I want to tell you about something extremely weird that happened to me in 2019 — well before the Covidiocy and the Great Election steal — and which has me profoundly uncomfortable, because it’s woo woo stuff, and I don’t like woo woo stuff.
It has however been the only thing to keep me going since then and without it I’d be the blackest of the black pilled. However, this was one of those maybe not part the red sea (there was no physical manifestation) but by the very nature of it undeniable and by coming when it did, puzzling then and “Oh,” afterwards.
I’ll also point out that I know at least three other people who had similar experiences at around the same time, and took it better than I, because they are more comfortable with faith.
Some of you have rebuked me in the past (in private, thank you) for not talking about religion or my relationship with himself. There are many reasons I don’t do that, the most important being that this is not a religious blog. I don’t have issues with religious blogs, but this one deals with secular issues of society, culture and governance. Are all those influenced by religion? Sure. But in a religiously pluralistic society such as ours, I can’t convince anyone — and will chase many otherwise willing people away — by screaming things I believe and they don’t.
Like there is no arguing with taste, there is no arguing with faith. You either believe or you don’t. And there is nothing sadder than someone trying to convince others by repeatedly quoting a book or a tradition they don’t believe in. And it’s probably sadder when it’s my own. You can dispute within groups of believers by quoting basis of the faith, but outside? It’s somewhere between hollow and silly. Yeah, yeah, convert, etc.
That brings me to the second reason: I don’t particularly feel called to convert people to my faith. I will pray for those I love who I think need Himself in their lives, but that miracle is beyond me. And please don’t yell at me, I do realize it’s heretical in oh, so many ways, but I believe Himself finds a way of reaching even those who believe objectively harmful doctrines. I believe, in the beautiful phrasing of a Greek Orthodox monk to whose lectures a non-believing friend introduced me years ago, that “The doors of hell are locked on the inside.”
The third reason is. however, the most important: I am not a woman of faith.
Stop staring at me. I am not, naturally. I dislike that which I can’t see or touch. The irrational and miraculous annoys the living daylights out of me. And it annoys me whether it comes from the faith (which with some interesting admixture. No really) I was raised, or from Bob the sun worshiper who has made a shrine of rocks in his yard and makes fires there in summer, and dances around it in animal pelts. (Dude, I DID live in Manitou Springs for 7? years. What part of that is unclear.)
It annoys me because in my back brain it’s a breaking of the rules.
On top of that my religion is painfully legalistic, or it is as it was taught to me, and I’m not one of those people. Even if I TRIED dotting every i and crossing every t I’d fail twice a week and ten times on Sunday. It bugs the living daylights out of me, in the same way that it bugs the living daylights out of me to learn German: Three genders, randomly assigned? What do you mean Casus? If I have to solve quadratic equations to say “Good Morning” I’m just going to hit every native speaker with the dictionary and run screaming into the night. Your Casus is Casus Belli, your language is an offense against normal people, and I will only learn it under protest, and then forget it quickly.
This is not, by the way, an invitation to discuss my faith or lack thereof, much less to try to convert me to a new and exciting faith. I follow the religion grandma taught me. Badly. And mostly when I pray, I hear Himself chuckling in the back of my head. Because I’m the plucky comic relief.
I’m just trying to explain my relationship with the whole thing, so that you understand why what I received is both unlikely, and why I trust it, despite everything.
So, because I am what I am (Popeye of me) and because Himself is what He is — and I do believe in Him and that He’s an author because nothing that doesn’t have self-directed intelligence could be this perverse (Yes, I just called the Creator perverse. Yes, I remain uncharred. You will most certainly deal) and no creature who ISN’T an author could have this disgraceful sense of humor and plotting (yep, still uncharred. DEAL) — I sometimes get …. miracles. Miracles, “seeings”, answers to prayers I didn’t make but would if I knew to do it.
