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Your RealityShifter Stories
Page 13

Reality Shifts
The hundreds of first-hand accounts of reality shifts (aka: mind-matter interaction MMI, quantum jumping, glitches in the Matrix) on this and the following pages have been collected and shared through Cynthia Sue Larson's RealityShifters since 1999. Special issues focusing on particular types of reality shifts (such as: the Dead seen Alive Again, Seeing Loved Ones Before They Arrive, Invisibility, Walking through Walls, etc.) can be found by browsing through the RealityShifters archives and subscribing to the (free) monthly ezine. Hundreds of stories are reported here in this "Your RealityShifter Stories" section of this web site, and the phenomenon is documented in the best-selling book, Reality Shifts: When Consciousness Changes the Physical World.

Disappearing/Reappearing Building
Chicago, Illinois

I was working in downtown Chicago at the beginning of this year. In January, I went out at my lunch hour to walk to the drugstore. On the way I passed the intersection of Franklin & Madison where a new building had been going up. I recalled having seen the building under construction two weeks earlier, when I'd walked down to meet my daughter for lunch. As I glanced to see how the building was progressing, I was stunned to see that it was not there. I stopped dead in my tracks, and gazed at the empty lot that stood where the construction site had been just two weeks ago.

There is a parking lot at Franklin & Monroe, so I checked the street signs and looked around, and then decided I must be either having a reality shift or losing my grip. I know it's not a wise thing to stop dead on a busy Chicago street, but I felt the building being gone was a good reason to do so.

In late February I once again walked down Franklin to meet my daughter for lunch, and looked to see the empty lot -- and lo and behold there was the building again -- getting very, very tall!

Sometimes I think the universe has a very warped sense of humour.

Floor Tiles
Cheeky D
Rhinelander, WI

I had purchased some floor tiles to install in my dining room and hallway on Saturday. I carefully estimated the amount of tiles needed, and added several more as I had a lot of tile trimming to do.

I installed the dining room first and proceeded down the hall. I stopped and counted the number of remaining tiles. I saw that I had 28 left, they are 12" by 12" square, yet I had an 11 foot long by 3 foot wide hallway left to go, so 33 tiles were needed to finish, and I was 5 tiles short.

I counted the stack of tiles several times and re-measured the hall again... and I was still short 5 tiles. No doubt about it. However, I have been in this type of situation several times before and decided that I was going to have enough tiles to finish, provided that I stopped proving to myself that I didn't have all that I needed.

This felt like a fluid situation, not yet solidified in my reality, but an option that I was considering for some undisclosed reason.

I continued to install the floor tiles with finishing it as my focus of intention and ended up with half a tile left over!

I Saw my Dad in Two Places, Disembodied Voice, & Reappearing Stamps
Fairborn, Ohio

I have had three reality shifts that I recall. The first happened in 1972 when I was seventeen years old as I was pulling out of a gas station onto the single road leading to home. My father passed me going the other direction in his '64 Mercury, wearing his postal shirt with the old red pony express patch. I clearly saw his face, the car, and the shirt. When I arrived home, he was there and had never left. I never forgot that.

Item two: While driving in California with my wife and daughter in 1982, we pulled off the highway toward a service station. The day was clear, sunny, and the car windows were opened. At the stop sign, all three of us heard a distinct voice say "Hi there". We looked expecting to see a hitchhiker, but no one was present. Really strange!

Item three: While on an extended business trip in 1985, I had laid out writing material on my hotel bed to write home with. There were envelopes, stamps and paper. After I composed a letter and put it in the envelope, I reached for the book of stamps. They were gone. After fruitlessly searching, I went down to the gift shop and bought more stamps. I sat down, and there lay the other book of stamps in plain sight, beside the envelope on the bed along with the other items.

The Accident
by David Kingston, all rights reserved
Dorchester, Dorset, England

I was fifteen years of age when I had a most extraordinary experience, which was to have a deep and profound effect on my life. I am now sixty-three years of age, but it remains firmly imprinted on my mind to this day. It was eleven o'clock one June morning and my mother, a psychiatric nurse at the time, had asked me to go to the "corner shop" to purchase a few items she wanted.

