Post 238: Seeing the Future


I believe in precognition and seeing the future. I believe in knowing people from another time or place. I’ve had dreams since I was a young girl of future events. When I was a child, I would predict the death of my pets. Later, I would foresee car accidents. As an adult, friends would appear in my dreams and tell me about what was happening in their lives. Months before I knew my family and I were moving to Washington State, I saw our future home, our future town, our future landlords, and a future car accident, in a dream.

In my early forties, when job circumstances altered for my husband, I utilized the change of employment tide to encourage my husband to search beyond California for work. For years, I’d felt called to move up north to Oregon or Washington. I longed for the clean air, the thick forests of trees, and to be near water.

A week into our job search, my husband was contacted by an old colleague via email. The colleague and my husband hadn’t spoken in years, and she did not know my husband was job searching. At this exact time of our search, she happened to email a job possibility in Washington State.  As it turned out the job did not pan out. However, a week later, once again the same colleague emailed with another job.

This time, after extensive interviewing, my husband was offered a job in Washington.

Months before we ever started considering the real possibility of moving out-of-state, I had dreamt of our soon-to-be home in Washington.

I remember because I awoke with a feeling of knowing after the dream and had later phoned my mother to tell her the details of the dream.

I had dreamt of a house set up on a hill with many large windows overlooking a beautiful body of water. A woman and her husband, both dressed in Hawaiian attire, had greeted us at the door of the home. The woman had shown me around the house, as if I was to live there. She directed me to look over the water and said: “This will be a place of healing for you.”

Then she pointed to walking trails and a local farmers market. I remember thinking how odd to have a farmers market outside your window. At the end of the dream, there was a flash, and I saw a vehicle crash, with images of tires rolling and a huge impact. I woke up bewildered and startled.

Fast forward months later, in the state of Washington on a mad-dash, house-hunting weekend, we (family of five + my mom) just happened to be one of the first families to query about an advertisement about a home for rent. Though after learning over the phone about the circumstances surrounding the home, we deduced it wasn’t the right timing for us to move into this particular house: they didn’t take dogs, there was no fenced yard, and we weren’t certain about the area. Regardless, the homeowner who had placed the advertisement on a whim felt an immediate connection to me over the phone.

The landlady insisted we come over to meet her. She wanted to at least show us around the neighborhood. When we arrived, she opened the front door and said, “Welcome home.” Upon seeing one another, we both instantly felt we had met before.

The house was like the house in my dream, set upon a hill with large windows over looking the water. I soon learned the owners were moving to Hawaii. Later that day, the landlady took us to the local Farmer’s Market.

We rented the house pretty much on the spot, despite the timing and perceived conflicts. Not waiting more than a few hours to make up our mind. We’d make the situation work. We made an immediate connection with the owners.

Before the move, my husband had to go up north to work, a month prior to the kids and me arriving. During my husband’s visit to the house we were to lease in Washington, the owner told my husband this: “I really like your mother-in-law, I really like you, but I am giving this home to you because I feel it will be a place of healing for Sam.”

I had never told my husband the words the woman had spoken in my dream; only my mother had known.

All the pieces of the dream were fitting together, except for the car accident I had seen.

I’d mentioned the accident to my mother, and was nervous to drive my children on the eleven-hour road trip back up to Washington.

A few days before I was to drive to Washington, I drove to the bay area in California with my mother. While driving on the freeway, I panicked, turned to my mom and, after reminding her of the dream,  said, “I have a lot of anxiety right now, with all of these trucks and large vehicles around us.”

Minutes later, a tire on a truck blew, directly in front of us on the freeway, and pieces of rubber flew out. We were fine, and the anxiety left.

I tried to convince myself that the tire blow out that had just occurred was the accident in my dream. After all, it was in the same time period. Even said so this to my mother.  Close enough, I told myself.

Still…..the feeling remained.

A few days later, on the way up north to Washington, with the van jammed pack with people, animals, our belongings, and a friend who was coming along to assist, we stopped at a hotel in Oregon. The hotel staff confused our reservation and gave us an inadequate sized room.

I decided it was best to leave the hotel and travel more. I wasn’t tired, after all.

Back on the road, during our search for another hotel, I was in the fast lane, moving along at an average speed, when directly in front of me, some four to five car-lengths ahead, an old-style silver motor home blew a tire.

Large chunks of tire came flinging towards our windshield, bumped off the van, and splattered and spun down the highway.

A knowing came over me: a remembering.