I can explain away ninety percent of them. I also have “religious nerd” friends I hit up to make sure I haven’t wandered into seriously diabolical stuff, or at least very evil, particularly when this stuff involves dreams, because I’ve had some doozies. (One of those died, but this doesn’t save him from my discussing it with him. He doesn’t answer audibly. I’m not that crazy, but I still tell him about it.)
Ninety percent? Well, I can explain them away so they don’t bother me. Not that the explanation needs to be very sane or make tons of sense. A lot of devolves to sun spots and weather ballons as explanations for UFOs. They make no sense, but they allow me to ignore that for just a moment something that shouldn’t have happened happened or was given/granted to me. And then I can sleep at night. Yes, I am aware I’m playing a game with myself. Deal.
Now I get these…. once a year or so, not always on matters of high import. Or on matters of high import to anyone else. And they break causal/logical sense. I only refer to them as coming from the Creator, or G-d, or whatever you care to call them because they seem to all come from one…. well, person. And there’s a personality.
If you’re not a believer, you could think it’s some logic of the multiverse. In fact, we have a broad category of things that have happened to us that are either miracles, or time/multiverse travelers playing pranks. And for them to be miracles, it would need to be necessary which we don’t see.
Examples and the first was beneficial: when we moved from an apartment in Rockhill SC to a house in Charlotte NC, we made three u-haul trips, and cleaned the apartment. We were 24. And we carried everything/did everything alone.
By the time we finished, we were beyond exhausted. On the last trip to Charlotte, after returning the u-haul, I realized I didn’t have my purse. I remembered clearly that we’d left it behind, in the one piece of furniture in the place: a sofa, which we were abandoning/leaving behind, with agreement from the complex. I made some exclamation that included “purse” and my husband said “I know. You left it on the sofa in Rockhill. Tell you what, we’ll call the landlords and go get it at the office in the morning. I just can’t tonight.” Both of us clearly remembered the purse, and where it had been left.
Imagine our surprise when we opened the door and the purse was dropped on the floor in front of the door, in the new house.
And yeah, I explain these things way easily “We both misremembered” and go on with life.
Other things are harder to explain and most fall under “gremlin activity.” Like, my husband’s contact lenses disappeared from the closed box. This is …. He’d worn them for ten years, and trust me, it was a ritual. There’s no way he didn’t put them in the box. But they disappeared, forcing him to drive an hour to the eye doctor with a seriously outdated prescription. (Yeah, it could maybe be good, because it delayed him, maybe there was an accident if he’d gone at the regular time, or gone straight to work, but frankly, that requires a lot of special begs.)
The others are really, really stupid things. For a while there, my phone and my kindle disappeared and appeared in randomly strange places. Earning me a reputation for being a total airhead. And then it stopped, suddenly. The tell for “this wasn’t right” is that the places they appeared in made no sense whatsoever, or were places I’d already looked in ten times. (And by that I mean places like a vast, clean coffee table, where nothing could hide.)
The other week, we spent a day, both of us, looking for a relatively large piece for an essential machine. I’d carried it from the bedroom to the bathroom, and it disappeared. Both of us looked all over. I ordered a replacement. That night, my husband was brushing his teeth and glanced at the top of the hamper, where it was sitting in splendor and visible glory.
Those might be miracles, but I have no idea how. There is no actual “intelligence” or sense behind them. Weirdly they disturb me less than those that have intelligence and sense, because it’s just one of those “there are holes in reality. Meh.” My husband has a short hand for these events. It’s “Frigging time travelers collecting souvenirs.” (He assumes the supervisor makes them bring some back.)
But anyway, if you want to believe these are all random acts of the multiverse, I won’t argue with you.
I’ll just say the very few things that happen for which I have no explanation not even a bad one, tend to be “true” even if sometimes you have to wind through a weird road to get there.
A lot of these are knowledge, sudden certainty, strange dreams (there is a feel to dream that’s “true” even though one of them I refuse to believe is, because it’s more mystical than I like to believe and would also imply I’ve been called to something important. (And the one of you who has heard me gnaw on that dream like a dog with a bone can stop giggling right now. It’s not becoming, and sets a bad example for the kids.)
