Monday, January 3rd 2000
I was on my way to work about 4:20 AM--and was thinking about the interview I had conducted just a few days before with Barry Windsor-Smith. I thought about how I had said "How can you have your pudding if you don't eat your meat?"
The quote was from the Pink Floyd song Another Brick in the Wall Part 2; I had used it in our discussion of the state of the current public school system, which grinds up and spits out any child they can't keep in line through behaviour modification or medication.
I got to thinking about Pink Floyd, and wanted to hear that song; I didn't even own a copy of the album it came from, The Wall. I had a Pink Floyd tape in the back seat, but that song was not on it; I thought briefly about reaching back and putting the tape in, but it was raining and I didn't want to risk an accident.
Thinking maybe I could hear a Pink Floyd song on the Classic Rock Station, I changed my radio to 102.3 FM. "Owner of a Lonely Heart" by Yes was just fading out.
The next song came on; it was Another Brick in the Wall Part 2.
I was amazed; I had just been thinking about this very song--first in relation to the extraordinary interview with Barry Windsor-Smith, and then just wishing I could hear it.
As it ended, and the station segued into another song, I reached down and clicked off the radio. I was doing the math in my head on what the odds were of hearing that song on that station at any given moment--probably about 1 in 250. I was still sort of amazed at the coincidence.
As my eyes went back up from the radio, I glanced at the rear view mirror, and saw a pair of headlights bearing down on me at a high rate of speed. It was clear this car was seconds away from hitting me.
I veered my car into the oncoming lane, and the car sped past, missing me by probably 8-12 inches.
I regained speed and followed the car, noting that it was veering all over the virtually deserted roadway.
I figured the car would continue straight on Central Avenue and was shocked when the left turn signal indicated it would turn onto Route 155 just as I needed to to get to work.
I continued to follow at a distance, not sure if the driver was drunk, high, or possibly armed. The next shock came when the driver signaled that he was turning right off of Route 155 onto the tertiary roadway that, yup, I needed to go down to get to work.
I didn't make the turn. I know it sounds paranoid, but it seemed something strange was happening, and I was a little skittish. I continued down 155 for about a quarter mile before turning around. By the time I got back to the road I needed to get to work, the driver of the car that had almost hit me was gone. Leaving me with nothing but questions about this strange incident.
January 12th, 2000
I awoke about 2:20 AM and looked at the digital clock on the bedside table. I was relieved to see I had some time to go back to sleep before the alarm went off at 3:00 and I had to get ready for work.
It seemed like a long time had passed, and I was sure it was just about time to get up. I looked at the clock again and now, what seemed like at least 20 minutes or a half-hour later, it was now 2:21.
This happened two or three times, where I thought a lot of time had passed only to see that no or very little time had passed according to the digital clock.
I suddenly felt an electric current shoot through my foot, which startled me, and I jumped out of bed--now certain that something unusual was happening.
I felt groggy and dazed, and as I looked back in the direction of the bed, I perceived perhaps a dozen pairs of eyes, glowing, at various points around the room--near me, across the room on the other side of the bed. They appeared to be lower down than my eye level--3-4 feet off the ground.
I began to panic, and was filled with fear. I have awoken to find an unknown presence in the bedroom many times, going back to perhaps as young as 10 or 12. But this time, for the first time, I was completely terrorized by what was occurring.
I noticed that, although I could see the eyes glowing around the room, they appeared blurry, and I realized I was not wearing my glasses.
I reached for the lamp near the bedroom door, and attempted to turn the switch. You have to turn the switch twice for the light to turn on, and as I turned it, nothing happened.
I turned it probably 10 times before realizing nothing was happening. Then I walked over to the bathroom door, only three feet or so away, and tried to flip the light on just inside the door. That light switch wouldn't work either.
As I recall the incident, it seems like I was screaming, and I know I was in a real state of panic--but I remember nothing else until I was back in bed and it was now 2:50.
I asked my wife if she noticed anything unusual or if I had woken her up during the night--but she said she remembered nothing.
I could easily write off the entire incident as being a dream--but for the electric current that I felt in my foot. That does not seem like a dream, but a genuine memory.
I think it's important to note, too, that the fear generated by this experience seemed to come from me. Although the sight of the glowing eyes in the bedroom is an ominous thing to ponder, I cannot recall anything overtly threatening about the incident other than the shock of the current going through my foot.
Early January, 2000
I went to see the movie "Man on the Moon," about the life of Andy Kaufman. I had read an article in Rolling Stone about Kaufman, whose comedic talents never really impressed me when I was a teenager in the 1980s.
In reading the article, I came to understand that Kaufman was not about trying to get the public to laugh. I think he was using the public to make himself laugh. He did that by fucking with people's perceptions, and perception has been much on my mind of late.
I highly recommend the movie to anyone interested in perception, by the way.
It's important to note that at this time I was also considering many of the things I had discussed in my December 30th meeting with Barry Windsor-Smith. Barry and his assistant Alex Bialy had recommended to me quite strongly a book called Passport to the Cosmos by John E. Mack. Barry and Alex said the book involved many of the same concepts about perception and consciousness that I am beginning to learn about, and said I should read it.
After the film, which I attended with a friend, we went into a bookstore in the mall where we saw the movie. My friend was looking for a book in the occult/religion section, and I was not at all interested. I was playing with my keys, and dropped them on the floor.
I stooped to pick them up, and as I returned to a standing position, my eyes went to the section of the display dedicated to authors whose names begin with the letter "C." Every single book on the shelf was by a "C." Except one.
The book my eyes fell on in the "C" area was Passport to the Cosmos by John E. Mack. It was the only book in that entire section by someone whose name began with a letter other than "C."
Looking back, I recognize that moment as being a sort of test of my intuition. I don't know why I didn't buy the book at that moment; I certainly had enough cash on me to do so. I have since read Mack's earlier book called Abduction and intend to read Passport as soon as I can.
Sunday, February 6th, 2000
Lora and I decided to take the kids out for the afternoon. The weather was decent and we usually spend at least one weekend day out together, haunting Toys R Us and other places the kids and I enjoy equally.
Lora and Kira made it outside before Aaron and I, and I lingered behind so Aaron wouldn't have to descend the stairs alone. He is four, and not yet quite aware of how dangerous such things as staircases can be.
As we descended together, he got a little ahead of me. I always try to hold his hand or walk in front of him so I can catch him if anything should go awry. As he began to get away from me, I stopped and noticed he was holding the rail. I was suddenly, calmly struck with the certain knowledge that he was going to fall down the stairs.
I feel it's important to try to note what the feeling was that made me know he was going to fall. Because, of course, he did fall.
He didn't hurt himself, but he lost his balance and began to tumble down the last 4 or 5 stairs before the landing at the bottom.
As I was struck by the fact that he was going to fall, I guess my years of programming to filter out such intuition kicked in--I dismissed the thought immediately. "That's ridiculous. What are the odds I would have such a thought and then he would fall--" And down he went.
The thing is, I remember what that moment of intuition felt like. If it happens again, I will know it, and I will be able to act on it. I would not dismiss it again as I did in that moment. I would like to think that moment of dismissal followed immediately by incontrovertible evidence that the intuition should not have been dismissed, was in some real way the death of my old "Level 4" self.
The events of the past few months have transpired, whether consciously or not, to show me that there is more to my life, and more to my mind, than I ever would have thought possible. Events such as these with my son have taught me I need to be open to new levels. I am learning to embrace and believe in my own consciousness. It's a big leap for one such as I.