The Grim Reaper and Prescient Dreams

Caution: The following story describes a traumatic encounter I had with a spirit-being who lied, deceived, threatened, and openly displayed impatience, anger, and aggression.

I first became aware of the possibility of prescient dreams in April of 1983. At the time, I was thinking about a traumatic experience I had endured a few weeks earlier when all of a sudden I recalled a dream I had had that had many similarities to the traumatic experience. Was it possible that this dream had prepared me for the traumatic experience? Judge for yourself as you read the dream (as I wrote it back in April of '82), followed by a detailed account of the traumatic experience that followed eleven months later (in March of '83).

The dream:

An afternoon stroll through my childhood neighborhood was quite unexpectedly interrupted. Opposing factions appeared suddenly from nowhere. Setting up shop on either side of the road, they quickly displayed their hi-tech khaki hardware in a whir of organized chaos.

Caught behind a front line, supine and still I lay as the machine gun fire screamed in a ceaseless roar. Amidst all the excitement I was taken aback with all the pageantry. Engrossed with the exchange, the danger of the situation failed to alarm me and then a soldier fell. Riddled with bullets he dropped. Within spitting distance a man was killed. It could have been me. I jockeyed my position slightly and tried to hide myself behind another civilian caught by circumstance in a similar predicament.

The ground began to tremble quite violently. The exchange continued in a frenzy. Now I was scared. I wanted to run but froze in a fetal ball. The earth repelled the barrage of metal as the ground vibrated in a most eerie way.

Suddenly my side stopped firing. The return continued. Had we run out of bullets? I could not tell. One of the soldiers realized our fate. "It's all over," he said, as if he had accepted his imminent death. Someone yelled "Fire up into the sky!"

As I tried to prepare myself for my death, the return of fire continued intensely. The ground roared even louder. I tried to imagine how it might feel to be shot to death. I wanted to run but couldn't move. "It's useless," I thought. "What a pointless way to die. I don't want to die. Why does it have to be this way?" A tear fired from my eye at the unknown enemy as the soldiers fired up into the sky. I felt confused as to who they were surrendering.

Rage and mystery overtook my senses as we all gazed up into the sky.

The Trauma:

On March 11, 1983, I had an epiphany while waiting at a bus stop. I was a few months away from completing my second year at University and I was miserable. Everything about the year had been a struggle, and I was just barely hanging on. Consequently, I was looking forward to the family dinner that I was on my way to attend. In fact, I had been looking forward to the dinner for several weeks.

Although I wasn't much of a pacer, after spending a few minutes waiting for the bus, I began to pace. Maybe it was because I wasn't properly dressed for the cool March weather, or maybe it was my impatience. Whatever the case, a random thought suddenly impressed itself on my mind: "I've got to get out of school. School is killing me. I've got to get out of school." I only call this thought "random" because with all my unhappiness, the idea of quitting hadn't actually crossed my mind until that very moment. And just like that, not only did I readily accept the wisdom of this thought, I began to chant it out loud like a mantra. And I began to feel better with every repetition.

Sitting on the bus for the ten minute ride to my parent's house (the childhood neighborhood from my dream), I thought about the words I had been chanting. Did I really have enough courage to drop out of school before the year was finished? The more I thought about it, the more I began to convince myself that not only could I do it, but I had to do it. I had to walk away from school and end my misery. It was such an obvious thing to do. I wondered why I hadn't thought of it sooner.

There was suddenly a bounce to my step as I walked two short blocks from where I got off the bus to my family home. I bounded up the steps to my parent's front door and was greeted by my sister Beth. "It's great to see you," she said as she embraced me. "How are you?"

"I'm great," I replied, as out of nowhere, a wave of emotion suddenly overwhelmed me. "I'm sorry," I said, "but I think I'm going to cry." And I literally burst into tears.

Perhaps it was the sudden decision to leave school that unleashed a torrent of relief for the first time in months. I honestly don't know. All I know for sure is, I had barely taken a step through the front door and I was already an emotional wreck. In a glance I registered the shock and concern on my sister's face and I suddenly felt embarrassed. I quickly stifled my tears and assured my sister that I was okay. I needed to take a few moments to be by myself, I told her, and quickly excused myself up the stairs to my old bedroom.

