Maybe It’s All About “the Now”

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Guest Post by David Rivinus

When my niece was 6 years old, she lived with us on a pleasant street in the suburbs of Los Angeles. One of our neighbors, Wendy, was cordial and, from time to time, we would socialize amiably. 

But, one day, she took me aside looking ashen and said, “I’ve never mentioned this before, but I have these kinds of half-dream-half-premonition experiences. I had one last night. I saw an earthquake, and your little niece was lying on the floor, unconscious, with that huge grandfather clock of yours crashed over on top of her. Please secure it somehow. And do it right away!”

Obviously taken aback, I was nevertheless grateful for the warning, and I lost no time bolting the stately, historic timepiece to the wall. Wendy was relieved.

Three Years Later

Fast forward three years: Nothing ever happened. There was no earthquake; my niece grew and remained uninjured; time went on; life evolved. Then, once again, we received a visit from Wendy. If anything, she was more upset than she had been three years earlier. 

This time she was expressing remorse for having misled us with her earlier warning. We assured her that we had no regrets. But it was clear that her “misfiring”—if that’s what it had been—had affected her deeply. 

“Sometimes what takes place in real life after I experience one of these dream-things is exactly what I’ve seen,” Wendy explained. “But then—like in your case—I can be completely wrong. I upset people with my warnings; they prepare, and then nothing happens. Sometimes people are furious with me for scaring them, and rightfully so. I look like a fool, and I wish it would all just go away.”

If Wendy studied the track records of famous psychics, she might be relieved to learn that her percentage of accuracy is typical. I am thinking of three respected “seers.” Beloved Bulgarian prophet Baba Vanga predicted that the 44th President of the United States would be African American, and she did so decades before it happened.

Similarly, American psychic, Jeanne Dixon gained international fame when she foretold the assassination of John F. Kennedy. And then there’s iconic Edgar Cayce, who accurately foretold the starting and ending dates of both world wars.

Far less well known are the many predictions these psychics made that never came about. Certainly, existence in our universe is fluid, so foreseeing the future is about dealing with probabilities. Life can take any number of turns, and it’s not surprising if visions of upcoming events are subject to inaccuracies.

Then what’s the point? Is this some kind of game—like rolling dice—where you try to impress people by beating the odds? Is there a training one can undergo to learn greater accuracy? And mostly, what about people like Wendy who find the experience so uncomfortable they want to be done with it?

I have my own theory: It has been my experience that every perception we have—inner, outer, prophetic, past-life, psychic, painful, joyful, you name it—is primarily in our awareness because it is relevant to the current moment. The illusion that there is an objective, ordered reality with a past, present, and future is secondary to a metaphoric communication that goes on constantly. And it is a communication that takes place because it is trying to assist us if we are willing to pay attention.

Here is how this understanding played out during a dialogue I had with Wendy:

DAVID: So, Wendy, tell me about 6-year-old girls.

WENDY: I see them as bright, fresh, full of promise. Nothing is fixed. The whole of life is waiting for them. And in the case of your niece, she is going at life with enthusiasm and delightful abandon.

DAVID: Tell me about grandfather clocks.

WENDY: The first thought I have is “Father Time.” Or maybe it should be “Grandfather Time.” I guess I see them as pieces of history. And in their own way, they are full of the past, as well as being something that rigidly keeps to a schedule, day in and day out. There’s no variation. Constancy, yes, but also monotony and sameness. They’re beautiful in their own way, but relentless.

DAVID: Tell me about a grandfather clock crushing a little girl.

WENDY: The ground shook, and there was a lack of stability with the clock. It came toppling over and destroyed her life.

DAVID: OK, Wendy, sit back, close your eyes, and listen to your own words told back to you:

If this dream were mine, I’d ask myself if there is a part of me that is bright, fresh, full of promise. Nothing is fixed with this part of me; the whole of life is waiting for it, and it is pursuing its adventure with enthusiasm and delightful abandon. 

But there’s another part of me that is steeped in history. It’s full of the past and it keeps rigidly to schedules. It’s “Grandfather Time.” There is no variation, just monotony and sameness. This part of me is beautiful, but relentless. What’s more, this part of me lost its balance when my ground shook, and it toppled over and destroyed the life of the part of me that is fresh, bright, and full of promise.

When I looked up from my notes, I saw that Wendy had tears streaming down her face. She was taken aback to discover that an experience she considered external and related to a different time could be so poignantly personal and relevant to her present dilemma.

____________________

It’s not the purpose of this essay to delve more deeply into Wendy’s unhappy circumstances—although she would be the first to say that her “dream” was painfully accurate. Rather, my intention is to suggest that even if a perception we have seems to be about an event in a time other than the current moment, maybe—just maybe—it’s all about “the Now.”

The author of the book Always Dreaming, David Rivinus has been teaching and facilitating classes and seminars on metaphysical topics for several decades. His specialty is dream interpretation, and he offers group and individual sessions both online and in his home town on the Oregon coast. He can be reached at [email protected].