25/06/2026
Moving between dimensions
All my life, I have moved between dimensions, had visions, had psychic intuitions, been joined by angels appearing in the flesh, and flown through portals.
Never because I tried, except in the early years. In adulthood, almost always because those things just happened, or some helper or angel made them happen.
I have always been afraid to try, for fear I would have no result and then feel stupid and ashamed for wrongly believing I could.
I know I've had this awareness of other realms and other beings because I remember it when I was about one day old, on my back, arms and legs occasionally appearing above me, in a dim room, then I am moved toward a light, butt first, then my world is still again, warmth around my hips suddenly become cool, and sensations are noticed between my legs, then something so shocking I leave my body and look down on the room, see the people in a pattern I will interpret later, and contact my colleagues immediately, psychically, and state as much as ask some equivalent of the question, We're out of here right?
I remembered this at age 41, all at once, felt it in my body energy, after a therapist had suggested I ask an inner child if they had something they thought I needed to know.
I'd been appointed this therapist when I'd called a Hotline because I had begun roaring (a fiercely gutteral sound that rose from the depths of me) and it would not stop.
At first it felt good and appropriate, but soon I felt an odd spot on my vocal cord and thought I should stop before I burst a blood vessel.
But when I tried to stop, another roar would emerge within seconds, and emerge again and again until that spot felt very vulnerable, and I feared I could either bleed to death or drown in blood.
I could stop just long enough to speak a few words at a time between muffled roars on the phone.
At the therapist's office, spilling my story of child's cancer, my divorce, health insurance bankruptcy, having to move, children hating me - all happening in one week – he suggested that when I get home I simply ask any inner children if they have something they think I should know.
In my session I had said, "Normal" when he had asked what sort of young childhood life I'd had. When he followed up with a request for an example of some typical thing, I searched for something nice, and then just stared at him, mouth open, at a loss.
At home, even though some part of me thought it was dumb, I had asked, and within two seconds, there I was on my back, rolling toward that white room.
Leaving my body on day one, and afterward, seems to have reinforced some psychic pathway and knowledge about how to stay in touch with my multidimensional self, even while on this Earth where everyone around is trained to not be aware of it.
Another time, I experienced the sensation of being with others in the cosmos at a gathering to join a conversation about concerns over a planet called Earth.
A minority faction advocated to blow up the planet because horrible practices were at risk of spreading.
We were among the majority that suggested closer inspection was warranted, and my colleagues and I volunteered.
I felt we were young adults, only from a culture where "young" might be 100 years, and I felt extremely well trained and calm, devoid of the sorts of emotional feelings I would learn on Earth.
We volunteered to incarnate to gather information and try to help guide the culture if we could. We would be spies and possible helpers.
We had agreed to incarnate together and either stay together if there was enough value to protect the beings there, or leave together if we thought not.
As I was poised to propel myself away from the planet, my colleagues all responded that their families were very good people and the planet was very worth saving.
All my colleagues, on planet and off, agreed I had experienced something far worse than any of us had expected, so everyone would give me extra support. I reluctantly agreed.
The first way they supported me was to bring me back through a portal to be with them as often as I wanted, until one day they told me I wouldn't be able to come over as frequently anymore, and I was going to have to be brave.
Waiting times got longer and longer until so much time would pass that I would be surprised when the portal appeared while I lay in my bed ready to sleep, and my heart would be so happy for just a second or two, then I would remember nothing. Next, I would drop back into my bed, knowing I was loved.
One day, I came back into bed having been told that it was going to be a long, long time before the portal opened again. Such dark loneliness... I thought it best to forget about it, and I did.
At some point they sent an angel to appear in my room, sometimes frequently, suddenly appearing when I was alone, to help me with advice and comforting words.
My mother called her my "imaginary friend," which she used to convince everyone that I was crazy.
She couldn't tell them the real reason she wanted no one to believe me, so she called my friendship with her "crazy," and I knew that craziness was a terrible thing. So I tried not to be it.
Worst, she began to call everything I said into question and insist things didn't happen that way. So I became a very careful observer, and I would never allow myself to exaggerate as I practiced memorizing what I had seen. Nevertheless, my mother insisted to everyone that I had "an active imagination," and I "mixed up dreams with memories." later, she added delusional to her repetitions..
