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Monday, January 31st, 2005
2:14 pm - Clean Hands of Blood
Three nights ago I had a dream, and then a semi-dream. The dream did not bother me as much, because I've long had strange, vivid dreams. However, the semi-dream was something unexpected. I'd been meditating, and then I saw two people: one male, one female. They were standing, facing one another. His hands were held out in front of him, palms up, and both were looking down at his hands. They were clean. But the girl, looking mystified, murmured, "there's blood on your hands." Obviously, he saw the source of concern as well, because his eyes were fixed on his hands, his face in the same awed look that she had on her face.

Two nights ago, that came back. This time, I could clearly tell that they were standing outside. She was using a yellow flashlight of normal size. It was night time. They were standing on grass. The same looks on their faces, the (almost) same phrase, "you have blood on your hands." Except now it was "you have blood on your hands," rather than "there's blood on your hands."

Any thoughts?

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Thursday, December 16th, 2004
2:57 pm - Looking for Understanding
Something's coming. Again.
Today I went to an occult shop about 30 miles from where I live, where I was hoping to buy a blade. I was looking through the collection the shopowner carried, and when I came to one, I stopped, and asked to hold it. It was really, really simple, not ornate and "made up for show." It was severely rusted, and the sheath looks like it could use some work. But when he handed it to me, it zapped me, like an electrical shock. The shopkeeper said, "it's not much to look at, but I bound some energies into it." He looked surprised when I said, "I know." But I was actually disturbed. I was getting a really violent vibe from it, even though I knew it had nothing to do with the shopkeeper or the blade. Shortly afterward, I told my friend we should go.

Later today, a friend text-messaged me out of nowhere saying, "I hope all is well." Why wouldn't it be? And yet, the timing gave me chills. I don't know why; it just seems really dark.

An hour ago, a very dear friend of mine called me. "Did anything weird happen to you today?" he asked. I told him about the occult shop, and the shock-effect that came from holding the blade. He told me to keep him posted if anything happens.

I'm so tired.


*****************************************
I posted this entry in my diary, kelticlady. Anyone who's interested in dates/times of the posting can look it up. This is an update.

On December 14th, I went to bed and had more violent nightmares. Someone was screaming. On Friday (10th), I'd heard someone screaming as well, and had attributed it later to a play I saw on Sunday (12th) where one of the characters spent a lot of time screaming. On December 14th, though, the dreams were very vivid, and I ended up waking up to meditate.

Yesterday, the 15th, my housemate's grandfather died. He took a gun and shot himself. As she has Down Syndrome and thus has the emotional capacity of an 8 yr old, we are merely telling her "he passed away."

No more death before the holidays... There have been two deaths, and three hospitalizations in the last week.

current mood: anxious

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Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
11:54 pm - Something's coming. Again.
Today I went to an occult shop about 30 miles from where I live, where I was hoping to buy a blade. I was looking through the collection the shopowner carried, and when I came to one, I stopped, and asked to hold it. It was really, really simple, not ornate and "made up for show." It was severely rusted, and the sheath looks like it could use some work. But when he handed it to me, it zapped me, like an electrical shock. The shopkeeper said, "it's not much to look at, but I bound some energies into it." He looked surprised when I said, "I know." But I was actually disturbed. I was getting a really violent vibe from it, even though I knew it had nothing to do with the shopkeeper or the blade. Shortly afterward, I told my friend we should go.

Later today, a friend text-messaged me out of nowhere saying, "I hope all is well." Why wouldn't it be? And yet, the timing gave me chills. I don't know why; it just seems really dark.

An hour ago, a very dear friend of mine called me. "Did anything weird happen to you today?" he asked. I told him about the occult shop, and the shock-effect that came from holding the blade. He told me to keep him posted if anything happens.

I'm so tired.

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Wednesday, December 8th, 2004
8:23 pm - Weird Feeling / Dad
On December 5th, I sent (in part) the following e-mail to a dear friend of mine:

"...Anyway, it's 8P, I'm sitting here screwing around on a school computer, so I'd better get home. There's a weird feeling in the air here tonight, but I've no idea why. I don't want to go home. Don't ask me why; you know me and my "hallucination" affect. I never know what the hell is going on until it's too late to change anything. All I know is that something out of the ordinary is coming.

