The Itch

 

Can we perceive future events—without proof, conscious reasoning or evidence? This is intuition. Prophecy and clairvoyance are related terms.

I have experienced this. When I was a college student, I had an unmistakable vision of calamity before it happened. A friend, Raymond, suggested we drive with a few others from New Mexico to Los Angeles, California during a school break. He looked at me, offering to drive us in his car, and I had a very clear perception of the accident about to happen. But because I had no tangible proof of threat, and I was young and willing, I ignored my inner vision. A few days later, four of us set out. As we entered Arizona and were driving on a two lane highway in the old car, Raymond decided to pass a semi-tractor trailer. He got about half way past the rig when he spotted a car coming toward us. He first sped up but realized he did not have enough speed. I had been dozing in the back seat and woke just as the oncoming car was about to crash into us. “Raymond!” I shouted. He panicked and hit the brakes just as the head-on collision occurred. The two old people in the other car were shaken and bloodied. We were bruised and slightly traumatized. The accident occurred as I had sensed it would.

I had a momentous dream six years before my daughter Naomi was diagnosed with cancer. It foretold in symbols the death of a child very close to me. I was so disturbed by this grand, magnificent and powerful dream that I went to an esteemed psychologist to discuss it. I made a big painting depicting its symbols. Then I forgot it—until Naomi was suddenly diagnosed. Then the dream came back vividly. She died after a heroic two year struggle.

There are many examples in religious history of future times being seen by prophets. They foretell events that unfold thousands of years later.

On a lighter side, I have come to trust that when my left palm itches, money is coming to me soon. A little itch means a small sale and a bigger, more vigorous scratching means a bigger exchange. The phenomenon has to arrive unexpectedly, but when it does it is very accurate. I can count on a sale of my art when, from out of the blue, my palm itches and I scratch it.

I am not the only one:

“Call it the $64 million itch! Brooklyn grandma Mary Shammas was on the bus when her left palm started itching. Remembering the old superstition that an itchy left palm means money is on the way, Shammas, 73, jumped off the bus and bought a lottery ticket.
On Tuesday night, she hit a $64 million jackpot.” (Read the full article here: Jackpot)

The itch occurred yesterday morning and when I went to my gallery at the end of the day, I came in just as a sale was happening.
I like it.

An Empath

My two cousins in Dallas, Texas cut people open and chop out bones. They are orthopedic surgeons.

I could learn to be a doctor and perhaps do surgery, but I would have to overcome my sympathetic nervous system. I am a sensitive type—an artist, and also an empath. “The trademark of an empath is feeling and absorbing other people’s emotions and/or physical symptoms because of their high sensitivities. These people filter the world through their intuition and have a difficult time intellectualizing their feelings.” (From Psychology Today, Ten Traits of Empathetic People) I would “feel” some pain when cutting someone open, let alone cutting out their hip joint and tossing it in the trash. No matter that person is under anesthesia and asleep.

I could never be a bully because I sympathize with the other. I feel human anger, jealousy, fear and it hurts. I often will bend over backward for someone else at my own expense and have been taken advantage of by self-centered and unfeeling people. During times of peace and joy with another, I can feel elated. I replenish easily in nature, in wild fields, under open skies, among birds and beasts, by water.

I quickly tire of being in a crowd because I absorb too much. When I was young, if in a crowd or at a long meeting, I would often feel an urgency to use the bathroom—an escape mechanism. During eighth grade, the class elected me their president and I declined. 

Now, as I pass mid-life, I find I can travel alone for months, even a year or longer.

Too much togetherness can be difficult for me—I have been married three times. Perhaps I fear being engulfed and losing my identity and do not give myself easily to being a unit. Maybe I am not “domestic.”
Once when my mother visited me from her home far away, we were standing together in my yard and a terrible migraine came upon me, although I never get headaches. Mom always was tough—I felt I absorbed tension from a deep layer of being.
When my oldest daughter was seventeen, there came a time when I was waking at night with a feeling of dread, as if something was wrong but I could not discern what. Soon after, we discovered she had advanced cancer and would probably not survive. The cancer started in her hip bone, and for two years until the day she died I felt pain in my hip.

Usually I am healthy and without pains, but occasionally something will flare up for a short while. Yesterday I felt uneasy around lunch time—a bit nauseous and unsteady. I wondered at the unusual indisposition, but the discomfort passed as I focused on my artwork and gallery. Soon after, my dear friend and comrade talked with me and texted describing the sudden onset of her “stomach being on fire” and having digestion symptoms that necessitated medication. "Probably too much Thanksgiving leftover sweets," she said. "I am not used to the richness!"

Oh, and did I tell you that I often begin thinking of someone moments before they call me on the phone?