The reason for my mother's lifetime campaign of convincing everyone I was crazy was because I had once spoken about not liking things that were done to me in the night.
She had knocked a bar of soap around in my mouth while screaming I should never say those words again.
Always, I have remembered how she had suddenly begun to tell everybody that I had the craziest beliefs, and she thought I was was crazy.
Everyone laughed and asserted that children are all different, and maybe I was even a genius, like that article said in LIFE Magazine about Einstein.
I was three or four, an age at which it was OK to be standing in the driveway in my underwear, listening to the adults talk about me. I appreciated those words of hope, involving that magazine that seemed to be lying around everywhere, and let the words repeat and resonate in my mind for a long time.
Now and then - I think when my inner healer judges the time is right - I remember another event that had been buried.
One night, lying under my husband in bed, my right hand on his left forearm triggered a buried memory of a time in childhood, and I was immediately back there in my body.
On my back on a bed with a spread with a particular texture, uncomfortably naked. The window on my right had a shade pulled down with a frame of bright sunshine coming in around the edges, and an invisible person stood beside the bed looking down at my nakedness.
I knew his intent and that there was nothing else I could do, so I left my body and used the wallpaper as a focus, reciting the phrases I had practiced with such amazing effect that I could be totally gone from that physical world, and just be here with the wallpaper: pink roses, green leaves, grey-green background, white wavy lines making frames around the roses - wondering whether the workers got in trouble for the paint that wasn't even. Some of the paint on the white wavy lines was thick and on some the grey green could be seen through. Did the workers get in trouble?
I always said the exact same words, but this time I broke the pattern and praised myself for being so smart that I could figure out how to leave my body, and no adult taught me how to do it. Maybe the adults didn't even know how. I was smart.
But suddenly I remembered what I was smart about, why I had left – and I almost remembered why, almost slid back there.
Quickly I returned: pink roses, green leaves, gray-green background, white frames, workers, trouble?... And determined never to break the routine again.
I first fell in love with my kindergarten teacher. She looked me in the eyes and acted interested in what I might say.
I was absolutely astounded, and very grateful. And from then on I tried to be just like her. Eventually I became a tutor to my fellow students, usually in mathematics, and remained so on into high school.
Being ignored at home had its benefits. I had many hours every day after school to study whatever I wanted. In seventh grade, I studied palm reading.
One day, on the playground reading the lines in a friend's palm, I went into a trance, remembering only vaguely hearing myself speaking, then came back to myself to face a half circle of classmates looking at me, all with their mouths hanging open. I told myself not do that again. And I never read another palm.
About 16, I studied dream interpretation, practiced dream meditation, wrote down my dreams in detail, and interpreted them, sometimes using the lists of common symbols in the books..
In my very first dream meditation, I was riding with friends in a a fast, red convertible, ecstatically happy, arms in the air, hair long and wavy, flying behind me. Then I was dropped off at home where I entered an empty kitchen and saw a payphone on the wall, with an out-of-order sign.
Age 24, I was scheduled to give birth to my son the next morning, when I felt his spirit come into me. It felt like a soft golden light rising like a fountain inside me, only not in streams but like a sparkler in slow motion, rising from my heart, fluttering softly up through my chest and down through my torso.
My mother insisted we go to the emergency room, where they sent me home with an antiacid I never took. I was so obedient. I knew it was a waste of time, but I had been very well trained to obey.
The next year, husband driving, me riding on the passenger side with my son on my lap as we did in 1976, stop and go in a snow storm on a highway outside of Dayton, I asked my husband to stop farther back from the car ahead so that we didn't need to breathe its exhaust.
He hated me telling him what to do, so when traffic halted ahead again, stopped about 100 feet back and turned to smirk at me.
An unusual sound grabbed both of our attention, something like a whistle seemed to be approaching very fast from behind us.
A whirling storm flashed through my imagination, followed by the real vision of an out-of-control semi-trailer rig which used that gap to drive onto an overhead ramp and avoid slamming into three rows of stopped vehicles ahead of us.
I credited angels for using our family dynamic to protect a whole lot of people.
... to be continued
