How Crazy Do I Think I Am?

Michael - Scottsdale, Arizona
Entered on March 26, 2009

I’ve always had a Machiavellian sort of imagination, even when I was a kid it seemed that my own brain contained in it an infinite playground of possibility and surreptitious magnanimity. My brain tricked me into thinking I was more important than reality has allowed me to be. For the longest time the real world was indistinguishable from the world in my head, not in a crazy way, I just didn’t see the world as anything greater than myself, like everything fell under my domain of control. In kindergarten, to the horror of my teacher, I began speaking a strange language instead of the Standard English I had been taught; I was so fluent in this tongue that she inquired about my parents’ cultural background, and if they spoke a different language at home. My parents, and their parents before them, were born and raised in America, and spoke only English. The language I spoke was completely fabricated. After a few months of the gibberish my teacher suggested therapy, but before any appointments were made I stopped.

Around this time, incidents of psychic knowledge and ability began to become frequent. My parents still tell stories about times I would read the minds of people, or predict what they were about to say. During Christmas one year a few family members visited; we were all sitting around the fireplace talking, and during a break in the conversation my grandfather began wondering to himself if he had left the kitchen stove on. No one in the room recalled him saying anything aloud; but as if he had directed a question toward me I answered innocently, “Yeah, Grandpa you left it on.” Nobody understood what I was talking about until my grandfather, in a state of shock, explained what he had just been thinking about. That was only one occurrence out of many.

This time in my life marked a strong bond with what could be called a spiritual coalition with providence and although this connection with the world around me was strong it didn’t last long. As I got older I lost this bond for no apparent reason, and I have no clue as to what internal source I must tap to regain this seemingly celestial connection.

I believe, that at birth, we are all given the ability to reach into the depths of existence and pull out just enough wisdom to give the soul hope. But the longer we ignore our gift, the more we linger in our physical fantasy world, and the less chance we have to believe in it.