A summary of some of the telepathic & precognitive dreams I’ve had. See also:
Forward and Backward in Time
The Next President of the United States
Loving my Enemy and Pottery
2012 Precognitive Dreaming Contest – 2nd PLACE Maria Pita
I dreamed my husband and I were the only customers in a dimly lit shop. We entered a small, cave-like alcove in which were displayed exquisitely lovely and colorful pieces of expensive-looking jewelry. I selected a tiny butterfly pin and took it out to the cashier, a young woman. She rang it up, I paid with a credit card and she handed me a receipt for $0.00. Obviously a mistake had been made but she insisted we take the receipt.
The next day, my husband and I were standing in a check-out line at Whole Foods when I noticed the register was subtracting prices instead of adding them up. I said to him, “This feels really familiar” as the cashier, a young woman, continued ringing up our items, unaware of the problem. I paid with our credit card and was handed a receipt for a negative amount -$220.00, at which time I was compelled to point out the error. A manager was sent for who, after nearly half-an-hour attempting to correct the problem, declared that in all her years working there she had never seen anything like this. For some inexplicable reason the computer, which was working just fine again, had decided to credit instead of debit us. The exasperated woman swiped our credit card and handed me a receipt for $0.00. We walked out of the store with the manager’s apologies and lots of free expensive food. Much more importantly, my dream had come true.
I got the message loud and clear: Pay attention to your dreams. Since then I strive to live as lucidly as possible, both awake and asleep. Most of us have heard of the Horse Whisperer, even the Dog Whisperer, and our ego—abused since childhood by materialistic pseudo-science—needs the same kind of firm, loving understanding only our soul, our Inner Self, can provide. The result is a healthier, much more enjoyable and mysteriously empowering life as the the artificial barrier erected between our waking and dreaming self is—like the Berlin wall—joyfully torn down.
Approximately three years ago, I dreamed I was asleep in bed when a woman woke me up in the middle of the night. I was still asleep but believed I was awake as she told me to get up and get dressed because she and my husband and I were going dancing in Washington D.C. I felt confused and yet also very happy as I slipped into a black dress glimmering with silver stars. A few days later, my husband returned from a totally unexpected job interview in Virginia (we were living in Louisiana at the time.) Remembering the woman from my dream, I thought to ask him if the woman he had spoken to had short light-brown hair with bangs, was slightly overweight, etc. He was astonished; I had described her exactly. A few days later, I dreamed I saw my husband walking through a building flanked on both sides by smiling people sitting at their desks who all now worked for him. Then I was standing outside the building, where I distinctly saw the initials of the agency he had just been appointed the head of. Waiting for him a few yards away, I watched him through the glass doors as he delivered a smiling, animated lecture to his new employees. I noticed there was a little more gray in his dark hair. Then my husband’s mother appeared. As we began walking together, I noticed she was limping. In waking reality, I wasn’t surprised when my husband was offered the position and we moved to Virginia, where I grew up and where I longed to return. One afternoon, approximately a year after the dreams, my husband called me one afternoon and declared, “You’re amazing!” He had just been appointed head of an agency with the initials I had clearly seen in my dream. He was also given an office in D.C. His parents, now only three hours away, came to visit us and, on their way home, his mother fell at a rest stop and broke her hip. She recovered well and is otherwise in good health.
There are so many elements in these two dreams which accurately foresaw future events it would be irrational to dismiss them as coincidence.
