Marlene DeVere
creative nonfiction
Mind Over Matter
by Marlene DeVere
I never thought I was psychic. I never knew in advance what someone else was thinking or what event would occur—until I quit smoking. It was as if a fog had lifted and I became overwhelmed with mostly useless information. For instance, some days I knew who I’d run into by chance or even what the mail would include. Although, bills seemed to be the “poste du jour.” If I were talking with someone in person, I’d know what they were thinking. I just thought my body language skills were improving. Of course, that didn’t work if someone called me. Depending on the ring of the telephone, I knew who was calling and what they were going to say…word for word. I was getting spooked.
One time, after waiting for a car to pass in front of us so we could cross the road to turn in the opposite direction, my husband accelerated to make a left turn. That’s when I saw something flying inside the car, by the windshield and screamed, STOP.
That was weird, I thought. What was a butterfly doing in the car?
Without thinking, he slammed on the brakes in time to avoid a collision. There had been another vehicle driving alongside the car we could see, concealed from our view.
“How did you see the second car?” he asked. I had to admit I didn’t. I just saw the butterfly which I thought would distract him. “What butterfly?”
Was I now having hallucinations?
Even though this newfound perception could be helpful, I became afraid of it. I decided to start smoking again because I knew the smoke screen would shield these extrasensory experiences. It did, and that was that.
—
A few years later in the mid-80’s, I attended a four-day meditation seminar after I had stopped smoking again. I was hoping the meditation and smoking cessation could overcome the injury I suffered after my appendix ruptured causing my infertility. I was 37 years old at the time and honestly, it’s embarrassing how little I knew or understood about the mechanics and fragility of fertility.
The meditation seminars lasted five hours a day, with approximately 15 women sitting in rows on uncomfortable folding chairs. They must be desperate, I thought. I guess I was, too. We eventually shoved the chairs aside and sat on cushions placed on the floor. The meditation exercises were an unusual experience for me as I had never before pretended to sleep during a lecture and then feel various parts of my body go numb.
The goal was to bring our minds to a wavelength that would allow for a totally relaxed emotional state. It was explained that our Gamma, Beta, and Alpha brain waves occur on the conscious level to varying degrees of awareness, such as perception, learning and problem solving. We were training to bring our brain waves down to a Theta wave, a deeper level of relaxation akin to light sleep, where our minds might also experience expanded intuitive skills. I was not interested in that possible outcome, only the meditative aspect.
Once the first day of practicing meditation was over, I was ready to call it quits, but I had already paid for the course and so decided to slog on. After all, maybe this was a technique that would work in helping me relax. Still trying to achieve greater serenity in my life, I was hoping for less anxiety and a pregnancy—which was probably a long shot.
My sister had recently seen the famous American psychic, Jeane Dixon, who told her I would not have children because I had not been a good wife, or mother for that matter, in a previous incarnation. Since I ironed my husband’s underwear, I thought that would compensate for being a lousy cook and prove I was a good wife. The wrinkle of becoming a mother still needed to be ironed out.
—
As the hours dragged on each day, I continued working towards reaching Theta where I might be able to achieve what had eluded me.
While I don’t remember how Theta was measured, I believe I had been successful. I thought my verbal confirmation would be enough to make the instructor happy but on the last day she insisted on one final test.
“I’m comfortable with what I’ve learned and don’t need to take a test,” I told her. Personally, I thought the seminars were good for learning a relaxation technique but did not have any desire for the whole psychic thing. I still found my previous experiences too frightening, as though I were losing a grip on reality.
Everyone would pair with another in the group. One person would meditate and the other would select an index card. Afterwards, they would trade places with one another. Once the person meditating reached Theta, they would acknowledge they were ready to answer questions.
I was still refusing to partner with anyone. However, the instructor insisted on working with me to prove, perhaps to herself, that I could travel down the rabbit hole to Theta and pass the test, whatever that meant. I was not happy with this set-up but decided I’d make up everything I was asked, figuring she’d leave me alone and bother someone else. After four days of meditating, I was so done with it all.
These were her questions to me from the index card she selected at random and my answers:
“Can you tell me the name of the person on this card?”
“Francis.”
I never knew anyone with that name. I just made it up.
“Can you describe Francis?”
I immediately saw a man standing by himself and answered:
“He has closely cropped hair, is wearing a white shirt and a suit.”
“Is there something different or special about this person?”
“The left side of his body is weak. And there is something in his head. It looks like a black filament, like you’d see in a burned-out lightbulb.”
“Okay, start coming up into full consciousness.”
Once I was in Alpha, I looked at her and smirked. I knew I had made up my answers and wondered if she realized I was having a bit of fun with her. The instructor asked me how I felt and then revealed what was on her index card:
“This was about a man, named Francis.”
That stunned me. Was she putting me on? However, Francis, spelled differently as Frances, would have been a woman, but I definitely saw a man when in Theta. That was interesting.
She continued, “He was an insurance agent.”
Well, that explained the short hair, white shirt and suit I mentioned.
But the filament in his head and the weakness on the left side of his body, what was that about?
“And, he had brain cancer.”
“Did he survive?”
“No, he did not.”
I asked to see the card she was holding, thinking she was parroting my answers to her.
It was typed with the exact questions she asked and the answers I gave her. I was dumbstruck.
“I must have read your mind,” I uttered, as though that would explain it.
“Well, if you did, that’s pretty amazing, right?”
Yes. Yes, it was. I pondered that for a moment; she smiled and left me to my thoughts.
Trying to understand this experience, I wanted to isolate myself from the group. So, I bummed a cigarette and went outside, contemplating whether to light up.
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I LOVED this story! Keep it coming!
This is WILD oh my gosh!!!