Miracles, strange events remembered * 8th in series.

It is difficult to cover what I learned, and what changes went on in my life from the time of this dream, until 4 years later when I had the next dream of this particular kind.  But, to write so as to make sense of what followed, I need to try to cover this well enough.

Soon after, minor incidents came up in my family, in which my husband and I clashed for what may have been the first times.  It always seemed as if I was making an issue about something very insignificant.  It was all very familiar to me, yet for the minor things I had listed as having bothered me, I had not seen why I was upset about them.  But I was.  As best I can say, it was as if we were playing out our roles of man as the head of the household, and a wife held on a pedestal, with the husband trying to take care of her.  But, it went against me being myself.  He could not understand what I was upset about, and I could not explain it.

After the Library Dream, and along with some incidents of my ineffective ways of trying to speak up about what was bothering me, I began to remember a very confusing and traumatic time from when I was a child.  I had other dreams about more early events which were beyond explanation, that happened at about the same time, when I was in 4th grade.

I still find that the years when I was 7, 8 and 9 are somewhat confused. But, those years and the strange events which happened  then, came to mind again for me. Some ordinary memories are just remembered from the later view about it. This was different. It was experienced, probably in a dream, but experienced as it had been originally. It was like living it again, with every feeling and sensation. Then, I could look at it again from the perspective after my Library dream, and see how I had taken it at the original time.

My maternal grandfather was very ill and died early in 1933. Before that time, Mother was often staying with my grandmother because of his illness, usually with my sister and myself, sometimes with the boys as well. She worked very hard to help with the farm work, and as the oldest, I helped in what I was given to do. But, the boys were sometimes left at home with my Dad and his father, Granddad, who always lived with us. I did at times go to the one room schoolhouse nearest Grandma’s home. I remember that I came home from this school crying and told Mother that the kids at school would not let my brother and me play with them.

For clarity, I want to add, that I was in the 4th grade at age 7. I started school in a one room schoolhouse, with no running water and with an outhouse, but it had electric lights, in Sept. 1929.  Since my mother was a teacher, I had a head start. There was no kindergarten then. I was moved into the 2nd grade very soon that first year.

So, later on, when we went to this school by my grandmother’s, my brother must have been in first grade when I was in fourth grade.  This was a one-room schoolhouse for 8 grades, with probably 20 or more very rural farm children attending. We walked through the fields to get there. I remember the fall leaves, and snow, as indicating the time of year. Yet I also remember picking wild strawberries along the way the next spring.

I came home from this school crying and told Mother that the kids at school would not let my brother and me play with them. My mother and grandmother made so much more of it than I could understand, that it seemed as if I never should have said anything. I was taken to repeat my story to the School Superintendent. It made it sound as if the kind of play that was going on at the school, which was being hidden from all eyes, must be terrible. I thought that mother disliked that one room school teacher, because she did apply and became a teacher there herself 2 or 3 years later. I never went to school to mother, myself, though the twins did. I thought that the teacher did get fired for this or for whatever else I did not know about. I felt terrible about all this. I blamed my mother for it, but I felt very guilty, and it seemed I must have exaggerated, since so much more was made of it.

Now, writing about it, I can think of something else. The speculation about the kind of play that might be going on was centered on one family, and since schooling went up to 8th grade, there was some gossip about a girl having gotten pregnant in school there, in that family. I only heard about this many years later. But, that might explain why so much of an issue was made over this.

Both Mother and my Grandmother referred to this teacher as Meow-er; her first name was Mariah. We kids said this too, and may have passed it along at school. I thought it was funny, but we children seemed to have had no idea then that it was catty to give a nickname like that to her, but of course it was mean. We probably never heard her real first name then. But, the school year with her was awful.

After the Library dream, I also remembered at least 3 earlier events, which defy explanation. These events happened one just before, maybe, and for sure a couple of them soon after my Grandpa died. I have never known what I myself caused in these happenings, but they were spiritual events, affecting the physical world. I have never known why I needed to re-experience these events, but it has opened up and strengthened my understanding of spiritual possibilities and realities.

I want to restate that, there is a big difference between a memory, and to reexperience an event.  Our right brain records it as it happened, but it is more like a dream or a movie, not like a memory.  We do not process it, ask any questions, form any opinions.  It is processed by the left brain, and goes into memory in a kind of digested way, a meaning we give it, and conclusions we make about it, or what we hold as having learned from it.  this happens right away, usually, and then the original event is left as a latent impression we do not actually remember,  But it does remain in our brain as a recording.  Nothing is ever fully processed, we get the gist of what it means to us, and no more.   But, if things are beyond explanation, or too traumatic to think about, and deal with as real, then we forget it in any conscious way.  But, unconsciously, that record of it is still there in us.  All of these events were like that, and it was not a memory, the meaning, which I had come to mind.  It was how it happened in the first place.  As if I went through it again, just the way it was at the time, without any processing about what it had been.  All of my impressions about it were as I had experienced it at that age.  Nothing more rational had been applied to it, until I had this bring it back to me.