I made my way to the local shop which was only a hundred yards or so from our house, and stood waiting on the curb to cross the road. After looking both ways, I noticed a double-decker bus driver had put out the indicator arm on the bus to turn into the road I was waiting to cross. This was the in the days before the flashing indicators had been invented. I stood patiently waiting, as the bus neared the spot where I stood on the pavement. The bus approached the road junction, and as it turned the driver must has misjudged the distance between the road and pavement. The rear wheels of the bus ran up onto the curb and over both of my feet, knocking me down on the pavement.

The next thing I remember after regaining consciousness was lying on the pavement covered in a blanket and the local shop-keeper trying to comfort me. I do not remember feeling any pain at that stage, but looking at the stationary bus and seeing the bus driver sitting on the pavement leaning against the front wheel of the bus smoking a cigarette. I assumed he was in shock. I remember hearing the loud ringing of a bell before lapsing into unconsciousness.

At this point I was "floating" above the bus. I could see myself very clearly lying on the ground, a small crowd of passers-by that had gathered, an ambulance and police car which had parked on the opposite side of the bus. This view I would not have been able to see from my position on the pavement. I wondered why there seemed to be such a hustle and bustle by the ambulance crew and one of them instructing the other to turn of the electric bell that was ringing, this was in the days before the sirens they now use. I saw the black Riley police car with its bell still ringing and I suppose this was the reason it drew my attention to the registration, FYL 894, the bells used to be mounted on the front bumper just above the registration plate, this registration is still indelibly imprinted on my mind today after all those years.

In this floating, hovering position I also saw my mother running towards the scene with a person I did not recognize, a potato peeler in one hand and wearing her pinafore over her dress.

At this point I felt a sudden rapid movement drawing me back towards my body and then nothing.

The next memory I had was drifting in and out of consciousness in a hospital bed. I could just make out the blurred shape of my mother and father sitting by the side of the bed. I asked the time to which my father pulled out his pocket watch and said, "It's 10:15 in the evening." I must have then lapsed back into unconsciousness, because I remember nothing more until the middle of the following day.

The sun was streaming into the hospital ward from the window by my bed, the reflection from the white walls and white sheets hurt my eyes until they became accustomed to it. I became aware that I felt very thirsty, hungry and an intense pain was throbbing from both of my legs. A nurse approached my bedside and inquired how I felt. After explaining to her my feelings, she called over another nurse who it transpired was the ward sister.

The ward sister was quite austere in her manner, not at all like the first nurse who had spoken to me. She explained that I had been injured in a road traffic accident and that both my legs had been operated on and that I was to rest. My request for food was not greeted too kindly and my meal consisted of a few sips of water followed by what I was told was chicken soup. How stupid I thought to myself, did the ward sister think my brains had been run over and not my legs. A short while later a doctor accompanied the ward sister back to my bedside, smiled, said nothing as he placed a hypodermic needle into my arm and I lapsed back once again into the black void of unconsciousness.

I awoke up at 7:30 in the evening to see my mother, clearly this time, sitting by my bedside and smiling. Although the pain had eased, both of my legs still hurt a great deal.

"Well, my mother said, that's the last time I send you to the shops." I could see the tears building up in her eyes as she squeezed my hand. She explained that the hospital had operated on both my feet to repair the damage to the broken bones and superficial damage to both shins. I explained to her my experience, she smiled and said, "I expect it was the shock you experienced David." I asked her to explain how I was able to see the Police car and Ambulance. Once again her explanation was that I was in a severe state of shock. When I described in detail the person that was accompanying her towards the scene of the accident she sighed and gave me the same explanation.

I thought deeply for a moment and then asked if she could find out the registration number of the Police car that attended the accident. "Why", she asked.

"Well", I replied, "I know the registration number." My mother looked at me bemused as I repeated it to her. My mother said that the Police were to be calling to see her the following day in regards to the accident and she would ask them on my behalf. I could see by the look on her face that she thought it would be a wasted question. Visiting time was soon over and after asking me if there was anything I required her to bring in for me she kissed me on the forehead and left.

I lay there wondering if my mother would ask the Police. Due to her profession she was a very logical person and in her views, everything had to have a rational explanation.

Time passed very slowly in the hospital, it appeared that in between severe bouts of pain that seemed endless, I slept quite a lot. My mother's visit the next evening was one to be remembered. She came in with a carrier bag containing a bottle of Barley water, apples and oranges.

Most important for me was the information. She seemed a little bit disturbed when I asked if the Police had called, and whether I was correct in regards to the registration number of the Police car.

