we are all star dust
In essence, the simplest way to tell you of my paranormal faculties, is to tell you about when my best friend died of cancer, I was 13 years old. I had told him to wait until the end of my school on Friday because he had told me on the phone Thursday night that he felt he was going to die. I told him the time I finished on Friday and that I would come to his place right after.
When I came back from school, his mother was talking to my mother on the phone, telling her that he had died exactly at the time I had told him to wait. I left the house to take a walk, and when I reached the corner of the street, I was dazzled by a yellow light, as if the sun suddenly appeared in front of me but allowed me to look at it. I felt something moving in the light, said "Guy?" and became very calm. I understood that he had just crossed to the other side. Since then, I frequently sense the presence of the dead.
But I assure you I'm not like the guy from Sixth Sense, although a bit. I sometimes see shadows or brighter auras, but I'm not overwhelmed by it at all. It's more like a gift that Guy gave me when he died. He opened the illusionary veil that 'separates' the dead from the living, just enough for me to feel it by concentrating, or for it to appear when necessary. But nothing like horror stories from X-Files.
But what resembles X-Files in my life is the scientific quest associated with it.
Hubert Reeves died recently.
The first aura I saw was of his, at Montmorency College. He was giving a lecture, and I told my seatmate that the visual effect around his head was cool. But this effect didn't leave him, even in the agora. The next day, I was reading my first book on esotericism, having no idea what I had seen.
And that's one of the big advantages of my journey. I didn't start by being interested in esotericism before having experiences that I sometimes forget, as you can see here. The story with Hubert Reeves happened after the one with Guy. If I was so confused by Hubert's aura, it's probably because an unconscious part of me remembered and didn't remember at the same time.
Several explanations are available to us on why children forget everything they've experienced before the age of 5, on brain development, self-construction, etc. One hypothesis that particularly caught my attention is related to what the Toltec sorcerers called the second attention, which in modern esoteric language encompasses everything outside of incarnation—meaning dreams, before and after life, and the incarnation process itself, which would last about 7 years after birth.
But throughout our lives, we can experience moments that transcend our bodies and are not only more difficult to record in the brain but also to match with other elements of the constitution of the self. Memory works by network, and the best mnemonic trick that all experts offer us is to make connections. But how can we remember an event if it has nothing in common with everything else we experience the rest of the time, if it is alienated from our personality structure in such a way that this memory can only come to us in discontinuity?