Take care, you. Love you."

I did come home, and meditated for an hour in an attempt to clear my mind.

At 10:30P that same night (the 5th), I was still highly bothered. I called my friend Fox, mainly because he knows how edgy I get when this happens. He talked with me for a long while, and at the end, told me to keep him posted. I told him, "You'll probably hear from me within two days, then, Fox. I'm serious. This is really strong." He said he understood, and we hung up.

6:25P yesterday (December 7th), I got a phone call from my sister, who lives 300 miles north from me with our parents.

"Dad's work took him to the hospital."
"WHAT?"
"They think it's his heart."

My father is 52 years old, and very healthy. He is training for a 100-mile bike ride that will take place next July. I was completely shocked. Throughout the evening, other phone calls came, updates. I called the friend I'd e-mailed, almost crying because I was 300 miles away and had a final in 12 hours, so there was nothing I could do. But more than that, I was almost crying because it had happened again. I knew something was going to happen. A while back, I started letting either him or Fox know when I was having one of those "feelings", or similar events. I had to prove to myself that I wasn't just imagining it, that I wasn't crazy... even though they'd told me, many times, that I wasn't.

I wish I were crazy, sometimes. Then maybe I could explain it and have an excuse for why this always happens. The alternative explanation is too creepy.


(Update: I called the hospital up there this morning and talked to my father. He's doing okay, and will hopefully be released this evening, depending on how his EKG, etc., come out.)

current mood: discontent

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Sunday, December 5th, 2004
5:53 pm - Under the Lash
I have a dream that has been recurring for years. There are always three people: A victim, a perpetrator, and an observer. Sometimes I am the victim; sometimes I am the observer.

The victim is chained in some way. Sometimes, (s)he is on his/her knees, bent over. In those instances, there is a chain around his/her neck keeping his/her head bent down. The hands are chained behind the back. In other instances, the victim is merely shackled about the ankles. Though at one point standing, the victim has now fallen to his/her knees, hands bracing him/her from falling onto his/her face.

The perpetrator has a lash. Sometimes a heavy whip, sometimes a cat-tail version. Sometimes a heavy rod or pipe. He - it is always a he - keeps bringing the instrument down on the victim's back. I can hear the victim screaming, then crying, then just half-heartedly moaning as the beating continues without end. The perpetrator is angry, furious. This is not about control, but about pure rage. I can see the perpetrator shaking, both from effort, and from the rage.

The times when I am the observer, I try to throw the perpetrator away from the victim. He keeps coming. It is as though I'm not even there. I grab his wrists and pull as hard as I can, and he slips through my hands as he continues beating the victim - also always male in those where I am the observer - without even seeming to feel me trying to keep him from continuing. I can hear the victim, I can smell the blood and the sweat, and I'm terrified. But I can't stop him. He never touches me in these instances. His focus is on the male in front of him; he has no eyes for me, no ears for my screams or the sounds coming from the man he is beating.

The times when I am the victim, the observer is a male. Usually the same male that in some cases is the victim when I am the observer. He is yelling, making threats at the perpetrator, but he is bound at the wrists and the ankles, and cannot reach me. For the most part, I can't see. I just feel the pain, again and again, until I want to gag. Then there is one moment, a long moment, when I jerk my gaze to the observer. He and I look at one another, horrified, petrified into silence, with a look of absolute helpless doom, and then the pain again.

I cannot wake myself from this dream. I am forced to play it out until my character - either victim or observer - goes unconscious. And even then, I can hear and smell. I can feel the pain. I can feel the shallow nature of my breathing. And when I wake up, I have rug-burn-like marks on my arms from where I had been struggling so hard in the dream.