Even though I had moved out two years earlier, my bedroom looked the same as it did the day I had left. It wasn't that my parents had expected me to return. The truth was, the house was spacious and there was no need to reclaim my room for another purpose. Closing the door behind me, I sat down on a built-in window-seat, and the tears that I had stifled a minute earlier immediately began to flow. Of course, I still had no idea why I was crying. All I knew was it felt good to let it out. And let it out I did until a few seconds later, a strange tingling sensation began to envelop my hands before quickly progressing into my arms. It was as if my limbs had spontaneously fallen asleep although I knew that wasn't possible. My circulation wasn't impaired, and besides, I had only just sat down. Nevertheless, in a matter of moments, my hands and arms were vibrating with such extreme energy, I could literally hear the sound of the buzzing in my ears. And if that wasn't strange enough, a few moments later, something even more bizarre began to happen. My arms suddenly began to rise up off the window seat under the direction of an unseen force. It was the strangest thing I had ever felt and all I could do was watch with stunned fascination as my hands soon came together into the obvious position of prayer, palm pressed against palm, fingertip to fingertip. Once in this position, my first reaction was to pull them apart only I couldn't. The unseen force was so strong, my hands felt like they were super-glued together. What is happening to me, I wondered as something inside me seemed to respond by telling me to get down on my knees and pray.

Although my ghost encounter (one year earlier) had left me with irrefutable evidence of an invisible dimension of spirit, I didn't have the same resolute conviction concerning God. I had always rather smugly thought of God as something that organized religion used to keep the masses towing the line. And I had continued to believe this even after I had reasoned God into existence a year earlier. (For the week that followed my ghost encounter, I decided to stay at my parent's house because I felt afraid that I had no control over the willful misbehavior of ghosts. What was to prevent them from dropping by at their whim and tormenting me? I had no idea, and because I didn't, I felt significantly safer knowing my parents were nearby. A week later, feeling confident enough to move back into my apartment, I recall laying awake at night developing new and improved personal beliefs relating to the rules of engagement and good sportsmanship regarding ghosts. Developed out of fear, I reasoned an opposing force must exist in the world that somehow prevented mischievous ghosts from running amok; that in order for ghosts to interact with living humans, they needed to receive an invitation from a human playmate otherwise they couldn't interact. If such a theory wasn't correct, it stood to reason that ghosts would be making unwanted appearances and attacks on helpless human beings with far more frequency than was clearly the case. In 1983, with four billion people living on the planet, given the perpetual cycle of life and death that had occurred for tens of thousands of years, I reasoned there must have been uncountable billions of ghosts. So why weren't there billions, millions or even hundreds of thousands of attacks being reported? The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that my theory must be correct. Thus, the easier it became for me to fall asleep at night without being scared out of my wits. Unfortunately though, as days became weeks and weeks became months, my ghostly encounter soon became a distant memory. And not only did I forget about my fear of ghosts, I also seemed to forget about the fact that I had reasoned an opposing force into existence.)

As I sat in my old bedroom with my hands mysteriously held together in prayer, as much as I knew I needed to get down on my knees and pray, I stubbornly refused. I had always considered myself a scientific person, and in my narrow range of experience, even if there was an agnostic possibility that God might exist, I didn't understand why praying should be a necessary part of the human experience. God or no God, not only was the thought of praying embarrassing, it was downright humiliating. I was a proud and intelligent being; surely I was above the need for submissive prayer. And so I refused to follow my inner guidance. And that's when I suddenly had the random thought that I was dying. Why I jumped to such an extreme conclusion, I have no idea. All I can tell you is, the moment the thought registered, the tingling in my extremities immediately stopped, my hands immediately dropped to my sides, and the buzzing in my ears ceased to be. Well, needless to say, a powerful correlation was immediately created between the thought that I was dying and the immediate cessation of a host of unusual symptoms. As a result, I was absolutely certain that I was dying.

After spending a few minutes digesting my sad predicament, I decided I better tell someone, and I decided that someone should be my mother because of her long standing association with Subud and spirituality. If anyone was going to understand my strange experience, I figured it had to be her. Somehow managing to avoid anyone else in my family, I found my mother in the kitchen and asked her to join me in the living room where the two of us sat together on the couch and I recounted the strange events that had just transpired. When I finally got to the part that I was dying, my mother immediately responded with assurances that I wasn't "physically" dying. A part of me was "spiritually" dying in order to make way for something new that needed to be reborn, she said. But I knew she was wrong. I told her I was dying because I had been told to get on my knees and pray but I refused. "So do it!" she exclaimed. But I couldn't and I wouldn't. And as much as I tried to explain why, my mother didn't understand. In fact, I think it was in an effort to make sense of my strange behavior that the thought suddenly occurred to her to put her hand to my forehead. "You have a fever," she declared.

