5 May 2007

first glimpse

The first time I got a glimpse of the future, I was three years old. In the balmy inkiness hung countless sparkles of light. As I spun in the spot with my chubby little arms stretched out to the sides reaching out for the world, head thrown back with blond ringlets bouncing up and down on my shoulders and face pointing to eternity, I wondered how far those glowing specks were. What was behind them? What did the end of the night look like? And if there was an end, what came after it(?)

The vision I had that evening was of the mundane bits of family life. The scene played out in a strange kind of fast-forward motion on a see-through holographic-like screen floating in front of my eyes.

For decades I didn't realise how strange it was that my grandmother, my second mother who brought me up, didn't blink an eye when I'd rattle off to her the events of the next day, or week, or month. Nor did she ever say anything once it had all happened just as I said. The first time she made a comment on my visions, and said so much more, things that made me realise that maybe I was different after all, was on her deathbed about a decade later.

Up until then the experience seemed totally natural, normal, if there is such a thing at all. I didn't talk about the visions beyond home, and they quietly unfolded as seen.

Later that same year when my grandmother died, for the very first time I questioned a vision I had. It was one of a handful over my lifetime that was about me personally. And, it was the first. As much as I wanted the vision to be true, I didn't think there was any possibility of it eventuating. All facts pointed to the impossibility.

Within the next few months I was to change hemispheres. The boy in my vision was not going anywhere.

But what do we mere mortals know about the space-time continuum? About 17 years later my life played out the vision. Or is it the other way around(?)


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