Bizarre Manifestations: Two Tales From The Sixth Grade
A funny thing happened when I turned eleven: I became psychic. I would wake up in the morning and relive the dream I just had. Moment by moment. Step-by-step. Times on clocks were the same. People were wearing the same clothes and standing in the same places they had been in whatever dream I’d had the night before. It was, for lack of a better term, bizarre. I would have what I referred to as psychic weeks, meaning I would experience these moments of high intuition and then it would all stop, only to return later, but for no more than a week.
Attempting to prove you are psychic can be difficult to do, especially when you’re in the sixth grade and your predictions are basically play-by-plays of mundane events. I wasn’t predicting the future of others, only myself and my environment, and no one thought it was remarkable that I knew what time I would wake up and where everyone would be standing once I got off the school bus. I still have psychic weeks, and some predictions have proven to be much larger than I care to describe, but for the most part my intuitive abilities have become more anecdotal than I’d like. With that said, this post isn’t about my psychic abilities, but rather what would happen (and still happens) during that year of high intuition spells: A strange ability to manifest.
So now, here are two tales of manifestation from the sixth grade…
Tale #1: The Turtle
Growing up I had dogs, chickens, rabbits, doves, ducks, geese, and turtles living in my backyard. My family just liked animals. While most of them lived their full lives with us, several animals were donated to a school for children with disabilities when we moved to a cookie-cutter, tract home neighborhood. We still had dogs and doves, but that was it. We moved to that house when I was nine and while I missed the other animals, I was perfectly content without them. That is, until I was eleven, and woke up one morning with an intense desire to have a pet turtle. For a week I kept thinking about turtles--how cute they are, what great pets they make, etc. I mean, I really wanted a turtle.
One weekend morning I woke up at seven a.m. (which is abnormally early for me as I’ve always been a night owl). Bored, I went to see if my friend who lived down the street was awake. I walked to her house, knocked on her door, and nothing. I stood there for a moment (because she was a total weirdo morning person) before giving up. But then, as I walked down her lawn, I saw something that I still cannot fully explain: a turtle.
There it was, just hanging out on the grass. Some random turtle, lost in the burbs, waiting for me to find him. Had he been someone else’s pet? Maybe. Had he strolled into our neighborhood from the desert? I doubt it. All I know is that it could have been any other animal, but that morning it was a turtle. So I took him home and named him Charlie.
Now that might not seem extraordinary to you, but consider this: I have always woken up after ten a.m. with the exception of school days, which I literally had to be dragged out of bed for. That morning I was wide awake at seven. And I could’ve stayed in, watched some TV, played around the house, but something drove me to my friend’s house. I want to call this serendipity, but I had in fact been seeking out a turtle and therefore can safely say this was manifested.
Those who don’t believe in the power of manifestation can call this a simple coincidence. I myself have considered this, and my response is if I did not in fact manifest a turtle, my desire for a turtle was prophetic in a sense. What I mean is, if I did not make the turtle appear to me through the power of manifestation, then my desire was just skewed intuition telling me to be prepared for a turtle. Can you dig it? Either way, my psychic weeks and so-called wish weeks (what I call manifesting weeks) seemed to work together, either occurring simultaneously or back-to-back.
Tale #2: The Snow
I’ll keep this one short: There was a boy who used to tease me and call me a witch back in the sixth grade (we teased him, too). One morning, on a clear day in February, he said, “If you’re such a witch, why don’t you make it snow?” Annoyed, I monotonously said, “Fine. I wish it would snow.”
And then, a few hours later, we walked out of the cafeteria and watched snow fall from the sky. He looked at me wide-eyed, and I believe I returned a similar shocked look.
One thing I should mention before you say, “It snowed. What’s the big deal?” is that I grew up in Las Vegas, NV. I can count the number of times it snowed there in my lifetime on one hand. So what are the odds that on a clear day, which wasn’t too cold, I would wish for snow (to get someone to shut up), and it would actually snow?
I often question what the weather forecast had been that day. I am convinced that if snow had been on the radar, everyone would have been anxiously awaiting the uncommon winter weather. But that morning it was fifty degrees with clear blue skies. I suppose stranger things have happened.
To this day I wonder how these things happened -- those picture perfect psychic moments and bizarre manifestations -- and why they happened at the frequency they did when I was in the sixth grade. Having studied witchcraft since I was eight, I think about the nature of magic and manifestation. When I can find no other explanation for making strange things happen, I assume the universe was working with me. And that’s just the simple explanation.
What is the connection between prophetic dreams, visions, and (seemingly supernatural) manifestations? Why did they happen so strongly during the same period of time? Yes, the universe did work with me. But why? What barrier between worlds or dimensions was broken? And why me? If you are naturally sensitive or intuitive, are you also more powerful in other areas? Can you practice magic and manifest without a ritual?My psychic and wish weeks still continue today, and I still say things at random that end up happening moments/days later. They are just not as in your face as they were in 1994. There was just something magical about being an eleven year-old girl, I guess.