FREQUENCIES TRAVELER AUGUST 25, 2016 What had he been saying, my father? 1970 had been the Anno Domini. My memories would travel through that year today. My mind remembers that night in my past clearly.... December, 1970, is on my mind this afternoon. I sip my drink and watch current events in view through the windows of a popular lunch stop but my mind has traveled back to past events... to that night.... "I am still alive," I think to myself this day -- forty-six years in the FUTURE of that 1970 self. A dragonfly hovers before me today over the parking lot. A helicopter circles the site, a Racetrac Convenience Store, located not far from a local freeway and a new shopping mall, both being used by patrons and constructed simultaneously. I wonder if the pilot's vision is technologically similar -- on a par with -- the dragonfly. And, I wonder if both the dragonfly and the helicopter are here for the same reason. Separating reality from dream. "Is it possible? Reality... Memory... What I remember... when I remember it... can be manipulated. On the other hand, my forgotten memory can be extracted and recalled or replaced. I know this because manipulation of my memory has been happening to me for years, decades, or so it appears. The technology and documentation of these abilities is there. I have been shown or taught by now several versions of reality, the nature of memory, and the physical world we think we live in." I am thinking. "When I step outside my physical body (or so it seems) and look down upon my sleeping "self," while having a conversation with someone who appears to have the ability to make my bedroom ceiling become an animated plaster face talking to me: am I speaking with college kids on technology? Am I having a dream within a dream? When is it a "real" experience or a seemingly paranormal event? Is paranormal "normal" for psychics? Even a talented psychic can be "messed with" by folks on technology. Again, the memories that are obviously planted... the memories which do not seem to be implanted, but are apparently "real." The essence of the appreciation of both experiences -- or is there only one type -- brings me back to the nature of our most basic questions...'Who am I?' and 'Where do I come from?' Or, 'What happened, really?'" Reality... Memory... My memory of those times.... December, 1970, the Cold War, Vietnam, President Nixon's administration, 'make love, not war,' the Kent State massacre, hippies, flower children, flowered VW buses and Chevy vans, music, message music, music with EMOTION-CHARGED volume...we were young. My memory of that night: December, 1970... We had returned from Iceland during the year. In November, our first child, a boy, had arrived almost two months prematurely. He had had to fight for his survival, his life. He was a fighter and was still here and alive on Planet Earth that December night. The hospital had released him to come home on Thanksgiving. That December night, we were all asleep at home when I awoke in a cold sweat from a dream that had been playing and replaying. We were "young marrieds" living many miles and states away from my parents....The dream... -- I want to type it as THE DREAM. -- An important dream. In the dream, my father, who lived in Florida, was annunciating clearly. He was facing a camera in a film which showed him in black and white imagery from the shoulders up -- mainly his head. What were his words to me or to some interviewer I could not see? He seemed to repeat his words; but, I could not understand or hear them. I kept saying,"I can't understand you! Say it again!" I tried to lip-read. After awakening, I shared my dream with my husband, who reacted by telling me that humans do not dream and that I should go back to sleep. He then closed his eyes and I tried to do the same. But...I felt disturbed... this dream was important. In the morning, we could discuss it. As soon as I had closed my eyes -- and this is significant -- the exact same imagery, in the same sequence, repeated. This time, though, the telephone's ringing awoke us all... in the middle of the night. My mother had called and my husband had picked up the telephone: my father was dead. He had died SUDDENLY at age forty-six. Reality...Memory... What are they, really? It is a pretty day today.. that night and that dream are now decades in my past according to calendars.... In my present day -- again, according to calendars -- I see a dragonfly...just outside the window over a parking lot. Dragonflies are "little fliers," like butterflies... like the yellow butterfly who had attached itself to me at dad's gravesite and stayed with me all the way back to the vehicle which was carrying the "grieving relatives" to and from the funeral that day, also a pretty, sunny one, in December, 1970, in Florida. I remember that dream to this day... I remember much more than I share. And, I forget more than I remember. NEXT PAGE Copyright 2016-2022.Asha of Antares.Asha Ariel Aleia.All Rights Reserved. Background courtesy: Asha Ariel Aleia | |||||