"You see," I said, "I told you I'm dying."

"Honey, you're NOT dying. You have your whole life ahead of you. Lie down and try to relax while I get a thermometer."

As it turned out, I had a temperature of 103.5. A few minutes later, after taking some aspirin, my temperature quickly climbed to 105. And that's when my father was brought into the deal and a decision was made to call a doctor. Whatever was wrong with me, my father and mother were sure it wasn't helped by my poor eating habits. They asked me what I had eaten that day, but I had a hard time remembering. In fact, from that point on, because of the high fever, my memory is somewhat fragmented. That said, I can tell you with absolute certainty that I was in full control of my actions at all times, and although the flow of time is a bit jumbled after-the-fact, I remember most of the verbal interactions I had with those who were present including the poor doctor who I ridiculed for doing his job - he diagnosed me as bipolar and left a prescription that was never filled. I was also well-aware of the gentle man from Subud named Dahlan who came over to help - as he had a year earlier after my ghost encounter. Furthermore, at the same time as everyone was trying to get my fever under control, I also remember "the man" who came to take me away. Although I was the only one in the room who could hear him, his voice was as crystal clear and real as any voice I have ever heard. For the purposes of this story, I shall call the man The Reaper, as in the months and years that followed, I came to think of this man as The Grim Reaper.

I am disappointed that I no longer remember how The Reaper introduced himself. I only recall that in one moment I was laying on the couch contemplating my imminent demise, and in the next I was quite calmly conversing with this invisible being. I remember being initially curious and confused about his identity because I recall asking him if he was God. Unfortunately, although I can still recall his amusement at my question, for the life of me, I no longer remember his response. What I do remember, however, is that when he talked about himself, he referred to himself as "we" although his voice was clearly the voice of one man. I should also tell you that while our conversations were completely telepathic, to speak telepathically felt so completely and immediately natural to me. I should also tell you that it was not a problem to carry on telepathic conversations with The Reaper while at the same time monitoring and participating in the human conversations that were happening in the room around me. Anyway, after spending a few minutes getting acquainted, all of a sudden The Reaper surprises me when he says, "Okay. Let's go." I am laying on my back on the couch, and as he says these words, I suddenly feel a completely terrifying and unpleasant physical sensation. Although it's like nothing I have ever felt before, it's unmistakably clear to me what it is: my soul is being forcefully pulled from my body through the general region of my solar plexus.

Before that moment, I don't think I ever even thought about my soul before. In fact if I believed that I had one, I certainly never imagined it was a physical thing that could be felt. I've since heard it said that if one were to record the weight of a dying person, at the precise moment of death it's possible to witness a measurable loss of weight. If that is true, this change in weight would seem to indicate that human beings have a soul and the soul has weight. That being the case, I guess it makes sense that I could feel my soul as the Reaper tried to pull it from my body. Nevertheless, my instinctive reaction was to immediately kick my legs against the couch with all my might. That done, I soon discovered that as long as I was able to feel my legs striking the couch, I was somehow able to thwart the Reaper from taking my soul against my will. After a few minutes of kicking, I tested the waters by easing up on the kicking until such time as I felt that awful pulling sensation again. I then resumed kicking with full force until the pulling stopped. For those who bore witness, I'm sure my behavior must have seemed quite crazy. Nevertheless, not only did it prolong my life, it soon became apparent to my would-be escort that he was going to need a new strategy. It also became simultaneously apparent to me that since I was significantly closer to God at that moment than my earth bound family, perhaps I could be permitted to ask a few questions; nothing major, just a few simple questions that might be of some benefit to the loved ones I was about to leave behind. The Reaper responded by telling me that I was delaying the inevitable, that my request wasn't important and that when I got to where I was going, I would know all the answers anyway.

"I don't care," I said willfully. "I want to know right now, and if I don't get some answers, I'm going to carry on kicking and wasting more of your time."

In spite of the harshness of my tone, the Reaper responded with light-hearted laughter and I suddenly felt sorry for him; as if 22 years of life in the material world had honed my mind to such a sharp degree, it had given me the upper hand. I was well aware that my misbehavior should have been annoying and yet his laughter showed tolerant amusement.

"Okay," he agreed, "but you know it doesn't matter what I tell you because your family will all forget when it's over anyway."

"They'll what?" I asked, as I struggled to understand the meaning of his words.

"They'll forget," he repeated, somehow clarifying with a simple repetition of those same two words.