I gently hit the brakes and turned on my hazard lights.

The motorhome driver could not gain control. The vehicle started wobbling to the left, to the right, and back and forth, tilting this way and that, faster and faster, and closer and closer towards the road. There was nowhere for me to go. Cars were breaking behind. And there was a steady flow of traffic to my right. The shoulder to my left was a ditch of dirt. At my speed we’d crash, if I tried to pull over in the dirt.

I watched trembling, as the motorhome started spinning like a top at full speed, backwards towards us. I thought this might be the end. If that vehicle hit us, we would be crushed.

Seconds passed in slow motion.

I took a deep breath.

An hour before I had told my friend sitting in the passenger seat that because of my prior dream months ago, I felt protected on this journey.

I wasn’t so sure anymore.

The motorhome made a final spin before it tipped over onto its side and did several three-sixties, turning round and round, crashing and crashing, sending up clouds of dust.

At first I feared the vehicle was coming towards us. But it slid rapidly on its side, across the ditch, in a direction horizontal to us, all the way across to the other side of the freeway and oncoming traffic.

With a loud thump, the motorhome came to its final landing.

People from all directions came running towards the vehicle to help. I pulled over to the right side on the roadside, too shaken to move. Then my friend sitting next to me said exactly what I needed to hear. She said, “You know, if it hadn’t been you directly behind the motor home, if someone else had been driving and following closer behind, it could have been a lot worse.”

Her words comforted me.

I realized then that no one outside of the occupants of the motorhome had been involved in the collision. No fender benders, no spinning off the road, no severe braking. Everything around had remained calm.

Day 212: Joy in the Morning

Joy in the Morning

I kiss joy in the morning as thoughts of you bow down in gentle gratitude

And affection she dances lightly through the bedcovers, spreading rose petals, red above

How sweetness falls upon the day, fresh crimson, rainbows soft

And handsome tiptoes through merriment, his puckered lips smiling

Beauty she blushes, and gathers love in baskets woven by the twinkle of dawn’s amber eyes

Feathered pillow springs forward and welcomes tickles from hope, chuckle laughs wearing a shy pink

And bold blanket, he harnesses the voluptuous dream of the night, his treasure to marry

The floor becomes ocean and reins in a guild of seahorses made to roar with indigo passion

Folded in dreamland, bed castle winks and mattress plays cymbals in orchestra duvet

Strong faith appears, in this space between, where wishes wear sparkling ruby crowns

Tomorrow, she laughs and splashes butterscotch clouds at strawberry-popcorn glee

While always and forever tango close beside the groom of starlit night and bride of chamber music

Come find me here, beneath the giggling moonbeams and peek-a-boo painted bed sheets

Come find joy, before reason slips beyond the kaleidoscope guard and sleeping disbelief awakes

~ Samantha Craft, August 2012

Photos and Words by Samantha Craft. All rights reserved.

Day 202: For This

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Images from the great northwest of Washington State USA. By Samantha Craft.

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For This

What is love to me, my angels asked

I answered, your eyes in my heart

Shining bright upon the drinking flowers

I watered and listened

To the voices in my mind

And they came like sunlight

The waves I am

Blessing me with the softness of your face

I peeled back the day then

The greenery and cedar grand

Bowed in recognition

Of what I held inside

The joy

The hope

The invention of me, reborn

All stood back, the heaven’s cloud

And asked, as one

Are you certain

Is all worth

This

I stood there then

In quiet

My view slowly shifting

Reality a game

And I answered aloud

In the way a soul speaks from beneath

I answered

Yes

All is worth this

And the questions came:

And what of pain

Shall you hurt

For this

Shall you turn from your very wishes

Shall you sacrifice

For one moment

For one chance

And I sang

As the raven to her love

But for a moment

I would give my life

But for a moment

I would change eternity

And the unity spoke again

Questioning my faith

My desire

And you would alter everything

For this

They asked

Change your world

For this

And I answered with a tear

Yes, the silence said

There is no love

Without his embrace

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~ Sam Craft, August 2012

Day 201: Strangled Love

Strangled Love

I cannot love you anymore

I am done

I have given everything

And you have taken nothing

But the best pieces

Now shattered and disfigured

Unrecognizable to even death

 

