… this is a blog about my journey with being a sensitive in a 3D world and I invite you to share yours.
One crisp October night in 1987 I was called out to the luminous night sky. A freshman at Harvard College, I remember that strange night, where all of a sudden, I felt heaviness in my heart and my ears buzzed nonstop with worry and fear. My proctor came out to see if I was okay. I was not. But I was too stunned to cry; I don’t even remember what I said to him. I just felt overwhelmed by the pain of that moment, unable to escape the Din. A heavy cloud of misery that descended on me and stayed with me.
It was the next day that newspapers headlined the day to Black October, one of the worst times in economic history. There began my journey of being able to hear and feel the screams and struggles of others far away.
I couldn’t concentrate on any homework that season.
Even though my head was buried in the books and I was taking notes, my mind was with those people calling me.
That year I almost flunked out. My confidence plummeted, because I thought I was consciously working so hard but I spiritually had checked out.
Every time I took the Amtrak Metroliner (a train) from my home in New Jersey to start another season of school, I’d have to take a Valium. When I was in school I didn’t know what it was, or where it was coming from, but I could feel and hear people. In so many cases, it was more than I really wanted to know.
I was an archaeology major then and things only intensified when I visited ancient battlefields, cemeteries and other fated grounds. I began to study everything I could get my hands on to understand what I going through. I didn’t know but I dove into astrology, metaphysics, and early religions, anything I could get my hands on to understand what I was going through but not a lot of books existed at the time.
I was using chemical analysis on religious artefacts and reliquaries and spent 6 years in scientific laboratories, using mass spectrometers and other methods at the National Bureau of Standards (now called NIST), Smithsonian, and the Fogg Museum, trying to authenticate objects, meanwhile my hands and instincts were telling me another story. As I discovered, and as Arthur Koestler puts it, “Science allows us to glimpse [only] fragments of reality.” No pun intended but there is always more than meets the eye.
Fragments of reality: the physical realm is only one aspect
I never felt satisfied knowing that, as archaeologists, we can only sample 1% of the surviving remnants of a culture, and then proceed to write authoritative conclusions about an indigenous people.
During the two years I took off to take care of my family and travel, I saw that museums and universities only cared about publishing the scientific view (however limited and distorted), and their administrators only concerned themselves with charging admission.
Never the Truth.
I was more impressed with the entrepreneurs, such as antique gallery owners or scientists and chemical engineers working Corning Glass and Dow Chemical, that I met along the way.
Even books written by amateurs with a passion were so much better than academic press publications. They seemed more open-minded, were more willing to grant you permission to test their collections, and leaned more towards “making sense” out of data rather than complicating it.
Life didn’t improve from the time I graduated to my first job.
People didn’t understand me. I was so different from others. They ostracized me.
No matter how hard I worked, someone found a way to keep me from a raise or stab me in the back. I could only respond with indifference and hide my pain.
I didn’t know this at the time but my aura was so interweaved with others that my energy always confused people.
Since people tend to reject what they can’t understand or feel is different, I began to hide who I was, my education and all my accomplishments to blend in.
I watched with despair when other people with less substance got promoted.
Bad luck surrounded me.
Countless number of times, I’d be triggering all kinds of authorities, including Scotland Yard, the Egyptian police, and the CFA Institute, and getting in trouble for no reason, except being involved with troubled clients, wrong place/wrong timing, or a case of mistaken identity, respectively.
See bio (for part 2)
It was only until I was 26 that I met a teacher by accident through an interviewer, with whom I shared my gift of reading. It was this teacher that was able to take me under her wing and teach me how to use my gift. And it’s my goal here share with you some of those lessons, as well as ones I discovered on my own.