"I don't know how you knew", she said, "but you were correct." I tried to explain what I had experienced, but she kept stating it could only have been a state of shock I was in, and as a result I had been hallucinating.

When I asked her how could she explain me seeing the registration number, she just shrugged her shoulders in disbelief. I am sure it was equally a shock for her. What occurred a month later was to shock not only my mother but me also.

Over the next month in hospital I started to get used to all the normal hospital routines. The day would start by being woken up at 6:15 AM, a thermometer placed under your tongue, and your pulse taken. This would be followed religiously with a bowl of water being placed on your table so that you could wash in bed except for the patients that were able to get out of bed. Next followed breakfast, then the famous bed pan round, it must have looked strange all thirty patients sitting upright and expected to empty their bowels at the same time. The doctors visit and his entourage usually happened at about eleven followed by lunch, followed by visiting time at 2:00 PM.

A bed bath after visiting time followed by tea and again another visiting session at 7.30 PM, before being settled down for the night at 10:00 PM sharp. As time passed I settled into this routine but not all was well with the surgery that had been performed when I had first been admitted. In those times, despite being the patient, you were not kept informed of your medical progress. It came as somewhat a shock when at visiting time my mother explained to me that I was to undergo another spell of surgery the following morning. This would explain why the nurse had refused my pleas for food at tea time without an explanation. My mother explained that although a vast majority of the injuries had healed extremely well it would take another operation to "sort out my toes".

This was to be the operation that was to convince my mother that shock could not have been the reason I knew the registration number of the Police car. I remember very clearly being wheeled on the trolley along a corridor towards the operating theatre, it felt as if it was swaying side to side but I rationalized that this was partly the unevenness of the corridor floor, it was flagstones, and also the effects of the pre operation injection they had given to me.

The last memory before losing consciousness I had was a black mask being placed over my nose and mouth. Next, I was floating upwards towards the ceiling of the operating theatre, through it and eventually through the roof of the hospital.

The sight that met my eyes was one of beauty. The grounds of the hospital looked totally amazing. The colour of the trees, grass and flowers were extremely vibrant and looked over enhanced to how one would expect normally. I do not know to this day if I intentionally decided to visit my house and mother or it just happened.

I remember how beautiful everything appeared as I floated, no flew over the houses towards my home some twelve miles from the hospital. I noticed birds, even the common house sparrow had the most spectacular colours emanating from and surrounding them. I arrived at my house and entered, the only way I can describe my entry was by just floating through the door. I looked down at my feet and I was hovering just a few inches from the floor.

I called out for my mother, but there was no answer. I explored the house looking for her. As I visited her bedroom, I noticed an overpowering smell of perfume. On my mother's dressing table were three of her favourite roses in a vase, and this is where the scent was originating from. I moved towards the bedroom window and saw my mother in her large bird aviary. Almost immediately I was inside the bird aviary standing next to her. I tried speaking to her, but I did not get a reply. I watched intently to see what she was doing.

My mother had been a member of the local Cage Bird Society for many years and bred foreign finches, canary's and budgerigars. She had tried to breed a pair of grey budgerigars for two years without any success. In those days, the grey variety were very rare. As I watched her, she had just slid the nesting tray partly out from the nesting box. A grey budgerigar flew out, revealing three young babies. I could tell by the look on her face she was ecstatic with joy. I tried to talk to her once more, I even shouted -- but all to no avail. She carefully slid the nesting tray back into the box, replaced a millet spray into the wire netting on the aviary side, and made her way out of the aviary through the double doors. I looked at the birds in the aviary and became very aware that I had never seen such beautiful colours emanating before. At that point, I felt myself start to float upwards again, and then a nothingness.

It was late evening before I regained consciousness to a searing pain in both feet. The nurse and a doctor were by my bedside. The doctor smiled, asked how I felt and then the nurse handed him a metal kidney bowl. He took a hypodermic syringe from it, I remember feeling the needle go into my arm and then nothing until the next morning.

I awoke feeling very hungry but in less pain. My mother visited that afternoon and I relayed my "journey" to her.

I received the same explanation of shock until I went into more detail of the roses and the baby budgerigars. She sunk back against the chair in disbelief and looked to be in a state of shock herself. Although we discussed the event several times after I had been discharged from hospital six months later, my mother gradually avoided the topic until it was never discussed. My mother died when I was in my late twenties, but I am sure she has the answer now, as I often feel her near to me.

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