Recently, I had a dream involving my deceased father, my sister and the woman who, at the time, was her girl friend. My father and I were talking, seriously worried about my sister as we watched her and her lover drive off some place together which I somehow knew would take them from Route 81 to Carl Road. Later that night, I had another dream in which I followed a mysterious trail of water to my study, and realized it was how my sister had found her way in. Her furious ghost, white with shock, stood before me in the kitchen yelling, “I’m dead! I can’t believe I’m dead! She drowned me! She drowned me! I can’t believe it!” over and over again and letting me know it had happened off Route 81 in Tiverton. The next day I phoned my sister. Seriously concerned, I asked her if she ever made any sales calls off Route 81 in a place called Tiverton (she lives another State in an area I’m not at all familiar with.) She told me there’s a Route 81 twenty minutes from her office but that she’d never heard of Tiverton. I asked her to be careful should she ever have to go there, and to be especially wary of Carl Road. I didn’t tell her I had seen her ghost, only that I had had a bad dream with her involving this location. Two days later, I received a text message from my sister informing me that her partner had spent the first seven years of her life in a house off Route 81 in Tiverton, on Carl Road. Her early childhood had been harsh and was, it began to seem, the root of destructive behavior patterns in which my sister’s own personality and happiness were “drowning”. I’ll never forget receiving that text message—an address from a dream displayed right there on my cell phone as actual physical fact. I knew next to nothing about my sister’s new girl friend or the area where she grew up. The address was communicated to me in two dreams, all I did was choose to remember them and respect them. This, I believe, is the most important choice any of us can make when it comes to our dreams. The effect they had on my sister and her former partner cannot be measured, but a relationship that might have lingered unhealthily took a different direction and they managed to preserve their friendship.
Excerpt from my Dream Journal:
Vivid dream last night, a long dramatic scene of S. trapped in a car running out of power fast; she barely had time to key in the code that would bring her help (my 4 bank pin numbers) as at first I observed her and then became her. When it was too late, when I knew the power was pretty much out, she frantically began pressing buttons as I heard someone on the other end urgently telling other “rescue” workers something had to be done to help her.
S. was my best friend and approximately three weeks later she passed away. I had other dreams which subtly warned me she would soon be leaving this world. After she died, but before I found out, I dreamed I was putting my hair up and slipping a shower cap over it as I stepped into a shower. I realized I had forgotten to remove my house shoes when I saw dirt mingling copiously with the water and sullying the tub. I kicked off the shoes but now I was wearing slippers which, by the time I slipped them off, were already too wet to save. I had intended to wash my hair but changed my mind because it would be less work. I was wearing a thin, flesh-colored robe. It was all quite strange; I wasn’t sure why I was still dressed in the shower. Suddenly, I was lower down in the tub watching numerous and varied items flowing swiftly toward the drain. Unless I made an effort to stop them, they would all be sucked down by the force of the current and disappear forever. I let things go, one after the other, but then decided (as I focused on them) that I should probably try and save what looked to be a jump drive, a phone, a letter, and a box of cleansers or medicines; everything else was expendable. I wondered at my detached attitude, at the fact that I didn’t care everything I owned, everything that defined me, was flowing away. A young and robustly healthy looking young woman stepped into the bathroom just as I saw a luminous golden glow appear on the eastern shower wall. She said to me, “Good job.”
My friend’s body was found in the bath tub, where she had fallen when she apparently went into a diabetic coma. I truly feel as though I was with her when she “saw the light”, that I experienced what she did as her consciousness hovered over her body. She wasn’t frightened; she was letting go of this life and it was okay. I don’t know if she sent me the dream or if I somehow “saw” what happened but it doesn’t matter. When I think about her death now I don’t just see a body lying in a bathtub discovered by the police, I’m there with her and I feel at peace, even good.
It may not be required, but an emotional connection—the power of love—makes communicating beyond time and space possible.
One night I dreamed my husband, Stinger, and I were in his workshop threatened by a man with a gun. Stinger seemed oddly groggy and passive. The man shot him in the neck and then started walking toward me. I sank to my knees, pretending to submit to him so he would delay in killing me as, behind him, I saw Stinger get up and clumsily approach us. When he finally grabbed hold of him, I silently commanded my husband to slit the intruder’s throat. I saw it happen very clearly, and marveled at my lack of remorse, but it simply had to be done. Over dinner the following evening, I described the dream to Stinger and he looked at me strangely. He confessed that at some point during his colorful but formless dreams that same night, he had understood it was imperative he leave his dreams to perform an urgent task, which turned out to be slitting the throat of a man who was threatening me, after which he promptly returned to his own dreams. Something very strange and intriguing had happened—my husband felt compelled to enter my dream and obey my command to slit a threatening dream character’s throat. And we had both suffered the distinct impression it had to be done.
