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
Rhyanna
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
Robert
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.
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.
