every bit of his sight. From this harrowing experience, Max and I both learned that the healing properties of the human eye are nothing short of extraordinary.
And so, when I first caught a glimpse of the ethereal eye in February of 2004, it occurred to me that this might be a new way – and a new thing – for Max to communicate to me.
One thought follows another. Soon, I began to wonder if that freak eye accident had somehow caused the cancer which spread so insidiously through Max’s body. Is this what he was trying to say by projecting the image of an eye? In 2003, the doctors had found malignant tumors in Max’s neck, head and upper torso. Perhaps, I thought, the cancer had first formed in his eye and then spread to his head and neck. This would be possible if any metal, glass or other window bits remained in his eye, only to travel to other parts of the body. I was aware that malignancies often result from toxicity, i.e., such as the contaminants of metal and glass.
Nevertheless, Wild Child’s unassuming words came to mind. Before long, this idea began to sound far-fetched as well.
Post Script 2
Since those early, probing years, I have come full circle – back to the third eye hypothesis first posed by Fred. I must say, it took close to three years of mind-blowing change to even begin to accept the third eye, not only as a concept but as a way of life; of seeing and sensing things. My eventual breakthrough gained further support from those in the know, intuitively speaking. You see, in 2004 after Max died, I had started meditating a lot to help me relax and sleep. It seems that the frequency and depth of my meditation exercises caused something to virtually bust loose in my head. And I began to connect with spirit in ways I had never considered, or even dreamed possible.
The third eye is characterized as the seat of the soul, the eye of wisdom. In certain spiritual traditions, it refers to the brow chakra or pineal gland located in the center of the cranium. The third eye signifies the higher self, the ego-free part of one’s consciousness. It is associated with visions, clairvoyance (clear vision which is one form of ESP), and precognition. See, for example, Adele Nozedar’s book, The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols (2008). Readers will also find numerous treatises concerning the third eye on the Internet and in almost any local library.
Saturday 10/23/2004
Around 6:45 a.m.
I woke up to discover the “ethereal eye” in the center of my visual field. When I first noticed it, my eyes were closed. Nevertheless, I have seen this eye in the past as recorded in my journal entry of 6/3, for instance. Sometimes the eye “pops up” as I meditate or as I first awaken.
I find this eye to be mystifying and, at times, entertaining. Sometimes it blinks or moves around in my visual field, but mostly, it remains centered with eyes closed. I have been perplexed and often wonder what is causing it to appear. What does it all mean? I do not know. Prior to February, I had never experienced anything like this.
*****
The eye was certainly a new and rather wild discovery for me back in 2004 when my intuitive side first began to open up.
How would you interpret the eye?
My Post Script for this entry will be forthcoming, on or before Halloween. Check back with me then AND SEE............
Mandy
ETHEREAL EYE - Post Script 1 - Posted on The Feast of All Souls, October 31, 2010
Searching for an answer to my “ethereal eye” encounter, I again broke silence and shared my experience with a few friends. I even discussed it with my work partner, Fred. For a number of years, Fred and I had consulted together on many government projects involving statistical analysis and the technical writing of manuscripts. Along with Steve, our trusty data warehouse guy, we presented our research results to a number of government directors over time.
I found Fred and Steve to be affable, analytical, and work-oriented sorts of fellows. Nevertheless, I also knew that when we weren’t busy blasting out statistical reports, Fred seemed to enjoy talking about non-technical matters and sometimes even topics of a more curious nature. As an all-around guy, he seemed to know a little bit about everything. And so, along with being a friend I could confide in, Fred had become a great source of information for me. For these reasons, I didn’t think it odd to tell him about my eye encounters.
So I told Fred about this vision, and like a seasoned doctor, he nodded as if he had already heard of the eye phenomenon. He said, “I think you’re experiences might be related to the third eye.”
Suddenly, the room began to swirl and something caught in my throat. Though I remembered watching a show about that on TV a long time ago, it was just too creepy. Quickly, I shook my head and changed the subject.
I see now that Fred’s suggestion was just too much for me to deal with back then.
Later on, I talked to another trusted friend on a different angle that had been swirling around my head for weeks on end: maybe Max is sending me signals in the form of an eye. Perhaps I’m receiving images through mental telepathy, i.e., thought forms or pictures from spirit. Is he trying to tell me something important? Like, “Hey, watch yourself!” or “Wait and see what happens next.”
Now it was Tara’s turn to shake her head. “Nah, too far-fetched,” was all she said as she lit another cigarette. She’d been gaining quite a reputation for her right-on reports. On the other hand, she still had to live down her crazy past with that motorcycle papa she married, who by the way, was really a nice guy. However, Tara’s new nickname, Wild Child, stuck. You see, Fred always teased her with it. Soon, everyone in the department was calling her Wild Child.
Honestly, I doubt she cared.
Nevertheless, I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable about revealing too much, even to Wild Child. “Oh well, just thought I’d bounce that doozy off you and see where it lands, ha, ha.” I never did let on that I still believed that because of all I’d seen, heard and sensed over the last ten months, Max might be trying to send images to my brain.
