Quest For The Afterlife - part 9
Seeing Is A Choice
About the time I was discovering ghostly spirits, tarot, and numerology, my family was going through a very trying time. My son was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, in addition to the ADHD with which he was afflicted. His condition had become so severe that I didn't feel as though I could give my best to my employer and still be the parent I needed to be. I left my job as the General Manager of a restaurant and took, instead, a job as a server. I needed to have a much more flexible schedule with less hours if I was going to be available for my son.
There is a story attached to the “coincidence” of my being hired as a server at the new restaurant. I was about twenty when my experiences began to capture my attention. There were so many events of precognition taking place, I couldn't ignore them. I tried to explain them away but after the first two or three times, I couldn't convince myself it was all coincidence. As I said in a previous segment, I eventually shut it off, but not before I had another experience that would haunt me for twenty years.
I was twenty-two years old and a very busy mommy. My day usually began around 5:00 AM when my husband got up for work. I would make his breakfast, pack his lunch, and then get as much cleaning done as possible before our two young daughters woke for the day. I also ran a daycare out of my home with another six children who began to arrive at 7:00. By Saturday, I was ready for a break and a chance to sleep in, which meant not getting up until 8:00.
I was usually so tired when I crawled into bed that I slept soundly, never waking until morning. It was a rare occasion I would awake to remembrances of a dream. When I did remember, except for a very few times, they were complete from beginning to end. They were in full color and so distinct in their detail, that I would often sit for several minutes to determine whether the event had really happened or if I was waking from a dream.
It was a bright sunny summer morning. I woke up in a sweat, sitting straight up, heart pounding, saying a word that sounded like Zuccora or Zaccaro. My first thought was one of panic, “Oh, no, she found me.” As I sat there shaking I tried to clear my head. I quickly realized it had been a dream, but I couldn't shake the strange fear that gripped me. Finally, after awhile, I was able to get calm enough to go on with my day, but the dream was never far from my mind.
The scene was not in a place that held any big significance for me, being a convenience store, of all things. While I stopped there occasionally, I didn't frequent the location. In the dream, I was standing at the counter waiting for the cashier to appear. She came from somewhere in the back, and began to pull my purchases toward her, ringing them up without ever looking at me. She was absolutely stunning, breathtaking in her beauty. She had the darker olive complexion of a foreigner, with beautiful coal black hair hanging down her back and flowing over her shoulders. Everything about her reminded me of how I would imagine a woman from ancient Egypt to appear, right down to the many gold pieces of jewelry. The style of her makeup and that of her jewelry made her appear as though she was a Queen from those long ago times.
Then she looked up at me. Our eyes connected and I was full of fear. Her eyes widened in recognition and I was trembling at the thought that she had “found me”, as though I had been hiding. Right in front of my eyes, she seemed to morph into a mass of swirling energy, sort of like what wind would look like if we could see it. She was angry. The energy of her took off, careening around the room, bouncing off walls, knocking over anything in her path. It was as if she were a child throwing a temper tantrum. Papers were flying through the air. She was a veritable maelstrom.
I felt a calming touch on my arm, and turned to look. There was a diminutive elderly woman looking at me with the kindest sparkling blue eyes. She told me she would protect me. I was concerned how this tiny old lady thought she could protect me against the Egyptian's anger, but just as quickly as the whirlwind had begun, it slowed and dwindled to nothing. And she was gone. That's when I woke up.
Many people would be concerned with the imagery, wondering what each referred to in connection with the life being lived now. I never gave it a thought. I was freaked out, my mind trying to make sense of it. I questioned, even then, if reincarnation was a possibility. Was she someone from a past life, someone I had angered in some way? Why did I feel like my hiding place had been discovered? Did I do something in that past life for which I had gone into hiding? And just what was all that wind and swirling energy? Couldn't she have just slapped me a few times instead of turning into some pissed off tornado? Who was the old woman? How could she possibly be able to protect me?
These thoughts all passed through my mind. The detail and vibrancy of the dream has never dimmed over the past thirty years. At that time, movie makers didn't have the ability to create the special effects necessary for what I had seen. I hadn't watched any movies remotely like what had transpired. Though I have always loved history, with Egypt being one of those areas that fascinated me, I truly hadn't done much studying of the subject. Home computers weren't even possible at that time.