"Oh no," I cried, overcome with fear. "That's not fair! You can't do that can you? Make them forget?" Without waiting for a response, I answered the question by mirroring his amusement. "I guess you probably can. You guys can do anything can't you? Well, you're really tricky," I laughed. You guys are really funny...wipe their minds...you must have a lot of fun up there...God sure is a tricky guy isn't he?"

At this, we both laughed. And I believe it was at this point that I imagined asking my sisters and my mother about this event sometime in the future and they had absolutely no recollection of it; like it never happened. As a result, I felt momentarily scared but not enough to give up. "I don't care," I said. "I still want to know."

The next thing I remember, I excitedly told my mother that I had just made a deal to have questions answered; questions that even science might not yet have answers for. My mother didn't seem to know how to respond to this, nor did my sister Anne who was in the living room with her. They were both momentarily tongue-tied and soon affirmed that there was nothing they wanted to know. My mother simply felt compelled to reinforce her belief that I was going to be okay. In fact, I got the distinct feeling that she didn't want to indulge me with questions (because she was quite sure my answers would be crazy).

Well, not being one to let this golden opportunity go to waste, I decided to ask my own questions. Up until that moment in my life, I had no idea what it meant to believe in God. To me, believing meant behaving, thinking and reasoning in a way that was completely foreign (and undesirable) to my existence. There was so much about my mother's spiritual life that seemed odd to me. On the one hand, I knew Subud made her feel good about herself. On the other hand, some of the people I had met from Subud seemed a little airy-fairy and odd. Thus, I decided to ask a few questions about Subud.

"What's the Latihan for?" I asked.

"The Latihan quiets the mind," the Reaper said. "It prepares you for that moment when you are ready to die." (Given that explanation, in the months that followed, I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed of the fact that at the time of my encounter, I didn't already have the experience of several Latihan's under my belt; the Reaper and I would have had a much easier time). I then remembered how my mother always had a Latihan for a precise period of thirty minutes. Having a pre-determined time limit seemed odd to me.

"So why do people only do it for half an hour?" I asked.

"It's not good to do anymore than that," the Reaper replied. "To do more mind-clearing would be to die."

"I see," I said, "so in fact, it would be possible to die in Latihan if you continued to do it for more than half an hour?" I don't think he answered me, but I excitedly told my mother this anyway.

"The Latihan is good mother," I said. "Only, you know why you have to stop after a half an hour?"

"Why?" she asked, although I could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn't really interested.

"If you don't stop doing the Latihan you will die," I said. "Your mind will become so quiet, you'll die."

I no longer remember her response however I remember something suddenly pressing against my lips and I didn't like it.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Soup," my sister Beth answered. "Would you like to try some?"

I was stalling the Reaper and eating was hardly a priority. When I refused the soup, Beth asked if I wanted some juice instead. I politely declined. Clearly, my sister had no idea what I was up against.

A few moments later, an unusually sweet and tempting smell wafted into my awareness. I believe I was conversing with the Reaper at the time because it took me a few moments to register that the sweet smell was actually something being held up to my nose.

"What is that smell?" I asked.

"Apple juice," Beth replied.

She's so good, she just won't give up, I thought.

"Do you want some?" she asked, and I started to laugh. The juice smelled so delicious. I felt unable to resist and I laughed out loud because I understood, in that moment, how Adam must have felt. Although I knew the circumstances were completely different - that in my particular case food would be of no consequence - I couldn't help but laugh at the biblical parallel.

"Don't you get it?" I said. "You're offering me the apple!" I don't remember if Beth responded. "Like Adam," I continued, "you're tempting me with the apple." I laughed some more and I believe I could even sense the amusement of the Reaper. I knew next to nothing about the Bible, but I knew enough to recall mankind's earthly plight began with Eve's temptation of Adam with the apple in the Garden of Eden. I suddenly understood the incredible power of a sweet smelling apple. I remember feeling frustrated that Beth didn't seem to understand what I was talking about. I decided to ask more questions.

"What happens in the next world?" I asked. "Will I know anyone or will I be all alone?"

"Your grandfather will be waiting for you and he'll be laughing."

"Poppy!" I exclaimed joyfully. "That's really nice," I said, "but why will he be laughing?"

"That's what we do here," he said, "we just laugh."

"You laugh?" I didn't understand at first, and then suddenly I thought I did. "Oh I get it. You guys up there are all laughing at us down here."

I soon discovered that the Reaper had limits to his patience. "That's enough," he suddenly said. "Let's go!" Once again, he started to pull my soul from my body and I instantly responded by kicking.

