Premonition Dreams

1049. PREMONITION DREAMS

When I was five or six years old, before a horse-race, my father gave me a piece of paper (I don’t know the exact term for it) with the names of the horses that were to participate and told me to pick one. After reading the names I immediately picked one (I still remember its name).

The reason why I picked it was a certainty that the horse was going to win; and its name seemed (to me) to be printed in bolder fonts than the other names. I felt as if there were a “warmth” irradiating from it. I remember my father looked very unhappy after seeing my pick (the horse was nowhere among the favourites, it seems). But that horse – the one that had “no chance to win” – WON.

It’s a very pale experience compared to many others I had later in life, but to me it is important because I remember it as the first time that I became clearly aware of my… well, whatever anyone wants to call it.
– end of premonition dreams extract –

190. PREMONITION DREAMS

…I left the second floor classroom at ……. at 10p.m. As I descended the outside stairway of the old building, I reflected on the long day just ending. It had begun about 6a.m. with a major fire. I was a volunteer firefighter, we responded on the Second Alarm. The air was crisp and clear as I walked across the parking lot. Arriving at my car, I unlocked the door, slid behind the wheel, and closed the door.

A rather loud voice said, “There will be an auto accident. Someone will die!” As my head snapped around to locate the speaker, I knew that no-one was there. I had the impression that the voice was in the left side of my head. “Where did that come from?” I thought. Nothing like it had ever happened before. I did’t feel threatened. It had not said I was in danger.

I sat a few minutes, reflecting on the implications, then head home–to the fire station where I lived–17 miles away. As I drove south on …,  I thought of trucks that had crashed when they could not make the curve onto the bridge. The bridge, over dark, swirling waters was clear. There were wisps of fog as my tires hummed on the concrete of the freeway. I peered around each turn, looking for flashing lights. Then it was across the …  river and into downtown….. Nothing.

Now it was up dark, winding road–a freeway–socked-in with thick fog. Here, there was definItely danger. As I crept up the hill, I wondered, “Will it be here?” The fog thinned considerably when I crossed the summit and approached the exit towards the fire station. Keeping to the right, I looked sideways at base of the large sign-pole in the “Y” of the exit. Instantly I KNEW: It would be right there! In two minutes, I pulled into the parking lot at the fire station. Inside, I greeted those who were still up. We watched the news for pictures of the morning’s fire. Then we went to bed. The alarm bell shook the wall over my head at 1:58 a.m. We were still struggling into our gear when the lieutenant shouted, “Auto accident at the junction! Car into a pole!”

Immediately I was in a mild state of shock. It was good that it was my turn to stay at the station to man the telephones and radios. There was clomping of rubber boots on concrete, and hoarse shouts of sleepy voices. The big doors rattled upwards and the Engine and the Rescue truck roared to life. In moments I was alone in the cold air, with the swirling exhaust fumes. The call had come from the State police. I made sure that the local ambulance was responding, then closed the station doors before my friends arrived at the scene. I made the entry into the log book, and sat down to wait, my perception of reality badly shaken. “Where had the voice come from? Scientists say this can’t happen…” “Am I crazy?” The scientists were wrong. And perhaps I am crazy. The young man’s new …  Chevrolet hit the pole dead center. The engine was under the front seat, and the pole was up to the firewall. The driver was still alive, talking. Briefly. It took them nearly an hour to pry him from the wreckage. Far too long. When the crews returned, I took the resuscitator to clean it and return it to service. I was fully aware, still wondering, as I washed the young man’s blood and mucous from the face-piece, and then disinfected and dried it. I would never forget. I searched a long time for the ‘source’ of the voice. Now I know that the voice was most likely from my own sub-conscious. How did it know?

Update, 2005 See page 22 of Dr. William A. Tiller’s book, “Some Science Adventures with Real Magic.” The subconscious mind is able to process 50 MILLION bits of information per second, versus the conscious mind’s ability to process about fifty bits per second; this from Danish researcher Tor Norretranders. An important point is that most of the information ‘passes through’ without conscious awareness, UNLESS there is a specific need for the information at the conscious level. In the story above, the fact that I was to play a small role in the attempt to save the young man’s life–because of the location–was the hook. This implies that the young man–consciously or subconsciously–intended to hit that pole. That is the most logical explanation.
– end of premonition dreams extract –