There were two items that held my attention. The first was the fact that I knew she was Egyptian, though I'd never met anyone of that origin. The second was the word I had spoken. I knew it held a meaning. I even went so far as to search the Bible for a word like it. I asked friends who spoke different languages if there was a word like that in their language. I could not find the meaning of the word. When I thought of the word, images of wind swept desert would come to me. The word itself, seemed to be a description of what I was seeing. I could find no reference to wind or sand in any language. I was convinced it had something to do with Egypt.
More than ten years later, I had moved to another town and determined to check out the library down the street. I gathered my children and off we went. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, other than letting the kids find something that would supply some distraction. While they were looking in the children's section, I walked up and down the aisles to familiarize myself with the layout. I spotted a large book wedged in with some other smaller ones. It was so incongruous with its surroundings, I pulled it down. It was a book about the life of the Pharaoh Akenaten. I had never heard of him, having only been slightly exposed to Cleopatra and King Tutankhamen, as well as knowing Nefertiti was considered to have been the most beautiful woman in the world. On a whim, I checked it out. Even then books were choosing me. I just wasn't aware of it, yet.
The full significance of the Pharaoh Akenaten can't be given proper coverage here. One of the most fascinating facets of the man was that he had attempted to change the religion of the Egyptian people to one of monotheism. He worshiped only one God, the Aten. His refusal to honor the old Gods angered his people, in addition to his lack of attention to expanding the holdings of Egypt. Akenaten gave his energy, monies, and attention to the softer, more aesthetic side of life. As it turned out, he was father to Tutankamun and husband to Queen Nefertiti.
Twenty years later, I purchased my first computer. I spent a lot of time surfing the web, fascinated by the information to be had only a click away. One evening I chose to do a search on Egypt, looking for images of the pyramids and other ancient buildings. An image of a map showing locations of ancient Egyptian cities and other significant areas was chosen. I almost clicked off when a word jumped off the page. It was the word Saqqara. I stared in surprise. This was the word. It wasn't spelled with a Z, though that was the sound I used to pronounce it. I didn't know why Saqqara would have any significance to me, but I was going to find out. I did a search and was astounded by what I learned about the subject.
Saqarra was used as the burial place for Pharaohs until the time of the Middle Kingdom. Then around the beginning of the 18th Dynasty, high officials began to use it again, though Pharaohs were building tombs in the Valley of the Kings as their final resting places. Two tombs of seeming importance, at least to me, were the tombs of King Tutankhamen's wet-nurse, Maia, and the tomb of the Vizier Aperel.
A vizier was the highest official to serve the Pharaoh, acting in much the same way a Prime Minister of today would do. The Vizier Aperel was vizier to Amenhotep III, father of Akenaten, and to Akentaten, himself.
At the time of my discovery, I hadn't yet formed an opinion in regards to reincarnation. I found myself pondering the possibilities. Why had I dreamed a dream which had given me the location of ancient burial grounds? Why had I chosen to read a book about a Pharaoh whose name I'd never heard prior to picking up the book? As coincidences go, what are the possibilities of the dream and the reading of the book leading me to this place, especially when the two incidents were separated by almost a dozen years? I stopped trying to figure it out, satisfied that at least I had found the meaning of the word.
Now, here I was, embarking on a new position in a new establishment that was owned and operated by an Egyptian. I was reminded of my past experiences and by now, I was fully aware there is no such thing as coincidence. I wondered what was in store for me. At this point in my quest, I had dealt with the question of whether ghosts exist, been led to discover tarot and numerology, and had made a decision that reincarnation was probably a definite possibility.
This new job was taken at a time when I was beginning to go through the many doors which now seemed open. Often I would stretch out on the sofa, close my eyes, and allow my mind to go where ever it wanted to take me. By this time, I believed I was on a journey of discovery, led by someone or something other than my waking consciousness. I felt I would be gifted with seeing what ever was conducive to moving forward in my quest. I hadn't yet attempted to take control of my wanderings.
One day my daughter asked me if I thought I would be able to “see” something that was targeted. In other words, she wanted me to pick a subject and try to learn something about it that was unknown to me. I had never tried it. I wasn't really sure how to go about it. I also wasn't sure what topic or idea I could explore that I could swear I didn't know anything at all about.