"Wait," I replied, "I've got more questions."

"No more questions," he said sternly. "You've had your fun. Now it's time to go!"

"Yeah, well I lied," I said. I had no intention of going peacefully even though the Reaper had done his part by answering my questions. "I'm not going!" I said, and with that, the Reaper changed his approach.

"Let's go or you won't like what I'll do if you keep at it," he said. I was willing to take my chances. After all, I had successfully thwarted all previous attempts at besting me. Now that he was trying a new approach, I was suddenly feeling a bit cocky.

"Oh look, now you're threatening me," I said defiantly.

"LET'S GO!"

"NO!"

"FINE, THEN STAY AND YOU"LL BE CRAZY!"

Crazy? I thought. What does he mean crazy? "Oh. I get it," I said. "Their minds will be wiped. They won't remember...so what...big deal!"

"And no one will ever understand you either," he added. "You'll go through life feeling miserable."

"I don't care," I responded and continued with words that surprised me, words that I didn't understand, words that seemed to come from a part of me that knew more about my true self than my conscious mind. "I'm not ready to die," I said. "I want to make movies. I want to give myself to people. I want to be strong." I started to hyperventilate. Somehow I must have sensed the Reaper was gaining the upper hand. "I'm too weak. Don't you see? I'm not ready to die. I only thought I was strong but I'm not. I've got to make movies. It's all a mistake, don't you see? I tricked God. God felt sorry for me. He thought I was ready to die because I wasn't afraid of death. I acted so cool all the time. I acted so strong. I..."

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" the Reaper interrupted, immediately pulling on my soul.

"NO!" I screamed (telepathically) as I kicked with all my might. This time, however, I could feel the pulling sensation growing stronger in spite of my kicking. "OH GOD, I'M SORRY I LIED. CAN'T YOU SEE I LIED?!"

"FINE... STAY," the Reaper said as he suddenly stopped pulling. And just like that, I instantly felt the most amazing flood of relief I have ever felt in my entire life. The ordeal was over and I had won. Or so I thought. "You stay, and we'll take your father instead," he calmly stated as he shocked me to the core of my being. My father was sitting in a chair beside me and I could see by the look on his face (in my mind's-eye) that he was worried about me. If only he knew the horrible choice that had just been put before me.

"WHAT? NO. YOU CAN'T...YOU WOULDN'T...OH MY GOD!"

"As sure as he's sitting there, he'll have a massive heart attack and die right there in that chair. I've come for someone and if it's not going to be you, I'm not leaving empty-handed."

I was willing to take a chance with my sanity but there was no way I was going to risk the life of my father. I tried to think of a way out but I couldn't. The Reaper had me and I knew it. "You bastard," I thought. "You could take my father's life...and you would wouldn't you?" I don't remember an answer. All I remember is the overwhelming feelings of my sorrow and anguish.

"I'M DYING," I gasped out loud as I realized there was no way I was escaping the situation. The helplessness and inevitability saddened me so deeply, especially when it dawned on me that this was the very last time I would ever see my family again. I asked my mother if the whole family could come into the living room for me to say my final goodbyes. I recall telling them all one by one that I loved them as I kissed them each goodbye. Even though I knew my grandfather would be waiting for me, the remorse and sadness I felt was too devastating for words. "One last question and I'll be ready," I said to The Reaper. For some reason, he let me ask. "Will I ever see my family again?" This question seemed to cause him some difficulty.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't think so." I suddenly felt worse for asking.

"No one? Not even my parents?"

"Well, I know you'll meet (your brother-in-law) Greg up here one day," he said. The tone of his voice was upbeat, like he was trying to cheer me up. "And you'll both have a good laugh together."

"Greg! Oh thank you," I said to the Reaper, suddenly feeling a bit better about leaving. At least one day I'd see someone I knew. Greg was standing in the room at the time. "Greg!" I said, "We're going to meet in heaven one day and have a good laugh. That'll be good won't it?" He laughed and said something pleasant, although I no longer remember what it was.

At last, having said my goodbyes, my family left the room and I closed my eyes and prepared to die. Dahlan, my mother's friend from Subud had arrived at some point earlier and was now the only one sitting with me, the back of my head resting comfortably upon his lap. "You believe me," I asked as he gently stroked my head, "I mean about the Latihan...what it does...you understand me don't you?

"I think I understand," he said with sincere kindness although I later realized he wasn't present when I had earlier talked to my mother about the Latihan.

