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.
Transported Pearl Earring, Elevator, Vanishing
Money
Marsha
Bay St. Louis, Gulf Coast of Mississippi
My daughter was married in North Carolina this summer, and I lent her a
pair of pearl earrings. For several days after the wedding, she kept these
earrings on. Then, as we were leaving to return home, she handed them to
me. I put them in my pocket, then transferred them to my travelling
jewelry case. As I was unpacking, I noticed one of the earrings was
missing. I was baffled, because I had a very vivid recollection of where I
put them. Last week, I bought another pair of pearl earrings to replace
those that I had lost. Lo and behold, I was putting some jewelry away, and
just going
through the drawers and looking and I opened the drawer that holds my pearl
necklace... and there in plain sight was the lost earring. I can assure
you that that earring was NOT in that drawer, ever. I kept them in a small
jewelry box on my dresser.
Another incident involved missing money. I exchanged $60 in coins and
asked for four ten-dollar bills and a twenty. The change lady handed me
the four tens and one twenty. I turned and walked a few steps away, sat
the money on a stool, and opened my purse to put the money away... but now
there were only three tens! No one had been around me, and I had held the
money in my hand the entire time. I searched and searched the area, went
back to the change booth, and asked the lady if I had left it on the
counter. She assured me I had not. When I related the incident to my
husband, he said
that I probably dropped it and someone picked it up, but I know for a fact
that money was in my hand the whole time and no one else was anywhere near
me!
I had another money reality shift-- this time a ten dollar bill was in a
mop bucket in the closet. I don't know how or when it could have gotten
there. Strange!
Slip-Sliding Away
John Billingsley, Mytholmroyd, UK
johnbillingsley@jubilee10.freeserve.co.uk
Isn't it funny how time flies, sometimes? Not just when you're enjoying
yourself, necessarily, but also when it seems to have some agenda of its
own. Then - maybe - anything can happen.
In autumn 1995, I was scheduled to teach a day school on my pet subject,
archaic or 'Celtic' heads. It was to be at Bradford University, a familiar
30-40 minute drive from my home. I set off at 8:30 a.m., to have plenty of
time to set up the room before the class started at 10 am. It was an
uneventful drive, and I was a bit surprised when I arrived to find that all
the students were already gathered in the classroom. I made a joke about
them being so keen and arriving so early, when I glanced at the clock; it
said 10:20 am.
This was not funny. I am very particular about punctuality, especially when
teaching, and I had deliberately set off in plenty of time. The course
organiser and students were concerned at my absence at the scheduled start
of the class, and the organiser had phoned my home, where my wife was able
to confirm that I had left at 8.30. Somehow, the journey had taken just
over twice as long as it should have done, and there had been no accidents,
no heavy traffic, no interruption in the journey. I was shaken, to put it
mildly, and could offer no explanation to the students - just a wry comment
about the strange effects these stone heads can have. I got the class
making their own heads out of some clay while I gathered the teaching
material together, and the rest of the day went without a hitch, but I
never could work out what had happened - why had time flown? I did another
dayschool on the subject there in October 2000, and this time got there
without being hitch-hiked.
Ufologists and alien abduction enthusiasts who have heard this story have
made what is for them the inevitable link, and urged me to try regression
to fill in the missing time. Maybe I should, but I haven't had much success
with this technique. And in any case, I just don't think this explanation
fits the bill, for some reason.
The apparent time slip reminded me of when I was 19 (alright, 1971). My
girlfriend, Jenny, and I were on the London Underground - the Metropolitan
Line, travelling back home from Euston Square to Ladbroke Grove. We were
chatting away as we got on to the train and sat down. At some point,
perhaps the train stopping at Great Portland Street, we looked up and
around ourselves. The carriage was a bit different from usual; the brushed
steel and white paint decor, with looped hanging straps, was absent.