Was I overwrought? Well, weary yes, but so much had happened that was unfathomable, at least in human terms. Soon, I was beginning to think that there are absolutely no limitations, in terms of life and death possibility – or even probability. Therefore, nothing I could conceive seemed too strange. As a statistician and research scientist, that was certainly a new stance for me.
Before long, a new madcap question came to mind: is Max attempting to give me more information about his 1993 eye accident? This, in itself, was a hair-raising experience. About seven months after our wedding day and two weeks before Christmas, Max injured his eye. Earlier that morning, he had been designing a fire safety system at his place of business. In the process, he realized he needed some important codes from an engineering notebook, the one he had left in his truck. So he got up and went to the parking lot to retrieve it.
As he walked back to the office, he opened his notebook to search for the necessary codes. Reading and walking, reading and walking… I am sure he was just trying to be efficient. I admired how Max would often devised ways of getting his job done before the due date, and with such high precision. And, for this project, the due date was fast approaching. So, book in hand, he moved quickly and as he glanced up, he ran his eye into the corner of the open rear window of a truck.
Max nearly lost it -- his eye, that is. Minutes later, I received the word. I dashed from my office to his and drove him to his ophthalmologist’s where the staff was waiting kindly to receive him. I felt awful for my husband, in so much pain. I was also worried he might lose his eye. Yet, amazingly following the doctor’s swift treatment and three (very long) nights of moaning, Max’s eye began to heal. In the end, he regained every bit of his sight. From this harrowing experience, Max and I both learned that the healing properties of the human eye are nothing short of extraordinary.
And so, when I first caught a glimpse of the ethereal eye in February of 2004, it occurred to me that this might be a new way – and a new thing – for Max to communicate to me.
One thought follows another. Soon, I began to wonder if that freak eye accident had somehow caused the cancer which spread so insidiously through Max’s body. Is this what he was trying to say by projecting the image of an eye? In 2003, the doctors had found malignant tumors in Max’s neck, head and upper torso. Perhaps, I thought, the cancer had first formed in his eye and then spread to his head and neck. This would be possible if any metal, glass or other window bits remained in his eye, only to travel to other parts of the body. I was aware that malignancies often result from toxicity, i.e., such as the contaminants of metal and glass.
Nevertheless, Wild Child’s unassuming words came to mind. Before long, this idea began to sound far-fetched as well.
Post Script 2
Since those early, probing years, I have come full circle – back to the third eye hypothesis first posed by Fred. I must say, it took close to three years of mind-blowing change to even begin to accept the third eye, not only as a concept but as a way of life; of seeing and sensing things. My eventual breakthrough gained further support from those in the know, intuitively speaking. You see, in 2004 after Max died, I had started meditating a lot to help me relax and sleep. It seems that the frequency and depth of my meditation exercises caused something to virtually bust loose in my head. And I began to connect with spirit in ways I had never considered, or even dreamed possible.
The third eye is characterized as the seat of the soul, the eye of wisdom. In certain spiritual traditions, it refers to the brow chakra or pineal gland located in the center of the cranium. The third eye signifies the higher self, the ego-free part of one’s consciousness. It is associated with visions, clairvoyance (clear vision which is one form of ESP), and precognition. See, for example, Adele Nozedar’s book, The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols (2008). Readers will also find numerous treatises concerning the third eye on the Internet and in almost any local library.
Friday, October 8, 2010
ELECTRIC LIGHT SHOW!
Journal Entry
Sunday 10/03/2004
Waning Moon
Around noon
I was standing at the sink doing dishes. Suddenly, the floodlight beamed above and I felt an unmistakable pinch at the waist. “Yeow!” I shrieked and jumped back.
Was it just an electrical charge?
About as bright as a blitzkrieg, the light show continued to flicker, pop and flash, gaining in power with every flare. Dazed, I just stood there like a cat gawking at glaring headlights. Then, at last, the floodlight began to normalize and the crazy demonstration sputtered to its end. But even more remarkable than the electric light show was the fact that the bulb never did burn out.
Eventually, I gained my wits about me and realized my hands and legs were shaking. So I left the dishes in the sink. Had to go sit down.
*****
Post Script
How many wacky electrical events have to happen before I “get it”? Has skepticism been so engrained in my brain that I am unable to see the light for looking?
Sunday 10/03/2004
Waning Moon
Around noon
I was standing at the sink doing dishes. Suddenly, the floodlight beamed above and I felt an unmistakable pinch at the waist. “Yeow!” I shrieked and jumped back.
Was it just an electrical charge?
About as bright as a blitzkrieg, the light show continued to flicker, pop and flash, gaining in power with every flare. Dazed, I just stood there like a cat gawking at glaring headlights. Then, at last, the floodlight began to normalize and the crazy demonstration sputtered to its end. But even more remarkable than the electric light show was the fact that the bulb never did burn out.
Eventually, I gained my wits about me and realized my hands and legs were shaking. So I left the dishes in the sink. Had to go sit down.
*****
Post Script
How many wacky electrical events have to happen before I “get it”? Has skepticism been so engrained in my brain that I am unable to see the light for looking?
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