Day Twenty-Five: A Prophet in My Pocket

 

I have a prophet in my pocket.

Ever since I identified my little voice inside my head as LV, and labeled the gray squishy world-ball as my heterogeneous Brain, The Prophet in my Pocket has been speaking to me in rhyme and rhythm.

The Prophet part makes sense to me. All through my life I’ve had precognitive dreams, premonitions, and those “feelings.” I can recount the events in detail. They are numerous. Grand in scale, like the time I predicted an influx of people would be traveling to the small town of Colfax, California to see a spiritual manifestation. Or smaller in scale, but just as potent, like when I saw my mother’s friend die in a VW Bug exploding on Homan’s Highway in Carmel, California, days before my mother’s friend’s death.

I’ve had strange encounters, strange coincidences, and a plethora of people tell me that they know me from somewhere. I’ve also been sensitive to physical pain, since I can remember, starting with terrible intestinal pains and rashes.

I’m officially deemed handicapped, even have that nifty handicapped plaque, that comes in handy when my pain threshold is registering low on the scale. By all definitions, if I wasn’t such a poop-head at times, in theory I’d qualify as a Shaman in some cultures. The thing that sucks about being a Shaman, or anyone born with distinct spiritual abilities, is that the healers always seem able to help most everyone, except themselves.

I think that’s why I have a prophet in my pocket. I think he’s there to guide me through the proverbial mire of life—the sensitivities, the pains.

Looking back at my writings, sometimes I’m amazed I’m still here. I remember an intake psychologist telling me, years ago: “And you’re sure you’ve never been addicted to drugs or had any form of substance abuse? It’s hard to believe you could survive all that, and not turn to something.”

I turned to something. I turned to my faith. And fortunately the powers that be provided me with distinct mentors and supporters along my path.

Which leads me to the current problem I face, that has resulted in my current funk. Recently I’ve lost many of my supporters. Some have disappeared through the engulfment phase of a new love interest and others through moving to a new physical location—some thousands of miles away.

I’m understanding this dissipating funk more clearly. In the last ten months alone many of my supporters have disappeared, my beloved dog passed unexpectedly, a professional used callous words about Asperger’s Syndrome, my mother-in-law and my mother were diagnosed with cancer, my son had a serious reaction to medication, a homeless person ran his bike into my moving van… this on top of the everyday stresses of raising three boys, with one on the spectrum, keeping a household running while disabled, and dealing with my sensitivities, coupled with my recent diagnosis of Aspergers. Deep breath! No wonder I’m sad.

This prophet of mine, if he does indeed exist, I fancy the idea of him residing in my right pocket. I can picture him there, rather small and distinguished looking, like a little cartoon stereotypical university professor. He has the type of beard that’s good for running fingers through, and spectacles that are speckled with dust. He doesn’t brush his wiry white hair. His appearance is not even secondary. His appearance doesn’t matter to him one bit. He speaks in rhyme or rhythm, or very fast in a combination of visuals and streams of words. He uses symbols lots, and has a glorious sense of humor.

The Prophet in My Pocket is the one I pull out often in my sacred hours of writing. He whispers to me through my interior voice (LV), sometimes for the stretch on an hour, and then he gently recedes, returning from whence he came. Here’s a poem he is whispering to me now:

There’s a Prophet in My Pocket

There’s a prophet in my pocket,

And he’s always standing near,

Listening to my stories,

And then whispering in my ear,

He doesn’t long for fame,

Or simplicity of life,

He reaches for the stars,

And lends them through my strife,

His answers are so clever,

Though sometimes rather thick,

With philosophy and prose,

That pours out rather quick,

I think he’s standing near,

When I dream of what’s to be,

I think he hears me cry,

When I’m scared of what I see,

He tells me I am loved,

And that all will be all right,

He tells me to just trust,

And embrace my inner light,

I’m a beacon on a hill, he tells,

And my glow is rather bright,

And you see, he says to me,

“Because of this you fight,

The shadows that draw near,

The games they try to play,

The gifts you carry with,

They try to take away,

Be gentle with yourself,

Your challenges are grace,

Humbled in your walking,

Humbled in your pace,

Remember I stand strong,

As the shadows linger in,

Standing at the doorstep,

Readying to win,

All their twisted dealings,

All their twisted means,

They are nothing to you, Darling,

Even though it seems,

Just call on me, your prophet,

Whenever you’re in fear,

Just reach into your pocket,

And know I’m always here.”

~ Sam Craft (2012)

Much Love ~ Sam

Day Sixteen: The Bus Stop


 I pulled this out of my journals. We had to say goodbye to our beloved dog, today. And this prose reminded me of another place and time. I imagine our dog with many friends and family now, including dear Catherine.