Instead, there were enamel-painted rails and grubby cream paintwork,
hanging straps that ended in little balls. There were still some old
rolling stock on the Tube at that time; but what struck us as most odd on
that Saturday evening was that the carriage was empty apart from ourselves
and an older couple at the far end of the carriage, and they were staring
hard at us. We certainly looked different from them; as good
self-respecting hippies, we had colourful flares and tops on, and my hair
was on its way to my waist. They, on the other hand, with his narrow
clipped moustache, hat and brown suit and her overcoat, were dressed more
in keeping with the decor of the carriage - late 1940s or 50s! We joked
about being in a timeslip, not taking it that seriously, but still we felt
uncomfortable, like interlopers, and when the train pulled into Baker
Street, we got up and moved into the next carriage. For some reason we
didn't look at the adverts above the windows; perhaps we didn't want to, or
perhaps we just didn't take it all seriously enough. Anyway, the train
filled up at Baker Street, and when we looked back into our previous car
from the adjacent one, it was full of people, and we couldn't see the
'old-timers' at the far end. Indeed, the carriage now looked perfectly
normal. And we got on with our lives without thinking much more about it -
until my day at Bradford.
But there was something in between those events which could be mentioned
here. Seven of us in the Calderdale Old Straight Tracking Company (as we
called ourelves in the late 70s) took a weekend trip in a LandRover to
Glastonbury. Among the places we visited was Cadbury Castle, on a day every
bit as windy and wild as the rest of the wekend. Oddly, as soon as we
passed through the ramparts, each one of us wandered off on their own and
spent the next couple of hours playing out some personal and unexpected
activity. For my part, I stood at the scarp end of the enclosure, facing
into the wind, and tried to sink back into the time of its use. For over an
hour I stood there, rooted, aware of my surroundings but unable to move
even if I wanted to. I had a lesser awareness of something happening in my
head, a sensation that I had somehow tuned in to an earlier time, though I
wasn't getting anything clear. In that time, I was aware that one of my
friends came and sat down cross-legged to meditate about five yards behind
and facing me. He was still there when I 'came to', and when I turned to
face him he nearly jumped out of his posture! 'How long have you been
there?' he wanted to know, and I told him for an hour or more and that I'd
been aware of his arrival - but he swore he hadn't seen me! Another friend
was sitting in a thorn tree on the far side of the camp, from where my
position was not visible; without knowing of my experience, he told me when
we met that he'd heard from that side of the hill where I'd been standing
the sound of activity - like carts being pulled along, shouts and
children's voices.
I tend to assume other people, or at least those interested in earth
mysteries, have these experiences too. What do they make of them, I wonder?
I get no conclusions. I find the abduction scenario glib and flawed. What
else is there? There seems to be an element of time slippage, some
glissando that dismisses chronological progression for no apparent reason.
Such experiences come, and then go, and we are little the wiser. I have a
personal mental category for them - meaningless meaningful experiences -
but other than giving them a folder to lurk in, that's just making a 'lytle
geste' like we did on the Tube nearly thirty years ago.
Laptop Appears in Car
Elizabeth
Johannesburg, South Africa
I recently tapped in to your website. It was like the sun had come out for
me as I have often experienced reality shifts and have not had any idea
what they were. I recall at one stage in my life thinking that I was mad.
Of course now I know differently.
I had a reality shift this very morning. I work for an IT company and often
take home two laptops in order to do work at home. I am very particular
about them and never leave them in the car when I am at home. The moment I
park I remove the computers and put them in a safe place. I did exactly
that yesterday evening. In fact throughout the course of the evening I took
documents out of the one bag. This morning as I was preparing to leave I
could only find one bag. I hunted high and low and could not find the other
bag. My husband suggested I look in the car, I told him that I took the bag
out last night and that it was not in the car.
On investigating....................... you guessed, I found the bag on the
back seat of my car.
Here's to positive shifts.
