I believe we should all get one crazy confession in our lives with no repercussions. On that belief, this is mine. It’s been a struggle for me to write anything for a while because I’ve needed to write this piece first. It’s been a problem since last autumn. I hope, honestly, that no one reads this, and I can get back to my life—and writing! Whatever you take from this is yours. My only job is to write it out.
I open up to very few people, but those few have heard me warn over the past few years that “something is coming… a time so bad it will make the Great Depression look like a trip to Disney World. We can’t even imagine what’s coming, but we can be prepared and we can survive it. The good news is that everything on the other side of it is pretty awesome. The world will be real again.”
How do I know this? Here’s the crazy part: I have a Jiminy Cricket. This is my nice, fun way to say I have a voice that sometimes tells me stuff I shouldn’t know. It has woken me up from dreams, it has rung out in an empty room. When I listen, amazing, positive things happen for me… like I stop being homeless in the early 90s. When I don’t listen, not so positive things happen… like someone committed suicide.
Here’s the backstory. There is a lot of stuff in the Okinawan part of my family no one will talk about. It’s a long and sordid story full of secrets and supernatural, but the only part pertinent to this story is the knowing of things.
My grandmother had dreams that came true. My mother had dreams that came true. I suspect they both had/have a Jiminy Cricket of their own but I’ve never asked. Sometimes they both had the same dream and they shared it with each other. Sometimes we all shared. Dreams and intuition remain important in my family, extended and otherwise.
I also have dreams like this. Here’s an example of one… a month before the Waco siege against the Branch Davidians, I had a week of dreams that would end with everything soaked in blood. The dream would be normal, but before I woke up I’d enter a room or turn a corner to see everything drenched. In waking life I started smelling blood at random points in the day.
The last night of this dream series I was in a shopping mall in Montreal with an old boyfriend. It was a good dream until I entered the bathroom. Blood dripped from the ceiling in streams. There was no surface untouched. “Why all the blood all the time? What is this supposed to mean?” I asked this question out loud in the dream. A loud voice answered.
“Execution next month, to the day.”
It was loud enough to wake me up cold. The voice had either been in the room with me, or had echoed from the dream. I couldn’t tell, but I had the impression of breath against my ear as I shot awake.
I had no idea what it meant, of course. That was always the frustrating part. I assumed it meant something personal. I called everyone I cared about and tried to urge them (while not sounding crazy) to be extremely careful the next month. Nothing happened for a month, but I was on edge.
Finally, the actual day came. I called everyone I cared about urging them to be extra careful. I prayed, meditated, sent good vibes… we are never more spiritual than when afraid. Nothing happened. I was relieved to know it had just been a bit of my crazy showing.
That evening my husband at the time and I were in the grocery store. The sun had gone down, so in my mind, the day was done and no one I loved had died. I was elated and I was chattering to him about how I guess I just had an overactive imagination. I glanced at the newspaper headline next to the register and my heart dropped. I can’t remember the exact headline, but it said something about execution. I read the story and found out about the whole Branch Davidian siege. I was left frustrated. I was certain that’s what my dream had warned me about, but what was the point if I couldn’t do anything?
For years it has been a source of contention with me that I could have these dreams and intuitions, but with no ability to prevent anything. The mystery as to why this happens to me was finally answered about a month ago. It was so I’d believe in it when it mattered. I do, and now it does.
I don’t feel the need to share any more incidents like that here, but they’ve become common enough in my life that by now I just take “the voice” at face value. It’s never wrong, and I’ve gotten good enough at listening that I can now ask for guidance and get advice back. Call it what you want, it works for me. If anyone wants to claim it’s evil, go look up Matthew 7:16-20 KJV. My voice has never caused harm to me or anyone else. On the contrary.
As I said, we’ve been preparing for my doom and gloom prediction for about five years now. It’s why we left Florida, downsized, and then bought our house in Missouri. It’s been an intuitive journey.
Last fall, as I minded my own business doing my writer things I ‘was told’ to turn half of our yard into a massive garden and focus on being independent. Preppers say “off grid.” It was time. As not a gardener, and someone who doesn’t even enjoy the outdoors necessarily, I felt a little like Roy and his mashed potato mountain in Close Encounters of the Third Kind. But I complied.
In went the garden (I used the Ruth Stout/deep mulch method if you’re curious). Chickens followed in spring along with solar panels and a privacy fence. I started raising mealworms and learning about hydroponics.
In February I saw my first inkling of the approaching disaster when I stumbled across a video of Wuhan. This is the crisis, my Jiminy told me. Step it up. So I did. I shared the Wuhan video on my Facebook, mentioned it to a few friends, and buckled in. Here comes the wild ride.
So here we are with the crazy compulsion to confess all this so I can get back on with my writing. That annoying Jiminy Cricket voice now urges me to make my personal crazy public. Since I know better not to ignore it, I’m complying. Whatever you do with it is your choice and I may never mention it again. In fact, I’d be happy not to.
But here’s the nutgraf, the point of all of this. Get ready. You have, at this moment, just enough time to prepare. Buy bags of rice and beans. Identify resources around you. Think of what you would do if electricity was out, you had no heat or water. Stock up on things that are vital, like medicines. Please don’t forget your animals. Think about protection.
Think of this winter as being the apocalypse. There will be death, starvation, natural disasters… like nothing we’ve seen or could even imagine. Five years ago I thought I was exaggerating. Now it looks obvious. Above all, don’t panic.
The word apocalypse is from ancient Greek: (ἀποκάλυψις apokálypsis, from ἀπό and καλύπτω) and literally means “an uncovering.” It’s the disclosure of knowledge—a revelation if you will.
My intuition tells me it’s worth waiting for and on the other side, life is going to be amazing. We just have to get through a long, cold, and dark winter.
We are like babies going down an icy birth canal, about to spill into a new world. Our disconnect from the world will be fixed and we will have an authentic existence. It will be amazing… but there are a lot of cold beans between now and then. This is the last stop before the journey.
This is what I’m told, anyway. You are welcome to take it with a large grain of salt. I would if I were in your place right now. But from where I stand, having witnessed a full lifetime of that voice never steering me wrong, I’m inclined to ask no questions and just get a chicken coop ready. Fresh eggs on beans will make a fantastic Christmas dinner.