I cannot love you anymore

You are torture

The cruelest kind

That wrings the neck wet

And sticks probes of fire

To ignite electric harm

A fence singed into screaming flesh

I cannot love you anymore

My heart a piano

To be tuned and banged upon

To be opened

Used for company

And left in isolated silence

No longer

I cannot love you anymore

You are the slow bleed and I am emptied

You are the wind and I am chaffed

You are the widow black

And I am babe

Last light extinguished in poisoned bite

I cannot love you anymore

If I am sun

Then you are surely night

If I am proximity, then you are distance

If I am truth, then you are bundled secrets

If I am voice, then you be the empty echo

I cannot love you anymore

With throat aflame

Eyes streaked crimson

Ears mangled in blistered bursts

Soul purged of stagnant dreams

I dismiss you

I cannot love you anymore

This pleading woman

Garbed in netted veil

lingering in your vacancy

I strangle her with vengeance

Until she knows with last breath

I cannot love you anymore

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Images and Words by Samantha Craft, August 2012

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Photos taken at Mt. Rainier National Park, Washington, USA

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Captures my heart, indeed.

Day 196: In the Bright of my Eyes

Something to brighten your day by Bright Eyes

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I used to be afraid you’d only see a part of me, a piece, a section, a part I didn’t want you to see.

I used to think if I didn’t show all my parts as best as possible, all the time, then you might come at the wrong time, see the wrong parts. Not like what you see. Not want what you see.

I used to think my heart is so full I need to gush everything out all at once right now, or you will not understand, you will not realize, you will not get me.

I used to think that if you did not understand me, you could not love me, if you did not find all the treasures within me, you would not cherish me. I used to think I had to do it all, all the time, for you to care.

I used to think I was separated, divided, all these pieces, all these parts, and if one part failed, I failed, if one part was not perfection, I was not perfection. And how could you, as such perfection, love a flawed me.

I used to think I was different from you; that although I viewed you, absorbed you, siphoned you out as one tremendous and fantastic whole, that I was still parts.

I used to think in time I could win you over, with enough effort I could earn your love.

I used to think if I didn’t earn your love, I would die.

I used to think love was to be earned.

I used to think I had to show you. I had to prove to you everyday I was special, I was worthy, I was beauty. If you could not see me, I could not exist.

I used to think I was parts.

Now I know I am whole. Now I know I am beautiful. Now I know no matter what anyone else sees, my best is always there. In the bright of my eyes, in the bright of my soul. I shine. Without parts, I shine just fine.

Day 195: Where I Stand Naked

One un-deep thought by Sam Craft: “I had such a good hair day yesterday, I just don’t know how I can live up to that today.”

And now the deep:

My fixations consume me. They bring me to a place that no one else can reach or touch. A place I feel safe and not vulnerable: a place of discovery, of grand interest, of dreams, of dynamite thoughts and imaginings, of newness and possibilities. My fixation is like a light switch to me. With my intense focus, I am able to turn off the rest of the world—particularly the problems and woes. I can at last breathe in and stop fretting.

For the most part, when I have an intense focus I feel alive and with purpose. There seems to be a reason for living. When I do not have a fixation, I feel lost and unprepared for the day. My special interest is like a backpack filled with vital life supplies for me.

Trouble is, eventually, about every three to five months, my fixation/special interest switches. Just out of the blue. Bam! I wake up, and the fixation is entirely gone. Wiped clean. Think window cleaner to bathroom mirror. One swipe and the toothpaste splatters that you’ve been staring at for ages are gone. And you wonder why you stared at those splatters for so long! Unless you are anal and wipe your mirror everyday…which is so not me.

With the clean wipe, every bit of desire and hunger to learn or study or explore the topic is gone. It’s like a thief in the night came and stole my impulse.

I’ve gotten to the point now that when a fixation starts, I can step back, outside myself, look at the calendar, and track pretty much exactly when the fixation will leave.

This tendency to fixate made relationships with men when I was younger rather difficult. I’d have a giant crush on someone. Hugely so. Bleed out poetry and breathe lust filled thoughts, and then wake up to discover (usually after winning a guy over) that I truly didn’t even like the person. Then the challenge began, as I was so desperate to not be alone, that I’d stay with the guy even though they now gave me the creeps. Nothing like kissing a guy who makes you cringe.

Since being married my fixations are typically not other men, which I’m sure my spouse is relieved to know.  However the fixations are still there, and strong as ever. I move through interests like one might move through fad diets. One month this, three months later that. The funny thing is, that each time a new fixation comes, I think: This is the one! This is what I’ve been waiting for. Kind of like I did with men.

