Premonitions Create Futuristic Events. Pay Attention! - July 2012
You were born with infinite capabilities. Are you following your childhood dreams?
Those were the days when we popped the heads off dandelions, watched rainbows after rain storms and adored snowflakes falling on our noses. Every cloud was a movie reel. Every stream a never-ending river of things to be up-turned, looked for, examined and uncovered. When I was a child, I felt that all things must be magical and that all things could be magical. It was a dream I held while sitting through boring Sunday morning church services and scrubbing the well-used-all-week back porch stairs of the farm house every Saturday morning. Today as I sit in ‘Miss Lily’s’ coffee shop, I promise myself to see the world as the seven year old child I was. I’m going to see the child in every soul that I meet today, and discover if people are living their childhood dreams, premonitions, visions and have gained the fruits of their labour.
This means that all the buildings on Main Street across the street from me are gargantuan Altanteon. The stuff over there at ‘L Amour’, shop, with its bras and bikini panties in the window display belong to my mother and my granny’s generation. What the heck does it feel like to wear one of those over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders anyway; they look restricting, foreign and utterly ridiculous. The sign says, “Come in for a super fit session for your bra” - hope I never have to wear one.
I spy “Susan’s Just Because”- Mom and I won’t be going in there, no, looks like stuff for other folks, not us. I know no class distinctions really. Mom and Dad’s friends are just people to me, and only a few of my parents friends have fancy stuff, like glass ornaments from olden times and glass dogs sitting on side tables. Some don’t even have as much stuff as what we have in our livingroom.
Scanning the cafe I spy Johnny, also seven. Like me he’s bright, being taught manners, but he is also taught competition which is foreign to me. My parents just tell me to do my best. Johnny is blond, smart and cute. He wanted to be a scientist, but dad didn’t feel that would earn him enough money. Today he’s John, sixty-five, an accountant/ financial planner, divorced, seriously egotistically bragging about how wonderfully competitive his two children are. Oy vay.
There is a black kid here, too, Parnell, sitting at the side table; he is very dark black. He’s five and I’m sure those saucer-like eyes glean him a lot of favours, loving and hugs from his grandma. He loves dancing and liked to rap is a kid. Today he’s forty and he is an IT tech, with a heart he tells me. A heart? Yes, he likes to patiently explain thoroughly all the new gadgets like iPods to people not in touch with that kind of stuff. I can feel his loving heart, but he didn’t follow his dream.
William, Billy ten, doesn’t know where he is going, he has no idea about stuff, no ambition, he has limited options, his parents don’t expose him to much, too busy for that. He guesses he will take up whatever comes along...farming comes along...Billy, William again, ninety now, is clear and robust still. He wishes he had become an engineer, conducting trains, but did not feel that was an option when he was a kid.
JP-, who never has been seven, is a keen kid with nice brown eyes that I like. He’s eager to learn like me, has wit to back him up and a strong connection to philosophy and he loves the water. Now an Ernest Hemingway look-alike and eighty, he became a humanities guru, professing the history of ideas, intellectual history and esthetics. He has a twinkle in his eye. I call him Socrates. Did he do what he desired as a child? You bet he did. Still has a well worn book of poetry in his hands and sails an old wooden boat called ‘The Rose’.
Sally, is six. She’s smart I can tell, has a soft heart, but what a worried little kid she is and why! She has three older brothers; she’s learning to speak with great speed to get her two cents worth in at dinner conversations as she has to compete. She’s having trouble finding her way, but decides to help people because she needs to learn to help herself. Now at fifty-nine, a social worker, she cycles to burn off her frustration and still has a motor mouth that this sixty-four year old finds amazing and bemusing at the same time. She’s still trying to find her soul purpose.