It's been recurring since about 1995. I can't make it stop. At first I tried blocking it. Then ignoring it. Then focusing on it to try to make sense of it. Nothing has made it disappear.

current mood: stressed

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Monday, November 29th, 2004
6:45 pm - Bird Omens
Today I decided to read at the pier, as I needed a place to simply relax and stop thinking. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a large sea gull ripping and tearing at garbage in front of it. I found, to my horror, as I came up to the bird, that it was not eating garbage... but rather a dead pidgeon. I found the visual highly disturbing; though not entirely grotesque, the image sent chills down my spine. I found that I was unable to look away for several minutes as I watched the gull yank at the pidgeon's barely attached head. I recalled reading so many of the Greek tragedies where a tragic event was preceded by an evil omen, many times having to do with birds of prey. As I sat there, I wondered what the omen readers of old would make of such a scene. I found myself ill at ease for many hours. Even now, it is sticking in my mind and refuses to leave me alone, even though I know that it meant nothing other than the gull was hungry, and the pidgeon provided the opportunity for dinner.

current mood: uneasy

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Saturday, November 27th, 2004
2:26 am - They're Not Visions; They're Hallucinations... right?
I am not new to livejournal.com. I did, however, create a new user name, due to the fact that most of the people I know in real life don't feel comfortable (for whatever reason) with this type of thing.
To be honest, I'm not comfortable with it, either. Raised in a conservative Christian family, I was constantly warned about psychics being fakes, and that there was no such thing as precognition. This became a problem at a very young age when I'd suffer from frequent bouts of deja vu. They'd be extremely vivid, and unlike many who have deja vu, I could usually tell exactly where, when, and under what circumstances I'd seen the situation before - usually, it'd be from my dreams.
Eight years ago, I converted to Wicca for many reasons. One reason was that Christianity - at least, the way I was raised - left no room for what was happening to me. I "had an active imagination," or was "a great storyteller," but my mom would get angry and preachy at me when I'd tell her, "Mom, I have a really, really bad feeling." She'd become even more indignant when, w/i two days, someone in our family would die, or something would befall a close loved one.
My mom calls it a 6th sense. She has it, but says it's a punishment of some kind, and does her best to ignore it. It's gone away for the most part, in her case. I tried to ignore it, too. Instead of going away, it got stronger for me. I didn't want it to. Whenever I got the weird feeling in my stomach, I'd not want to answer the phone, knowing damn well that w/i the next 48 hours, we'd get THE phone call. My dreams got more vivid, and then I started getting (dreams?) during the day in 1997. I'd be completely fine, talking to a friend or doing something else, and suddenly I'd either hear something or I'd get goosebumps out of nowhere. Things would start to fade a little bit, and I'd start... not seeing stuff that wasn't there, but feeling them. By the end of 1997, I was being physically affected by them. By 1999, I was actually seeing images of stuff. Weird, random images, but they always seemed to make sense, and they always REALLY made sense within a few days when corresponding REAL situations would take place.
Now I meditate when I start to have these weird events. A friend told me I should try to "focus" it, but half of me honestly always hopes that there's nothing to focus. In the last 12 years, I've come to understand why my mother thought it was a punishment. Even now as I write this, it sounds stupid in my head. Every time it happens, I say "It's just a coincidence." A week ago, a dear friend finally said, "You know... you keep saying that, but that's a lot of coincidences, isn't it? Who are you trying to convince that it's a coincidence?" I didn't want to tell her that I was - and am - trying to convince myself. I don't want this; I never have. I want to be rid of whatever it is, but it doesn't look like I ever will be. I've been waiting for over 15 years to wake up one day and find that it had disappeared.

current mood: exhausted

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Friday, November 26th, 2004
11:24 pm - A New Start
Every time I begin an online journal in any community, I do so out of the need to bring a different aspect of my thoughts to light. This is, perhaps, one aspect that should remain in the dark. However, I've chosen to bring it to light anyway.

In this journal, I will have nothing but thoughts. Some will those found in dreams. Others will be those found in musings during the daylight hours or the long nights plagued by insomnia. The third group will be comprised of thoughts that I've only really written about in my offline, hard copy journals: my visions. I've never put them online, for a couple reasons. For starters, I myself am a skeptic in the validity of what I see during these visions. I know damn well how accurate they commonly are, and yet I do not believe in fortune-telling, psychic visions, etc. Therefore, the vividly disturbing images I sometimes see cause me even further distress. I try to believe I am hallucinating. Some of my loved ones also believe that I hallucinate, and I am content with that assumption. However, I do need a place to write these events out, as writing alleviates my mind from some of the pain or unease.

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