Lindsay made her suggestion. At the time, Scott Peterson was on trial for the murder of his wife, Laci and their unborn son, Conner. Lindsay wanted me to try to see if Scott truly did murder Laci. She was of the opinion that he didn't do it. I had no opinion because as hard as it may be to believe, I didn't know any of the details. The only thing I knew about the case was that Laci had disappeared. That her body had been found in the San Francisco Bay area, and that her child seemed to have been born after her death, which caused him to drown immediately.
We were sitting at the kitchen table and I wasn't sure I could get relaxed enough to see anything. I closed my eyes and focused my thoughts on Scott and Laci Peterson. It wasn't an easy thing to do as I didn't even know what either of them looked like beyond a general appearance. After a few minutes, I was able to see a scene unfolding.
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I was in an area seemingly by myself. It was sort of a cove with cliffs rising on either side of me, sort of like the area had been carved out. The water was still, not at all like one would expect of a body of water attached to an ocean. The water lapped at the shore which was made up of sandy dirt of a brownish color. Behind me, the ground was level for quite a distance, slowly rising at a slight incline towards the access road that wove its way down to the shore. There was grass and trees to be seen in the distance.
As I watched, I saw a man of a somewhat muscular build walking toward the water. He was carrying a woman, one arm under her back and the other just under her knees, much like a man would carry his bride over the threshold. However, this woman's head was hanging back, hair swinging free, her body limp. I couldn't see who the man was since he had his back to me as he approached the water. I wanted to see who he was and who he was carrying. I will never forget what happened next.
Suddenly, it was as if I were the woman. I was on my back, on the ground or floor, I'm not sure which. I was clutching at my throat, trying to pull at whatever was choking me, but I didn't have much strength. It was like my entire body was immersed in pain. I hurt everywhere, but the pain of choking, the sharp pain on my throat was increasing. I tried to keep my eyes open to see who my attacker could be. He was blurry, almost like I was looking at him through an opaque film, or maybe the tears I was shedding. I couldn't tell. I tried harder to see who it was as the white plastic bag tightened around my throat. Oh, my God! He was using one of those grocery store bags like it was a rope or something. I think the bag had red lettering on it like when “Thank You” is printed on the outside. It was stretched so taut it felt like a razor on the skin of my neck.
I tried again to see who was doing this terrible deed. I will never forget the expression of pure hatred. He had this feral, snarling countenance with spittle gathered in the corner of his mouth, but no sounds were coming out of his parted lips. Though his face contorted with ferocious, angry emotions, his eyes were pools of controlled determination bent on my destruction. The normally handsome face of Scott Peterson was distorted by deadly rage. Without any warning, I was assailed by emotions that weren't mine.
I was fully cognizant of the fact that I was witnessing these events as myself, but I kept feeling Laci's emotions. I felt the utter confusion, the failure to believe her husband would do these things to her. Her mind was starting to drift away, and all I was getting was a heartbreaking question of Why?
I couldn't stand it one second longer. I broke away from the scene, opening my eyes wide. I stood up quickly, knocking into the table, and started pacing, so great was my denial of what I'd seen. I was crying so hard I could barely breath. It was by far the worst thing I had ever experienced. I paced for a few minutes to calm myself. When I sat down, I told my daughter quite simply, “He did it.”
I don't know the details of the story. I don't know how accurate was the scene I had witnessed to the location at which Laci and Conner were found. I don't know if a plastic bag was used, and I don't know if the pain I was feeling all over my body came from a brutal attack prior to being choked. I don't want to know. I feel like I know enough to be sure that Scott Peterson saw his wife as an obstacle to what he wanted to do, and so killed her. He blamed her for everything wrong that ever happened to him.
I also found a new respect for those who use their abilities to help search for the missing, especially children. I can not imagine the tremendous toll “seeing” these types of events would take on a person. I can not imagine being strong enough to separate myself and my emotions from the horrors witnessed when a child is murdered.
One thing I learned about the ability of clairvoyance: it can be directed toward a specific target, and it can be controlled. However, these abilities are no different than any other acquired skill. The subject must be studied and it must be practiced in order to become adept. I also have come to understand this ability like any other is something anyone can learn. The human brain is capable of so very much more than any of us can comprehend. Second sight is a choice.
With the new understanding that perhaps I could direct my line of vision by sheer will, I determined my next effort would be to see into my past lives.