9.8.18

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“I did not merely see the divine in the trash; by an act of will I put it there.”
—Philip K. Dick

Somebody told me recently that he believed the last 5 years or so was a time of a sort of “quickening,” in which we were all being pushed to be who we are all really meant to be. As with many of these sorts of musings, there is a subtle aura of the apocalyptic about it, though of course it doesn’t have to be I guess. In addition, the person who spontaneously said this to me wasn’t one prone to esotericism or new agey notions; so that made me pay a bit more attention.

And I agreed with him: I have been noticing something strange, within myself and within this society, since that cliched 2012 “end date.” I simply have. Maybe this is all just the natural progress of time, and I’m merely ascribing some “magical” importance to it all, to explain things, to make it all palatable. People deploy such “coping mechanisms” all the time; pretending their lives, and Life itself, are all some epic comic book fable. You can see it in their faces as they pack the subway, as they wait in line at corner bodega, as they walk in pairs or packs through the starry nighttime Manhattan streets on a Friday.

On the other hand: I am here to tell you that sometimes, somehow, weird things happen.

Weird things happen.

Here is a brand-new minty example: 26-year-old rapper Mac Miler just died of a suspected overdose. His last music video was of him in a coffin talking of death. Now, a couple of months ago, 20-year-old rapper XXXTentacion was shot to death; his last music video was similarly morbid and death-obsessed.

Now an “easy” explanation for these synchronicities is: these rappers were living very fast-and-hard lifestyles and perhaps lived more intimately with the possibility of death than you or me. And maybe we could even extend that quick bit of psychoanalysis to their whole generation; this pervasive feeling of fatalism, as if there indeed is no future to plan for.

But.

In 1986 I was driving in the car with my dad one day, on the way to school, and I suddenly realized he was going to die that night.

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Let me explain that sudden insight to you, the mechanics of it: it’s not like I had this “literal” information “spoken” to me, in my mind, and then I comprehended it. It was much more subtle than that; it spoke not to my intellect, but to a place deeper inside of me and without any sort of “verbal” component. It was communication without a verbal structure.

I just realized on some deep level that he was going to die that night, that he wouldn’t be alive the next day; and so I calmly turned to him and told him I wasn’t feeling well and asked could I stay home from school.

And so he turned the car around and we had lunch together and we went home & spent the day together.

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And when he went to work that night, he died of a massive heart-attack.

On Halloween!

So let’s rationally consider what happened, here; as not to fall into the gaping chasm of Chapel Perilous.

Rationally-speaking: I must have subconsciously noticed certain subtle signs of ill-health on my father, over the weeks and months. And so then you have a morbid holiday like Halloween…and I was always generally a child prone to anxiety (hahaha, in part because of my own dad!). You do the math.

A perfectly rational explanation.

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And so let’s move up the clock to September 2, 1998.

On the night of September 1, 1998, I had the following dream. Here it is verbatim from my dream journal:

I was in a plane and there was a commotion and shaking and a fire and a piece of the plane crashed violently through the window, as the woman sitting across from me wrapped her arms around her son tightly like a blanket to prevent him from getting hurt.

That morning I found out that Swissair Flight 111, leaving from JFK Airport on route to Geneva, crashed; killing everyone on board. The cause was cited as “electrical and instrument failure due to in-flight fire, causing spatial disorientation and loss of control.”

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And I remember going into work that day, in my dumb administrative assistant this-or-that job, and feeling like a zombie.

Because I was like, in my head: “how was that possible, how was that possible, how was that possible?”

But let’s get rational again, and find a reasonable explanation. Maybe I overheard, in my sleep, some sort of initial news reportage of the accident. Maybe somebody was playing the news in the next room, or maybe a radio in the apartment next door. And I heard the news being reported, but I was unconscious and thus in my dreams I “translated” it into an incident in which I was “there.”

And/or: the airplane crash dream could have been coincidentally timed. People have dreams like that, about various accidents and disasters, all the time; the vast majority being linked to some sort of anxiety (which we’ve already established I have) on the part of the dreamer.

But I can keep going, and give you about 20-50 subsequent examples of such “predictive” incidents that I have personally experienced.

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It’s not even just *me*: you can go online or even just ask your friends and family & find scores of other stories like the ones I’ve described. Ask your older relatives; be sure not to mention the word “psychic” when you do, because they may considered that term evil or occult. Trust me: you will be very surprised at what they will tell you.

And what you will have to conclude, after you hear enough of these stories, is: there seems to be a “future” that is “accessible.” A future that is “written.”

And that can be a crazy-making sort of concept to wrap your head around, if you keep going down that rabbit-hole.

And what’s nuts is that older, ancient, perhaps even more “primitive” cultures understood this WAY better than we do now.

We have all this highly-advanced technology but we “lost the plot” on these more elemental and basic metaphysical realities of living in this reality. Subconsciously, we miss this connection to the Uncanny, so we keep making up these comic book epics in our heads, as we wait in line at the corner bodega, as we pack the subways.

You can only collectively suppress this stuff for so long.

That’s why I think…that thing about the last five years being some sort of “quickening,” maybe it’s true.

But I’m sure there’s a more rational explanation for it.

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