Finally, feeling relaxed and quiet, I remember listening to the sound of my breathing, fully expecting it to stop. "Wait a second," I thought. "I can't die on my back."

"I can't die like this," I said to Dahlan. "God won't take me like this." I rolled onto my side and curled up into a fetal position. Somehow it felt like a very natural thing to do. As if I somehow knew that this was the way I needed to be positioned in order to be accepted into the next world. As I layed there, all curled up, I thought about Poppy and how I knew he was waiting for me. I thought about how the Reaper had tricked me and how the whole thing was so unfair. But I knew it was all my fault. My mind had taken over and created a Godless world. "It's all my fault," I thought. "Poppy. Poppy, I'm ready now."

I expected to feel myself float up to heaven and I remember feeling impatient because nothing was happening. I was looking for a tunnel, a white light, something, but there was nothing but the blackness that lay behind my closed eyes. And then a voice suddenly spoke to me. It wasn't Dahlan and it wasn't the Reaper, as the Reaper seemed to have left me as I was saying my earthly goodbyes. It was a new voice; somehow different, deeper, with a resounding tone of finality.

"Sorry," the voice said.

"What do you mean sorry? What is sorry?" Without the necessity of an answer, I knew exactly what it meant. I wasn't going to die and I suddenly felt scared, though less scared facing the prospect of life than I had earlier felt heading in the direction of death. "But I'm ready," I said. "I want to go. Don't do this to me. Please. I want to laugh. Poppy? Where are you Poppy?" But there was no reply.

I think I started to fall, but I'm not exactly sure. Perhaps all that was falling was my temperature.

"I can't go back," I pleaded. "Please, don't do this to me. I'll be crazy, don't you remember? They'll all forget. I'll go crazy...how can I live? Please. Don't send me back."

But there was no answer. Several minutes passed while I calmly thought about the implications of everything that had just happened. How would it be to face my family? After all, they all knew I wasn't dying; I seemed to be the only one that believed I was. What would my life be like? Would I be crazy? Would my family really have their minds wiped?

In spite of all the unanswered questions, I soon discovered that I was actually feeling quite calm and quite relaxed. And for the first time in my life I felt like I actually understood the meaning of life. My ordeal was over and I had survived. But better than that, I was alive and I felt more peaceful than ever before. When I opened my eyes Dahlan was no longer in the room.

I sat up on the side of the couch and cleared the tears from my eyes. I then headed into the dining room where I found my family seated around the dining room table. They greeted me as if nothing unusual had happened, and for a passing moment I wondered if their minds had been wiped. But I was too exhausted and too hungry to ask, so I sat down and had some dinner. Over the course of the rest of the evening, no one spoke a word about the events of the preceding two hours. As a matter of fact, no one ever mentioned that night ever again.

Weeks later, in a moment of panic, it suddenly occurred to me that I should ask my mother if she remembered the events of that fateful evening. When she said that she did, I decided not to question her further. Perhaps the Reaper had been bluffing after all.

Six and a half years later, my father suffered a heart attack while alone in the family home. He died the next day.

As much as my experience seemed to demarcate the end of a journey, it was truly only the beginning. One year later, as much as I thought I knew the meaning of life, once again I would learn the hard way how completely wrong I was about just about everything.

As far as the prescient dream aspect of this experience is concerned, I would like to point out a few of the more obvious elements that foreshadowed my experience:

The location (the street outside my parent's home);
The unexpected (life and death) event;
The feeling of fascination that preceded any sense of danger;
The very real sense of fear for my life;
The strange "tremble" and "roar" of the ground (the vibration in my arms and the buzzing in my ears);
The feelings of helplessness;
The feelings of unfairness;
Not wanting to die;
Anger;
Resignation;
Sadness;
The final surrender;

I have since gone on to experience many prescient dreams -- all of them very different -- however, none nearly as traumatic as the first. Incidentally, this dream (about facing my death) was also the first dream I ever felt compelled to write down. So I obviously knew from the moment I first remembered the dream that there was something special and different about it. In fact, ever since that day, whenever I have prescient dreams, they always stand apart from my "normal" dreams, and as such, I am always compelled to write them down. The only exception to this , thus far, has been the dream I called the three shells. As soon as I had this dream, I knew it was prescient and yet, rather than writing it down, I tried as hard as I could to forget it. Mind you, although I immediately recognized the prescient nature of the shell dream, what I failed to understand (at the time) was that it was archetypical and allegorical -- in other words, it wasn't just speaking about me, it was speaking in very general terms about the human experience.  (09/10/07)