In the first event, Mother was driving the car, having just learned how to drive, (a very liberated woman for the times), with my sister in the passenger front seat, and with me in the back. She was driving to Grandma’s. We hit black ice, ice you cannot see, as we were going down a steep hill to cross a bridge. The car slid into the guardrail, and my mother was in a panic. I spoke calmly from the back seat, saying that if we were going to fall into the river, we would have already fallen, so all we needed to do was to sit still and the next people to come along would help us. They did, we knew the local man with the tow truck who pulled us out. As we were pulled free, the whole guardrail fell into the river. Everyone watching told us that only one wheel had still been on the ground, and it had been a miracle we did not fall into the river. Mother told people how calm I had been, and that I had been praying. —–But, for my own impressions, I had looked on from a distance above the road, I felt that I was much larger than the car, and I was holding it in my hands as if it were no bigger than 2 feet long. I did actually hold my hands that way the whole time, until it was pulled back on the road. I had seen the real danger, but I also felt absolutely certain that we would be perfectly OK. I never told anyone then what my own impressions had been. I did tell a very few others about it after I had again re-experienced it. I did check then with my parents to ask if I was remembering it as it had actually happened, and they assured me that I had. I never told them what my own impressions had been at the time.

Another time, I was to sleep at Grandma’s, when they had just hired Mr. Powell as a farm hand, after my Grandfather had died. Grandma asked me to lock my bedroom door, and I did. It was a lock that switched along one side of the metal frame holding the door latch, down the side, top to bottom. She was afraid of the unknown man in another bedroom,  that he might try to bother me. This scared me, and I had also never been locked in before. It was summer, but the storm windows were all still on, and no windows would open. I went to sleep leaning against the locked door crying. But, I woke up walking down the road in my nightgown, in my bare feet, heading for home. I was distinctly just beyond the edge of their farm property when I woke up, and was approaching where the neighbors lived. I took this for granted, and I continued to walk for about a mile, when my parents came in the car to pick me up. We lived 5 miles away. They came to the house, and no one could get in the bedroom, the door was still locked. I could not have gotten out without unlocking the door, and it could not have been locked from the outside. It was about midnight when Mother and Dad took me home in my nightgown, and the next day my Dad helped the new hired man to take the storm windows off so they could get into the room again.

I did not ask about this until years later when Mother had passed away, when I asked Dad about it. He told me, Mother had waked him from a sound sleep and told him something was wrong with me. They immediately dressed and came for me. (My paternal grandfather always lived with us, and the other children could be left asleep with him.) He also told me that Mother had always known when I was having a bad dream. He said she often had just waked up with the same dream. But, again, he said, yes, it had all happened like that.

The one other event I remembered after I had the Library dream was this. Mother and Grandma and I were putting hay up into the haymow at Grandma’s, after Grandpa had died. (This is really an early farm history event, and might need to be told more clearly.) Mother set a huge hayfork, maybe 2 feet high, into the hay on the wagon. Then a lever locked the tines in.  Grandma drove the horse out from the barn, to have a heavier rope pull the fork load of hay up and over on a railing, to drop it down in the hay loft, by mother pulling a trip rope, to release the tines. I was in the hayloft, 15 feet or so up, and 12 or 15 feet over from the edge. I could not see what was happening.  But, as the load started up, mother’s foot was caught in a rope, or she stepped backwards and caught her foot. She could not catch her balance, and was thrown over backwards. She must have screamed, and she would have hit on the beam surrounding the opposite haymow. I was instantly hitting the floor, in my bare feet, and then around to the other side of the wagon, and caught her before she hit on the beam. We all stopped what we were doing, and just went into the house. Grandma said, ”lets not even talk about it, it happened, and that is that”. They seemed to feel that I could not have moved like that, and in fact, as far as I knew, it was just instantaneous.

After the Library dream, Grandma had passed away by then, but I did ask my Mother and Dad about if this had really happened.  He had never been told about it, but Mother said her near fall did happen. It was not so much that I doubted it, but that I had forgotten it, and then it came back to me. I did not so much remember it as have it replay as if I experienced it again.  It seemed better to double check that I had remembered it as it really had happened. I had a pretty strong sensation of my bare feet hitting the barn floor. I was glad no one else saw it or knew about it, because I felt that a long questioning was avoided, and I was so glad Grandma and Mother just accepted it. But, then I also do not remember ever being questioned, or doubted, except for the earliest memory and how Grandma had taken it, about the dandelion crown, and the girl in white.

In retrospect, certainly my Mother knew about such things, and apparently my grandmother had as well. But, we never talked about any of it. I was never told anything like that from their own experiences. There seems to be an instinctive taboo not to tell about things we cannot explain. But, that is why I am trying to tell about it now.

The main thing about how I took these events at the time is that I took it for granted.  If there were questions to be asked, I did not even consider them.  It was as if things happened suddenly, not in a usual way, but they did happen, and I was ok with that.  I do not remember being questioned, but the feeling that it was avoided does suggest that it had happened.  But, I can see now, a child like this would drive a parent up the wall, and scare others.  I must have been very fortunate to have my mother and grandmother accept it, and it had not seemed to bother Dad to talk about it when I asked.

At this time, I was thinking that only life-saving events had happened, but I will bet that there were little things too as I grew up.  Once, I took my good shoes off and ran barefoot, but lost my shoes.  I remember Mother sort of told me how to let my mind go slack, and look in some overall way, go all over in a mental picture of where I had been, and just find them.  I did this, and they were under the cucumber vines, and I went right to them.  But, I thought everyone did it that way.  That ability stayed with me pretty much.  Other stuff was really totally forgotten.

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