They rarely come when I’m praying, or if they do, they come about something unrelated to what I’m praying for, if that makes sense.
And when I say “I heard” understand I have never yet had an auditory hallucination. I “heard” refers to a thought in my head that isn’t mine. I don’t know how else to explain it. And I realize that sounds crazier than hearing voices. Mind you, most of the time I don’t “hear” words. I “feel” a train of thought.
One time I “heard” something clearly was when I first met Dan. For various reasons — no seriously, he had had dental surgery, hadn’t showered in two days (I still haven’t broken him of not showering when he feels sick. I think it’s counterproductive, but it’s his thing) and was high as a kite on pain killers. He was also having a massive acne outbreak — he didn’t at all look attractive. But the minute I saw him, I heard in the back of my mind “This is your future husband.”
It took us four years, relationships to other people, etc. etc., but dang it, yeah he was. (The miracle there, is that I didn’t run screaming into the night. Probably only thing that prevented it is that it was the middle of the day.)
There are others, like a sudden certainty younger son would be all right (Back then. Now I just worry.)
Or knowing to the moment when grandma died, and also that she was all right and was with all her beloved animals, including the turtle, even though my annoying family hadn’t told me she was sick.
These things, when they hit, can’t be doubted.
Call it my back brain adds up to something that my conscious brain has no words for, if you insist on not believing in woo woo stuff, which I really wish I could do, and still try.
Anyway, in this case, my “sense/feeling” in 2019 came while I was praying, but I was not praying about this specifically. I was worried, but about much more personal stuff, such as where money would come from to do some needed repairs.
And out of the blue I got…. a train of thought and a certainty.
I knew the election would be stolen (which is why I was so sure through 2020) and I knew very bad people would get power. The train of thought was “Worse than FDR LBJ and Woodrow Wilson rolled into one and dipped in Nancy Pelosi.” And I knew it would be bad, very bad.
But I also knew with absolute, unwavering certainty, that America would not only survive, but would come out of this more America than ever.
Perhaps not the perfect constitutional republic — I think that worked for like an hour after the ink dried — but closer to it than we’ve seen in the last 200 years or so. With more freedom, more prosperity and more individual ability to pursue happiness than ever.
I got the certainty that “past the bad times” the republic not only lived, but it was a golden era. And that I would see it. Or at least the beginnings of it.
And it was absolutely, unwaveringly CERTAIN.
Have I tried to explain that episode away?
Am I still me? Of course I have. But there is a rock-hard certainty to it that can’t even be chipped away, no matter how depressed I get.
And btw, the friends who were vouchsafed almost exactly the same, though most are of different religions and one tries really hard to be a non-believer AREN’T HELPING ME EXPLAIN IT AWAY.
Maybe it’s an amiable delusion, to help me weather the storm. Maybe my devious subconscious is so smart that it foresaw what was coming and gave me this, so I wouldn’t die of despair.
Sure. But I know my subconscious really well, and if it were behind this, it would have — instead — filled me with the illusion that there were time-travelers hiding in old train stations and then forced me to write a novel about it.
Reassurance and kindness are not in its range of abilities.
And at any rate, it won’t let explain itself away that way.
So, today I was going to talk about the consequences of gerontocracy. (Yeah, there are some. It was to be called “Eating our seedcorn” And then I was going to have a post about what comes after. Because I don’t know, so I like to explore and poke at it.)
Instead, as I was thinking about what comes after I got a strong feeling I should write this.
Do I think it was a divine command?
No. I think this is my subconscious doing some weird math of its own, and figuring that at least one of you needed to hear this.
I have no clue which one of you. But now I’ve said it, and I hope it helps.
Gerontocracy — or in this case kakistocratic gerontocracy — tomorrow.
I have boxes to unpack, and younger son is tapping his foot and crossing his arms at me.
Wally wally wally.
See you tomorrow. And don’t send the men in white coats for me. I can act completely sane. Sometimes.