Beads Me

I was holding a mala I had ordered online. While I gently rubbed the worked beads between my fingers, I idly wondered where the beads had come from and who had worked on them? My mind wandered and I envisioned a group of elderly men and some younger boys sitting around talking and laughing. One boy in particular is soon going to join his father as an adult. It's not fully automated and it's not fully hand-made, somewhere between the two.
A few moments later I wake from my vision, uncertain if I've seen the way things were when my mala was made or if it was something older still. Or, heck, if I've even had a vision worth mentioning?
That little voice that warns us when we're about to do something stupid is getting louder and I'm listening more than ever. It's saved me several times in the past few weeks. If this keeps up, I might just have a conscience worth listening too!

Now With Wings

After a difficult break-up, I settled into a new apartment behind the police station. Over the two years that I was there, I was startled to discover first hand just how many pests lived in the city, both the crawling kind and the human kind.
One thing that I could never explain was the white moth. There was only one and I watched it fly into my closet. Since I had a wool coat and a tuxedo in that closet and assumed it would go for those clothes first, I was concerned that the moth was going to ruin some expensive clothes. I dashed across the room and began a frantic search for the moth but never found it. My clothes suffered no damage.
My next apartment was a few blocks away and more cramped than I realized when I had looked at the place. I had problems arranging things there and began the process of purging, though I never got very far. I also was without A/C for the first time in my life during one of the hottest summers in the city. Sweating profusely with window fans and screen doors open for any fresh air or breeze that might happen by, I saw a white moth flutter around the room and disappear towards the closet. Again. I went in search but never found it and nothing appeared to be worse for the experience.
After that, I moved in with a friend in a completely different area of town. One afternoon, I was carrying my lunch from the kitchen towards the front room to watch TV when I saw a white moth fly into my bedroom headed for my closet. I set my lunch down and went to investigate but already suspected that I would find nothing. When I did not, I went back to lunch. I was learning not to be overly concerned about this creature.
Now, I have moved in with two of my former roommate's friends (he moved to another city). I have seen a white moth three times now, twice after moving in and once today.
I did not bother to see where it flew off to.

Travellers

I was restless, trying to sleep. There were so many things going on at one time and I was trying to let each train of thought come to a rest so that I could rest.
I was struck with a profound sense of danger. Instantly I was awake; but, I was pretending to be asleep. My heart was pounding, I was beginning to sweat, and I was plotting an escape.
I had heard two voices approaching rapidly, as if being carried on a fast stream. They were distant at first but they quickly arrived at their destination: my bedroom. And something about them radiated danger.
I recall one of them asking the other when I was going to wake up.
"Oh, he's awake. He's been listening this whole time."
I was busted, which did little to avert my growing sense of dread. I was certain that they were here for me, but to what end?
"If he's awake, then we should go. He's probably heard too much already."
"Can't I give some advice or reassurance?"
"No, you know that!! I think you've said too much as it is. He's bound to figure out who you, at least, are!"
"Hey, you in the bed, remember to... just... don't give up."
"Ok, that's it. We're leaving."
"What?! I don't think I revealed any great mysteries?"
Their voices were already fading away. My pulse slowed and I hopped out of bed and looked for some sign of the intruders but there was none.
Sleep was now impossible as my mind raced with the potential of what those men intended and what they cryptic message they had said could mean. I did, eventually, drift off to sleep. But it was restless and nearly dreamless.

In This Space

I was walking down the street, hunting and gathering (shopping for groceries), contemplating what it meant to be in the space: why am I here? The eternal question dogs man from generation to generation and the answers vary from person to person. It was something I needed to answer for myself.
I was in a few accidents as a child, one of which knocked me unconscious. I awoke to find paramedics, my parents, and a few neighbors hovering over me. I tried to sit up but hurt all over. The paramedics held me down so I didn't further injure myself but, honestly, they needn't have. I couldn't have even sat all the way up on my own. While recuperating in the local hospital, I had the thought, even at that age, that I had died and another me had entered the body to finish living out the life I should have. I noticed a change in my luck, a change in the way I was treated, and a change in the way I approached things. It would be glib to say the changes stemmed from my own fears after the accident. I can actually accept that, to a degree. We all change based on our experiences. I can only assert that there was a core change in me that appears to happen in life-or-death circumstances, the effects of which changed me beyond just the physical realm.
At that young age and into adulthood, I wondered I had experienced a realm-shift. That there was a Me who avoided the accident and lived a healthy and lucky life that I should have had. Instead, the accident shifted me to a less-lucky and less-healthy life. My Own Hell.
So, walking down the street, contemplating My Own Hell, I had the thought: everything here is mine. It's my Hell, after all? The words sprung to my lips without bidding: I am Thee and Thou art Me. Everyone here is me.
I had to stop my walk and look at the world again. Everything seemed to fluctuate between two-and three-dimensions. Something grounded my heart chakra in that moment, and the world seemed like its old self once again. But I had glimpsed, briefly, the veil between worlds.

The Cat Who Walked Through Walls

I went with a group of people to an event a while back. Actually, I went early to help set up. We were renting space from another group that had a large room with several smaller rooms to the side. I was one of the first persons in the building and noticed a house cat sitting in the hallway. It was smokey gray and was watching the door as we came in. When it saw us, it stood up and walked towards the smaller rooms then turned and headed down the hallway away from us; I got the impression that we were not what it expected to see. As it got to the last door, I realized that I could see through the cat just as it turned and trotted through the door. This happened just as I was about to alert my group that there was a cat inside the locked and otherwise empty building.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
In the past week I've noticed a lot of activity close to ground level in my apartment. About the right size, shape, and speed of a house cat. There is no cat in the apartment building.

Ghost of Christmas Presents

It's happened at that intersection before.
Walking home from the train, I stopped at an intersection to wait for my light. A gentleman I had passed on the way didn't stop, but there was no traffic to speak of. I suppose I could have crossed, too? I was in no hurry and was content to wait the 30 seconds or so it would take for the lights to change.
I looked North to estimate how much time it would take then looked back towards the West. The man was gone. None of the shops were open across the street. I did not hear a car door open and close. There are no residential doors there. He was just gone.
It's happened before, same intersection, roughly the same time of day. I don't know if it was the same man or not. I really should pay more attention to things like that, at least at that intersection.

Butchering Trees for Our Amusement

One year, my sister decided that we needed to not only have a real tree but go and cut it down ourselves. As was the custom at the time, people would bring the corpse of a pine tree indoors then adorn it with baubles and lighted strands of gaily colored globes and drape the whole thing in strips of metals designed to further catch and reflect the lights of the slowly rotting conifer. But I digress.
We made our way to a Tree Farm wherein acres of land had been set aside for the sole purpose of raising, trimming, training, and then butchering trees for our amusement. I was young enough to require special attention but allowed, on this occasion, to be loosened and let run free in search of the perfect specimen. In reality, I believe I was allowed to simply roam and keep out of the way of the real work to be done.
As I went through the neatly ordered "woods", I quickly became to realize that there were no other humans around me. I wondered if I could become lost or forgotten? And I saw the Perfect Tree. It was perfectly formed and shaped and seemed to stand out a bit from its neighbors. I approached with a weird buzzing in my ears. Gently reaching out and barely touching its needles I said, "I'm sorry we (humans) and cutting you (trees) down." Instantly, the haze around me lifted and I became aware of my sister calling out for me. I left and got in the car, the sweet aroma of a fresh kill filling the car with it's woodsy scent.
We got an artificial tree the next year.