A week before I met Catherine and was greeted by her four little ones—their faces a blush and small mouths encircled with remnants of the faded pink of popsicles—I’d dreamt of a dark-haired lady guiding me from one room to the next of a colonial-style home.  There we had walked together, with the glee-filled echoes of children’s giggles fluting down the staircase… (This is available in the book Everyday Aspergers)

Rest in everlasting peace, Sweet Scooby. Look for my friend Catherine. She’s waiting for you.

Day Seven: Aspergers and the Sixth Sense

 

Sometimes I can see the future. I’ll explain more in a bit.

When I’m partaking in some deep thinking; which let’s face it, is pretty much every waking hour of my life, I hypothesize about the creation of this Asperger’s Syndrome. I’m beginning to wonder, if in fact, Aspergers is not a syndrome at all, but a result of a lack of a particular sense (as in the five senses). Being born with Aspergers might be compared to someone who is born without the ability to hear or see. For example, if social skills were considered a sixth sense of sorts, then could we not theorize that instead of a syndrome (a clinically recognized collection of features, signs, and characteristics) that Aspergers was a result of not having acquired a sixth sense: A deficiency in being able to subconsciously navigate the social arena without assistance?

It is true, that like a person who has challenges with vision or hearing, that a person who has challenges with social skills can be taught said skills to increase his or her aptitude. A person with Aspergers will arguably never truly see socializing from the exact neurotypical viewpoint, but he or she can learn to improve his or her social skills, similarly to the way a man with limited sight would learn to navigate in a seeing world.

(Stay with me here, as I remind you that I’m merely processing aloud, and not discounting any of the scientific studies that are pointing to other biological and environmental causes.)

If we were to consider the prospect of a sixth sense, that of being social skills, and to postulate a child with Aspergers is born with a deficiency in this sense, then would it not be a logical conclusion that other senses would develop more acutely–just as the person who cannot see develops a stronger sense of tactile experience or smell? If this is the case, that a person with Aspergers compensates for a lack in the social skills’ sense, by having a heightened awareness in other senses, then perhaps this explains sensory overload.

In my own experience, I wonder, too, if another sense, that of the ability to see into the hidden worlds, those of the quantum physic and collective unconscious worlds, is not a sense also capable of increasing. In my case, I have been hyper-sensitive in my dream state since I can recall. I began having precognitive dreams at the age of three about my animals and other people. I would tell my mother about my dream, and then parts of the dream would come true.

Here is an example of how my precognitive sense works:

In what I believe was early December (as I did not record the date), as I stood in the living room talking to my husband, suddenly I saw a scene before my eyes. A waking “knowing” that is difficult to explain. The process was similar to watching a sped up movie before my eyes, while at the same instant knowing a “truth” was being conveyed from a higher source.

That late day in December, overcome but what I saw in the vision, I uttered words close to the following to my husband: “Honey, in the early part of next year Carmen will be calling you with news about her health. It will be a serious illness, one requiring a lot of your attention, and a time when you will be asked to fly down and see her. This is partially happening at this time because there is such a physical distance between you for the first time in her life.”  I don’t know how I knew this, but I just did; as if someone had just phoned me and told me the news, and I was conveying what I knew to my husband.

I went on to explain in more detail what I meant by this to my husband. It is important for me to communicate that at the time of the event there had never been any indication of serious health concerns, or indicators that Carmen’s health would be compromised in the near future. In the many years I have known Carmen, there has never once been a serious health concern that required my husband’s full attention.

This news came to a great surprise to my husband, and he responded by saying: “Don’t say things like that.” He then shook it off, fearing the superstition that I might be creating this by speaking it, and thinking I was wrongly informed. I, myself, too hoped that the vision I saw was wrong, but I could not put the image of my husband flying on a plane to go see Carmen out of my mind.

In early January I had a profound dream, one that stirred me so greatly that I was drawn to write the details of the dream down in my journal; this was a significant act, as it remains the only dream I wrote down in the last nine months, and the only dream I wrote since moving to the state of Washington. (I have been encouraged to record all my dreams, and hope to develop this dedicated habit soon.)

Thirty days after I recorded the dream, we received news of Carmen’s health. At that time, I was immediately able to retrieve my dream journal and show the page to my husband. He was much surprised at the words he read, as was I; even with the ability I have carried of prophetic dreams since I was a child, the process of the dreams coming true still affects me to a great degree.

I will not write the exact words found in my journal, but summarize with some detail. First, this is the only dream I ever recall about Carmen and her daughter that I have had in my entire life. I clearly remember my dreams each morning I wake, without fail. Usually I remember at least three or more dreams.

This dream began with Carmen’s daughter at a home similar to ours. In the dream there were palm trees in a storm—a symbolism I took to mean calm turning into a stormy situation, or storms ahead. I asked (telepathically) Carmen’s daughter to tell me why she was at our house without Carmen. She then took me back in time, as if painting a story. I was removed from the events she unfolded, like a bystander walking alongside the characters without them seeing me.