Truth be told, my latest fixation was blogging. And wouldn’t you know it, about five months have passed, and I woke up yesterday with this void and lack of desire to post. A new fixation has taken over. That of walking and photography. And the old fixation, that of blogging, has ended up in a pile with some of my other past interests: Farmville, slickdeals.net. I’d like to add cleaning to the list…to put it in a pile, too. But cleaning has rarely been a fixation for more than a day, and that’s typically when the house is so dang messy, I have to clean to breathe.

Last year my fixations included reading over a hundred spiritual books, Buddhist studies and retreats, turning a room in our house into an office for my spiritual coaching business, planning retreats, and studying techniques for spiritual readings. I lived and breathed spirituality. Until I woke up in late May of last year and the fixation was entirely gone. Presto…Emptied of all desire. Then I switched to getting a degree in counseling. And that became my fixation. In my first college course, I read twice the required readings, and delved into every project, spending ten hours on an assignment, when clearly one hour would have been adequate. The counseling fixation ended in February. And then the door opened to blogging. Blogging was like a whirlpool that I gladly leaped into. And now I find myself, just coming up for air, and standing on the shoreline all sopping wet and confused.

I don’t want to blog anymore. The desire is gone. The fixation vanished. And I think my swimsuit is still in the whirlpool. So I stand naked, confused, and unaware of just where the heck I’ve been, or at least where my brain has been for the last four-plus months.

Odd sensation. I explain some of this feeling of emerging from a special interest in this well-read post

And so today, I am sharing where I stand naked—on this shore utterly perplexed and baffled, finding myself once again in awe of how I am consumed in something, and then seemingly spat out by the vortex and set back on my feet, only to wonder where the heck I’ve been.

The good news is, with my new current fixation of walking and photography, you are bound to see more photos of the great northwest than you ever signed up for. And, of course, photos of my good hair days!

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*** I am still going to blog…just not everyday.

And music isn’t a fixation; it’s a way of life. So that shall always be, as my love for you!

Day 194: Treasured Images

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I took the images at the 625-acre Mima Mounds Natural Area Preserve in Washington, USA. Soils formed as glaciers melted about 11,000 years ago. This site protects native ecosystems and rare plants and animals. There are many theories about how the mounds of earth formed. My favorite is the giant gopher theory!

This is an interesting video about the mounds:

and laughing…here’s what it looks like MOST of the year:

Images 

I imagine your voice as the sea alive in the deep night
A rhythmic strength, a moonlight lullaby
I imagine your presence the solid branch set across clear stream
A place to cross over, a passageway to the other side
I imagine your taste the ripe fruit cleansed and divided whole
A sugar to tongue, a craving reborn
I imagine your chest the mossy grass of midsummer
A softness to palm, a tingle to my skin
I imagine your hands the breeze through the evergreen of cedar
A visiting ebb, a caress between limbs
I imagine your lips the cotton candy of youth
A melting satisfaction, a spiral of sweetness
I imagine your soul the wings of the monarch
A flawless design, a freedom to flight
I imagine your movement the rapids over boulder
A cleansing crush, a cool rush of nature
I imagine your image the reflection in still pond
A mirror to myself, a partner to my imagining

~~~~~

Samantha Craft, August 2012

Day 192: A Walk with Light and Shadow

The Light

You make me young again

Twelve or twenty, or someplace in between

I want to run and skip and sing, and be so free

You are everything to me, my sunrise and my sunset

The prettiest ones

The very best ones

You are the stars I count on

You are the clouds I dream upon

You are the ducks dipping, the ferris wheel spinning

You are the lights strung upon the summer tree

You are all that makes me smile

And more, so much more

I can’t begin to explain

It would take a lifetime or two

Just to count all the reasons I adore you

Your hair, your eyes

Your nose so cute

I want to nibble you whole and in completion

Bite through your sexiness

I want to run my fingers through you

Every part

And dance on you like some worn out disco floor

I want to tap and spin

And glide on knees

Feel your smoothness beneath me

And eat your very soul

The Shadow

Release me bloody panther of the night

The one I spear, who keeps rising

With claws to chest

Carving name into my flesh

I run and you follow

My scent, your prisoner

You are naught but heavy stones in my pocket

Backpack on weary shoulders

Silver spikes beneath my feet

A broken time piece

Your face a façade

You are unwelcomed fever

The torture of still birth

A labor of death

You are the stripe of the honey bee

The symbol of nectar’s sting

I will not be your dance floor

Your river or mountain

I will be nothing you move upon

You feed me not, whittler of bones

And nor shall I be your prey

I turn you mystic muse

To the muds of moors

And make the howling hound your bed song

Cry for me now

This light slipped through your fingers

So I might collect your tears

And spit them at your shadow

I am blood-dry to your enchantment

Fed upon the last time

To me you are the stinging nettle of pain

The poison oak of itch

The jelly fish of sting

In leaving I shall paint the walls of you

With my echoed screams

So you may sit now

And hear the wing-clipped raven

Crying in the attic’s mind

It is your turn

Of empty ghost

Your turn to grasp

And find nothing but empty cloud of drought

I will be not your star

I will be not your sun

Instead I shall step dark upon your grave

And kick dirt at your memory

My laughter, your sorrow

My victory, your loss

My hope, your awakening

To the world without me

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By Sam Craft, July 2012

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The Walk

The following are photos from the bird sanctuary. There is a mile long platform that stretches across the wetlands and leads to the salt-water sound. There are hundreds of birds flying everywhere and adjacent nature trails.

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Day 191: Purple Toes and Love Clouds

A song I can’t get out of my head. There’s always one that sticks around for days.

“I have a deep angst in the depths of me that I have been carrying in my soul since May of this year. I do not have the words to describe this experience, except to say I feel a vast depth in my inner being that is filled with a mixture of love, passion, and longing. I have carried this from when I awake, until I sleep.

Dreams bring escape.

I have tried to figure out what to do with this feeling that feels akin to unconditional expansive love—a bottomless pit I want to fill with all the beauty about me.

I have had no choice but to pour the angst out of my soul day after day into prose and poetry. Each day I think I am emptied, only to find, time and time again, that I am not relieved for even a moment.

I have tried to pour this love into one person, and find that this love is not made for one.

I have tried to cry it out, walk it out, starve it out, laugh it out, talk it out….but alas it stays, lingering in the forefront of my every waking thought.

This love will not depart, and instead seems to grow with each coming day.

I know not what to do. The feeling is akin to the huge cavernous hole I would experience with the thought of expectation, a joyful event about to take place, a reunion of lovers, an anticipation of marvelous ecstasy.

The butterflies are a million. The energy persuasive and all-encompassing, as if heaven’s angels are all at once swirling within me, their wings stirring a golden dust of light.

I cannot move at times.

I cannot catch my breath at times.

And there seems to be no antidote.

I am slowly realizing that I am not meant to solve this riddle of love.

I am not meant to dislodge the love or give this love to one.

I am meant to embrace this love and welcome it. To say each morning: Welcome my angst. Welcome my calling. Welcome heaven’s voice. Thank you for letting me know I am alive. Thank you for letting me be your instrument. I welcome you with open arms. I embrace you. I walk with you for as long as you wish to be here. And I carry you for the world. This light seed. This watering can for the masses.” ~ Sam Craft, July 2012

We went to Mt. Rainier National Forest in the state of Washington, USA, yesterday.

I felt this unbearable love the entire drive there. I listened to music through my headphones and daydreamed of a forest glen, me as an elven princess, and of a charming knight. When we arrived at the basin of National Park I asked the heavens for a sign, for validation of this vast love I am carrying. Within minutes all the dark clouds began to disperse. Not long after, when I stepped out of the van, I turned, and this is what I saw.

This heart cloud was only there for a matter of seconds.

Later I asked for more signs. Greedy little girl I am…..because one heart in a beautiful clear blue sky was not enough!

I’ve always said that the angels have a sense of humor…. These are the signs I was given.

Signs on the path my family made for me and my youngest, so we could find our way to the end of the trail.

I am still learning to SPECIFY when I make requests for signs!

Hours later, as we finished our 5.5 mile hike, I looked up to the sky, and specifically asked for a sign to validate the overflowing love I have inside and to confirm one of my deepest desires (a desire which I shall not mention because I don’t have to–giggles and blushing)

And in an almost cloudless sky, another heart cloud formed right then and there above me.

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“Your truth speaks for those still listening for their voices, between the frayed and hanging stitches of their seams.” ~ My Aunt’s words to me

Oh, and here are my toes.

Tomorrow I shall post some lovely photos of the National Forest. Almost as lovely as my big toe. Or I shall share a silly slumber party poem that mentions the word shagging! Or both. Or something else. Isn’t life wonderful? All these choices. And toes…..glorious purple toes.