When an Air France plane exploded over the ocean just off the coast of Brazil, I was dreaming… I was falling through the sky helping a group of people descend calmly, without fear. I could see other small groups of people in the sky around me, other “guides” accompanying individuals who believed they were plummeting to their deaths and showing them there was nothing to be afraid of, that everything was all right and they could land as lightly as dancers. I was wearing a form-fitting uniform composed of three different colors. My duty done, in my mind I phoned my mother and told her I was somewhere off the coast of a country with lots of tall mountains whose name began with the letter “B”. I woke to the news of the crash and wasn’t surprised the colors of my dream uniform corresponded with those of Air France. I truly believe we all have the power to help each other in more ways than our current level of science recognizes, but that we catch tantalizing glimpses of in our dreams.
I dreamed of a woman who once lived in Virginia, a woman who wasn’t me and yet who, in the end, was me; I both observed her and became her as an old woman I “saw” pass away. Then the year of her birth appeared before me. I “squinted” my awareness, making an intent effort to focus, and clearly distinguished the date: 1880. I also saw/heard spoken the name of the place where she was buried: Buckeye Cemetery. In the morning, I Googled the name of the cemetery and, to my astonishment, it actually exists not far from here in West Virginia. And, remarkably, I was able to view all the tombstones because they had been photographed and put online. I scrolled through them. There was only one person, a woman, born in 1880: Susie S. Mayo 1880-1950, and carved on her memorial plaque were the words: LOVE LIGHT MY WAY TO GOD. I thought, Yep, that’s something I might have written on my grave. I was grateful to her/me for reminding us of what really matters.
It’s time to wake up to the knowledge we’re all dreaming, both awake and asleep, and that we each play a special, vital part in creating the worlds we inhabit.
October 18, 2013: An Attack
I’m walking down a crowded city street in broad daylight when I see a man in black robes running straight toward me, his arms stretched urgently out before him. “Help me! Help me!” he begs. “You can heal me! You can heal me! You’re my healer!” I already know I’m dreaming and, hurrying over to him, I slip a supportive arm around his shoulders. I become rooted in the dream scene as I help him walk quickly in the direction he had been running. I’m trying to understand what happened to him… I lead him to temporary refuge against a wall. He’s now wearing a thin hospital robe as he crouches down, weak and helpless. He’s confused; he can’t seem to understand where his pants went. I leave him there in search of something, perhaps his possessions. I seem to be walking on rocky cliffs. I find a recess in a small cave almost too high for me to reach, but I manage to pull out a pair of small black sweatpants filled with sand. I shake them out, intending to return them to him. I remain conscious of being in a dream, and yet I also believe I’ve woken up and am telling someone about this lucid dream, broadcasting what I’m seeing as though communicating via a hidden microphone. I tell my contact how real everything looks, that it’s like watching a huge screen TV, but not really because everything is in 3D and absolutely true to life.
I watch troops climb and assemble on the upper level of a metal structure protecting a large compound. They’re all lining up there in preparation for something, overlooking the open white concrete of what might be the tarmac of a large airbase or simply desert. I inform my invisible audience, “It’s so realistic! I can’t see their faces because the sun is behind them.” The troops are in full uniform, and suddenly I know it’s wrong to call them troops because they don’t look like American military uniforms. Their uniforms are slightly different; they look and feel foreign to me, and there is a distinct circular dark-green patch on their sleeves. Many of the men are holding rifles, and some are wearing hats.
After waking from my final lucid of the night, I Googled key words form it and found a breaking news story about afghan insurgents attacking a residential foreign compound. The International Security Assistance Force was called in and their uniforms, logo patches and and caps exactly matched the ones of the troops I saw in my dream.
As I was leading away the man in the black robe, taking him somewhere, ostensibly to safety, I was suddenly alone, without any sense of my own body, observing the scene. I feel he may have been one of the two fatalities cited in the news report. I have read, and believe this to be true, that when people die abruptly and violently, they don’t always realize they are dead, out of their physical body, and dreamers are sometimes “called” to assist them, or they just mysteriously happen to be around. It’s not the first time I’ve had a similar experience in a lucid dream. It’s curious the victim recognized me as someone who might be able to help him.
A dreamer on the forum Mortal Mist, where I post my dreams, commented, “Could be the fact that you’ve had a similar experience made him recognize you as a healer/helper” which I think is an interesting possibility.