In the dream Carmen was in a world I did not recognize, surrounded by a golden field of what looked to be high grass or wheat. She seemed at peace, though I noted in my dream journal she had lost a lot of weight, and had undergone much emotional change. Around her were most of her grandchildren, circling in the field and carefree in spirit. Carmen’s daughter indicated to me (telepathically and through symbolism) that Carmen’s weight loss was due to severe stomach pain. She showed me this by leaning over, clutching her stomach, and acting like she was throwing up. I noted in my dream journal that this meant chemotherapy as a result of cancer.

Carmen’s hair was mostly gone or hidden and she wore a bandana around her head. Her pants were long and purple, which signified a spiritual transformation or passing on from this world. Carmen’s daughter indicated by pointing to a hospital sign and again using telepathy that there was “no help in this place.” A child (*), liken to my youngest son, began to swell and be sickly; Carmen lifted this child and was trying to take him to a hospital for help. None could be found. I suddenly was seen by Carmen, and began to apply healing light to this child. The child and Carmen were pleased.

When I wrote this dream the following morning, I felt in my heart that Carmen would be discovering an incurable cancer in her body, and be undergoing chemotherapy. I did not share this dream with my husband. I did not want to upset him, and a part of me hoped that the dream had only been symbolic of my friend’s mother, who I learned the next day, following my dream, had just recently died of cancer.

Another part of this experience involved my physical body. For some reason, call it my empathic ability, I some times experience symptoms and discomfort in the same body location as someone I know, usually before I actually know of their diagnosis. For instance, recently I was unable to move off the couch all day from severe back pain. I told my mother I believed I was feeling sympathy pain for my stepmother undergoing back surgery; though it turned out that on that same exact day my cousin had broken his back. On the day my son’s teacher fell and injured her tailbone requiring hospitalization, I also had a freak accident where I bruised my tailbone. When a good friend was undergoing breast surgery, I developed a cyst on my breast (never has happened since or before that). These could be considered coincidence; and I tend to lean that way myself, except that these “coincidences” continue to manifest themselves in my body.

Concerning Carmen, the entire month before we were informed of her condition, I developed an unusual circular rash on my chest. It was “scary” for me, to the point I went to the doctor twice. Right before we learned of Carmen’s health concerns, the circular rash began to fade. For thirty days straight I was convinced I had cancer in that location of my body, to the point that I bothered my husband repeatedly, having him examine the spot. With news of Carmen, I knew where the cancer was: indeed it resides on the exact same side of her chest (inside her lung). I also soon started to have a discomfort, like a knife pain, in my back; Carmen confirmed this to be the same area where she was feeling discomfort.

Approximately a week or two before we received news of Carmen, I had another dream, one which I told my friend about the morning after the dream occurred. In the dream, my father phoned me to say he had cancer. During the dream, there was a period of trying to acquire more information, and wondering about the severity of the condition. The time period seemed to last several days in the dream. My father then phoned back in the dream, to tell me that his state was incurable and serious but that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

The morning following the dream, I confided in my friend that I did not think this person represented my father, and that I believed (as had happened in the past) that he was a messenger of sorts in the dream, indicating that someone else in the family was going to be calling with news of their health.

It was in early February that Carmen called us late in the evening to tell us of her health news . That same morning I had a strong feeling to send her a present. Something I have never thought to do before (except Christmas time). I told my friend that I wanted to send Carmen a special and significant token with a note that read: I love you unconditionally. In my mind I was picturing my rose quartz necklace, and imagining purchasing something similar to the necklace, so that a healing stone could rest in the area near her heart. I had no idea why I was getting this indication.

Then, during breakfast that same morning, with the same friend, I had a very odd experience; the first of this sort. As I was eating, I kept looking over my friend’s shoulder at a metal coat rack that rested in the corner. There were some jackets, a bag and some other objects hanging from the curved bars of the rack. For approximately thirty-minutes, I repeatedly kept saying to my friend, “This is so strange, but the coat rack behind you keeps appearing to be an executioner; the type from years ago that had a sack over their head as they oversaw the gallows.” This was very disturbing, as I usually do not have visions of such sort, in the broad daylight in public nonetheless. My friend was very patient, as I kept repeating the apparition I saw behind her. I was a bit worried for my friend, as well. I felt at this time that this was an omen of news soon to come regarding death or the like. Again, I repeat, this was the same day Carmen called us.

In summary, the five signs were as follows:

1: The waking vision in early December involving news of Carmen’s health and my husband’s attention.

2: The dream 30 days before the news, that outlined the process Carmen would experience with her health.

3: The dream a couple weeks leading up to the eventual phone call, involving my father and his news of cancer.

4: The odd rash on my chest and the knife pain in my back, as well as the need to mail something to heal the heart region to Carmen.

5: The apparition of an executioner for a half-hour the same day we heard the news.

 

* Soon following the news of Carmen, I had to rush my son to the emergency from a severe medication reaction, which caused his body to swell in hives. The experience was was very similar to the rushing for help in the dream.