The Whimsical Nature of Time and Space
by Raul daSilva
Connecticut
In the autumn of 1967 I was working as a public relations account executive
in Pittsburgh, PA, at the branch of what was then, and to my best
knowledge, still the largest public relations agency in the world, Burson-
Marsteller. Since my background had been that of an ad and promotional
copywriter, my immediate supervisor, Bob Carter, a Vice President, began to
lose patience with the promotional slant in my writing style and suggested
I take some journalism courses at the University of Pittsburgh. Hopefully,
I would be purged of my fanfare skew. It was cinched when he said
Burson-Marsteller would pay for it if I delivered an "A" average.
By November, I had been happily attending the University after my workdays,
for two months. Since the job entails applied time and I would have to
account for each hour of my work-day, I would sign out of the office on
Oliver Street at 5PM, then go directly downstairs where there was a 5:15
bus to Shadyside and the University Campus. On a bleak, cold and drizzly
November Thursday, I signed out of the office at 5PM, took the bus and got
off at the campus stop at 5:45PM automatically, by this time. It always
took me exactly ten minutes to walk to the hall where my classes were held
and by 5:55PM, I would be sitting at my desk, awaiting the first of two
instructors in my two back to back writing classes which ran roughly one
hour and thirty minutes each.
This time, when I walked into the class I realized right away that I had
walked in on a class already in session. I looked around and noticed
everyone, including the instructor, was strange. Thus, I quickly and
incorrectly, estimated I had walked into the wrong room. Out in the
hallway, beyond the door, I saw that it was the exact room so I then
quickly assumed that the last class had been extended beyond its time
limit. Glancing into another room across the hallway, a room always
empty in the evening, I saw it was also filled with students with an active
class in session.
Stopping a young woman in the hallway, I asked her if she knew why the
classes were held over so late. She looked at me with a puzzled
expression and said, "These classes are not held over, they don't let out
until 5 PM."
For a stunning moment I felt as if I had mistakenly walked out of my
office, downtown, at 4PM by some bizarre mistake, but quickly recalled that
others had signed out with me. I told the woman that it was just about 6PM
and she rejoined that I was incorrect and that my watch was running one
hour ahead.
Finding a telephone, I called my office. The receptionist, usually gone
by 6PM, was still there. She greeted me and asked if I had forgotten
something. I told her I was at Shadyside and the University campus and she
laughed and said, "Right, you made it there in two minutes?" Then I
realized she was telling me I had just walked out of the office. She
assumed I was downstairs in the lobby of the office building where Burson
Marsteller was then located.
Completely baffled, my head spinning, I decided not to think about this and
to just let time explain this puzzler to me. How was it possible to gain
one hour of time or to expand one minute into one hour? No, I would not
think about it. But now I had a full hour to spare before my class
started. Somewhat in shock, I decided to walk outside in the cold drizzle
and pull my thoughts together. For obvious reasons, I recall that event
vividly and remember pulling up the large collar on my raincoat over my
ears. Then I drifted toward another, large hall, apparently a science
hall. When I entered I realized the lobby was extremely large, as in a
museum or library. Glancing around, I saw an interesting facade or
replica of a facade of an ancient temple over to my right. I found
myself walking toward it. When I was about six paces in front of the
temple facade, I found that my perceptual reach had gone beyond the time
and space of that cold and rainy November evening.
Now I felt a hot sun on my shoulders, almost as if I was in a dream within
a dream. Children were playing, noisily, off at a distance, shouting in
their games. Deep olive oil cooking, which to this date I have never
seen in this lifetime, became obvious as the unmistakable, spicy and
pungent aroma filled my nostrils and lungs. Behind me, I heard a large
cart being hauled by what I assumed was an ox. Turning around with the
burning desire to see it all, I fainted and fell to the marble floor.
Moments later, I was shaken by someone and asked if I was okay. My sense
of bewilderment was peaking and I got up and walked out, deciding to stroll
back to my classroom. My memory tells me that from that point on, that
late afternoon, I could only feel that a large cotton ball
had replaced my brain. If the instructors had asked me any questions I
would not have been able to respond.