Dangerous Dave, five, is a rambunctious keener and he is absolutely fascinated by watching wrestling on TV. He has big dreams! He watches “Back to the Future” every chance he gets and dreams of really being somebody someday! Somebody important. Today he’s thirty-three owns a cafe in a small town with his partner, which he manages and is a server at. Had a bad accident in Bermuda, almost died and his skull is fractured. He used to play drums in a band too, wildly, but doesn’t have any time for that presently and now thinks of himself as quite ordinary. His little boy grin even today is quite charming and I love how he gets excited about that movie that I haven’t even seen... but the dream of being important has faded.
I meet Rosalyn on the street bench; she is six, a sparkly kid with dainty features. I can see her running through the meadow on a sunbeam blowing spent grey blow ball seeds as she leaps, every step a poem in her head. Her teachers are telling her she will be a writer one day. Now she’s Roz , is a poet and sixty-four and thinks about God frequently, and when I ask about God, she tells me God is beautiful, wonderful and all magical. And her poetry, I ask, did she get her poems published? Yes, several she says and I ask for one to be told, and she tells, knows it well; and is she writing still? No, she’s blocked she says, since her husband partner of forty-two years died, poetry won’t come anymore. I become sixty-four and tell her I’ve learned we need to do a conscious grieving process to get through this emotional stuff of death, ten days my Native Indian teacher told me...she nods, acknowledges, but no one will replace her man, she says, they don’t make em like that anymore. I move on...
And then there is me, seven and flirtatious, shy, pretty, and precocious my aunt tells me - whatever that means. At the same time I have confidence oozing out of me and I can do everything I’m asked to do and it’s no big deal and I do all of it well. Saturday afternoons are free time and I spend them flipping through LIFE and National Geographic magazines. I especially love the Queen Mother’s jewels, the pearls she wears on photos are a fascination. I know them; feel I’ve worn them before. I head off to the forest frequently to look for my Native Indian mother. I know that my mother is not my real mother, and I tell her that quite often. She just smiles and I think it strange that there is little reaction to my comment. I live on a small farm near an airport and I love watching the airplanes fly overhead. I get a vision while lying in the grass, smoking a cigarette with my older boy friend of meeting a pilot one day. I see exactly what he looks like and know he has a hairy chest. There is a boy out there too somewhere, I have no idea where, that I need to find. Someone just like me, and doing things I want to do.
How I long for adventure, long to travel to those places I see in those magical magazines! I decide that I will be a writer, perhaps for National Geographic, or an airline stewardess. I want to see the world! Today I am sixty-four and see that I am able to quantify these childhood insights. They were precognitive, part of my past and my future. From being a famous English queen reincarnated, to having an Indian mother de-je-vu event, to finding my most recent past life - a short life I might add- as a Native Indian. I had slipped off a cliff at the Grand Canyon hiking carelessly. I found the pilot who became my husband. He flew in from the other side of the country to the airport I dreamed near at age seven. When I saw his hairy chest I knew he was the one of childhood visions and our meeting was significant. On our first canoe trip together he asked me if I thought there was life on other stars and planets. My pilot husband flew for the military, so we moved around a lot, and because of this I found my twin flame, who I identified with clairsentience and several visions. He definitely is a part of me. I forever am feeling at home when I’m in my twin flames arms.
I get up off the bench I’m sitting on and head up street. As I contemplatively walk on there is an ecstatic feeling within my breast that my childhood premonitions and dreams have come true. I acted on them and I’ve evolved because of that. The actions were preceded by seeing, wisdom, clarity and knowing within. I got to places that I should have gotten to for my soul purpose and growth and have received the fruits of planetary beingness. I continue down the sidewalk and see a sign at the next alleyway that seems significant somehow.
It says, “STOP! This is a Public Gang way - Go Slow. . .”
Agnes's Bio: Agnes Toews Andrews is a metaphysician master, Usui reiki master, connector to the angelic and devic realms, meditation teacher, activator and the author of 6 national best-selling books. She is also a world sacred site traveler and goddess. Agnes is from near Nelson, BC in the west Kootaneys, Canada - 250*777*2606 - Agnes Toews Andrews Website - Email
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