All Time Is Now. . . .

In May of 1993 when I was coming to in Recovery, standing by was a female physician I recognized from OR.  I am cold and I am clammy I said and through gritted teeth she said you are not the only one!  And  I wondered what had happened in the OR.  I was to understand that no two doctors had identical memories.  Directions had been given for resuscitation and all complied, but whose voice?

Unsure of what I would say to a roommate and to avoid hysterics, I was given a private room.  The cardiologist’s first question was were you always spiritual or just since the cardiac arrest?  I was puzzled because I had not ever even been asked if I was spiritual.  I was always working I thought like everyone else.  Only by quarter inches did my life begin to unfold.

In June of 1984 I was sitting and reading the paper at the dining room table and saw our house painter pull up out front in his green truck and I yelled while I put our German Shepherd in the basement.  He was standing looking at the paint job done and he came in for a minute drinking his water from a peanut butter jar.

His daughter called for him to come home and he walked to the back gate.  I yelled that his truck was out front and he said he knows where he parks his truck!  I followed him to the back gate and his blue, blue truck, new flatbed was there.

I heard in mind the words simultaneous worlds.  And knew for every aspect of my world here, there is another impinging in identity on it.  Though sometimes not up to date as with Michael’s blue truck  only 2 weeks old.  I did see him pull up in his green truck, heard the gate slam, and talked to him.  But his blue truck was out back.

Not until 2015 did I read Michael Talbot’s Holographic Universe and knew then all my life I walked with a foot in other worlds.   There was always a  barrage of criticism because when I tried to explain myself from the time I learned to speak, I was silenced.  I was easy to dismiss.  My quiet brother I remember saying so many times, Ma, she’s crying again.

( I scribed then in ’84. . . the teacher’s explanation. . . we will discuss later what transpired with the impinging world when the Michael worker arrived.  It is not easy we know to live in many worlds.  But to hold to the one in which the physical body finds itself is important.  To be able to recognize the other worlds and still maintain a line of communication with the hereness of where you are is doubly important.  We take pride in your abilities.  Man blossoms under such guidance.)

Not much comfort when there is not a hand to hold who understands.  Hard row to go. I am glad for over a half century of journals and all manuscripts with dates and times.  Who would believe?     Amen and amen.