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GUEST POST: One Friday Night 06/20/2012

Posted by ALT in Guest Post.
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Written by Neil Miller

One Friday night I was at home.  About 8:30 I felt an overwhelming wave of sadness wash over me.  Not five minutes later I heard a voice (not mine) speak inside my skull.  This voice was a first for me.  What it said was “which means?”  At that time I had adopted “which means?” as a cue to help me reason out or think through questions.  Example: I might figure that A +B=C.  It’s at this point I’d ask “which means.”  By doing this I’d both check to see if I was headed the right direction and what’s next.  The first time the voice spoke to me it tried to help me.  Over the years that has changed.  Now I hear everything from brutally abusive comments (sometimes known as guy talk), to enviable clarity of thought, to assist me with the little choices that go into everyone’s day, to sporadic, self-promoting humor.  Who is this constant companion in my mind?  Probably it’s my psyche’s remnant of dear old dead Dad.  It’s as if that sociopath is speaking to me from beyond the grave.  But, even writing these few words helped to kick another door open wide for me.  Notwithstanding the reality that I’m a stable productive member of society, there are avenues of treatment I must explore to put (probably it’s) Dad in his place.

This particular wave of sadness was not a first for me, but, I’d never felt so swept up before.    Not quite sure what to do, I told myself the voice and the sadness were two little oddities I didn’t need to think about.  Monday morning I got to the office and soon took a call from the daughter of my largest client.  My client was also a very dear friend.  He’d passed away last week, she said.  “When,” I asked.  “Friday,” she said.   I just had to ask this next question, “About what time, Cheryl?”  “8:30 in the evening.”  So that was my Friday night sorrow.  I’d lost a dear friend and a valuable business contact.  But, I felt the feelings 2 ½ days before I knew what the facts were.  These feelings of sadness and grief didn’t happen in real time, they happened psychically, in advance.  This was not a human experience I knew about or understood.  Looking back, I believe I was in uncharted territory.   I may have been in mourning all weekend and didn’t know it.  Though I needed to share my sense of loss with his family and others; emotionally I was all used up by Monday.  If only this story could end now I would continue to try and hide from my damnably complicated emotions. 

My friends name was Joe.

Joe was Lebanese to my Jewish.  He was Christian to my Jewish.  His family didn’t trust me or like me.  Joe wanted to take the risk of crossing the bridge to what everyone told him was a dangerous territory.  He wanted to do business with a son of Israel.  (I’m American born and never traveled to Israel, but, tribes always weigh to heavily on people’s minds.)

He’d made some money in his day and his family wanted to keep the money safe.  They also felt   protective of this ornery old man.  Joe wanted to be a gambler.  About the gambling, I sided with the family.  After several rounds of my talking him out of high risk investments, the family declared a truce with me.  Then, Joe and I finally had time to get to know each other.  We found out we liked each other. Along with the itch to be a gambler, I found out he was savoring a private glee in keeping his family guessing about how he wanted to put his money to work.  He really didn’t want to put more $’s into junk bonds and $.38 stocks. (I mean, after all, he was 90.)  He was just checking his family’s temperature for anxiety about him.  So be it.  He made them respect him and he reciprocated their love and respect.  And, sometimes there was a gleam in his eye.

He was old enough to be my Dad, even my granddad.  At his age what did he have the energy left to like?  He liked gambling, keeping his family guessing and he liked the TV show the A Team.  The show had a lot of high risk behavior by our testosterone fueled, yet lovable band of heroes.  The program was such goofy fun I liked it as well.  I’d go over to his house and we’d watch reruns of The A Team together.  I was never that relaxed and at ease with my dad.

When he died I felt like I lost a dad, a pal and a guy whose story deserves to be told.  He bridged gaps of religion and nationality and ended up boasting about his Jewish stockbroker.   In his life these were somewhat lesser accomplishments.  Sooner or later Joe was going to die.  I knew this.  So, why did his death hit me so hard, why the wave of sadness and where did that premonition come from?  I’m tempted to answer my question by quoting from a great, old Bob Dylan song, The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest.  In the song there was a “neighbor boy” who “muttered underneath his breath ‘nothing is revealed.’ “   Now is the time to gather more light together but, will the act of gathering light reveal anything?  Let us hope for a glorious picture window for light to pour through, as if the window and the light were the product of the same gathering.  Let us accept the reality that tiny little peep holes here and there are all that may be possible. 

That Dylan song made several mentions of things waiting down the road.  Things were certainly waiting for me down the road and close by.  Joe died and suddenly I’m getting psychic premonitions and hearing voices.  This happened to quickly, as if out of the blue, right?  Not exactly.  Joe’s friendship was a bulwark to me against having to deal with emotions and states of mind I’d refused to look at for many years.  Joe died, the dam broke and I was flooded with emotions and psychic awareness.  I was overwhelmed.  Sixteen years before Joe died an astrologer told me I had tremendous psychic awareness.  He said I probably wasn’t aware of it but I would become more aware of my psychic ability later in life.  For 16 years I felt stirrings of my gift but tried to not look at it.  Then, suddenly, I’m a faint reflection of Oedipus the King in that my fate was foretold and there was no way for me to avoid it.  Now I wonder how to know my fate and continually align with it. 

There is not a point on the map for someone like me.  I’m a little bit psychic and a little bit psycho.  For years I did not believe there was a group for me to gather with.  There was not a group of people who could shelter my soul.  And, to feel the human warmth of others like me was unimaginable.  Recently, I may have found such a tribe but, I’m still surprised at my discovery.  Thus, I don’t have the words to talk about it, the surprise is too great.   However, there are gaps I want to bridge.  One is the singular me learning much more about this tribe I may want to call my own.  Here’s another gap to bridge; my psychic ability seems to be precognitive.  But, I want to align with my fate.  How is it possible for someone who is precognitive to believe in fate?  I know how to end this article;

Joe, building bridges is how I will keep faith with you.

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