When I got back to my apartment at 25 Stanwix Street in the Golden Triangle
of Pittsburgh, I announced to Renee, then my wife of only one and one half
years, and also attending college, that she should divorce me because I was
now losing my mind. It is clear in my memory that I told her she could
not afford the psychiatry bills soon to come. She listened to my story and
patiently told me that she did not believe I was losing my mind. The very
next day she began to bring home books on Edgar Cayce, Helena Petrovna Hahn
Blavatsky and others. These books became my obsessive focus for the next
few years. A few years before we divorced, some 12 years later, I recalled
the incident to Renee and she did not remember a single moment of it,
although I still have most of the books she brought home, books that I had
consumed so voraciously in those days.
This was the incident that began not only my search for meaning but brought
to mind many memories, long ago forgotten, mystical experiences out of the
normal that I had as a child. Now, my spiritual life had begun in
earnest.
Later, I read of many other people who experienced similar events that
plunged them into paths of seeking. I learned that no matter our grasp of
logic, intellectual level, or what we believe reality to be, we cannot
trust the careful, intricate structure we have set up and in which we so
fervently believe. It is simply not real. Not to cast fear, real life
is vastly greater and more joyous than most of us can possibly understand.
For all of us, even the lowliest of the low, we have ahead, joys and
wonders that we cannot now possibly conceive.
..............................
Excerpted with permission from Raul daSilva's book in progress, "GOING
HOME: Travelers in Infinity and the Impossibility of Death".
..............................
Excavation: A Soul Story
Kathryn Lanier
Central Piedmont Region, North Carolina
TheMysticInsight@AOL.COM
We are fortunate in our area that if we cannot catch the Oprah Winfrey Show
at 4:00pm it is shown on another channel two days later at 9:00pm. I had
been sitting at my desk designing business cards and Oprah was doing a
recap of some of the most profound moments of Gary Zukav's appearances on
her show. She called these moments "ah-ha" experiences. There were many
segments shown that evening but the one about a premature infant boy named
Ryan was a synchronistic moment that I could not ignore. I doubt there
have been many appearances by Gary Zukav with Oprah that I have missed, but
I had indeed missed the first airing of this segment. A chance flip of the
channels, a chance mention of premature twins, a chance common name --
Ryan, and a chance to realize, once again, after 6 years what a fortunate
mother I am! Chance? No, synchronicity.
I had one miscarriage in 1990 prior to the conception of my triplets in
1994 and I knew from the moment I realized her conception that her name was
Hannah Rae. I knew there were at least two boys and possibly one girl with
my triplet pregnancy but I started bleeding on October 1 (30 days after
conception) and it did not stop until December 5. That miscarriage was
Matthew Ryan. I have always been convinced that he went back so that Jacob
and Kristina could live. They were born 12 weeks early at 2lb 14oz and 2lb
10oz, were in the hospital 52 days, and came home weighing
less than 5 pounds each, Jacob on a bradycardia monitor.
The segment that caught my heart that evening was about a mother who gave
birth to 14 week premature boy twins -- Spencer and Ryan. Ryan had a brain
bleed three days after birth and the doctors brought the mother down from
her hospital room to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) and finally
they said to her, "We would like to stop resuscitation, what do you want to
do?" She told them "OK." A simple OK was all she could say. She and her
husband were allowed to hold Ryan for as long as they wanted, as long as
they needed, to say good-bye. They buried Ryan the next day.
The mother told the story of her feeling of being in a tailspin and feeling
as though she had no control over her life and not knowing what to do or
even who she was anymore. I remembered this feeling so clearly from the
first year of my twins' existence here. Her question to Gary was "How can
I deal with this loss? I feel like I will never be truly happy again."
She said the hardest part was when her daughter (a toddler) asked about
brother Ryan. This caught my heart because my son continues to ask
regularly about where our Ryan is, where did he go if he did not stay
here.
Gary began with a global explanation of the soul and the personality and
then explained that if the mother could understand this definition, she
could experience the joy of Ryan's life. Otherwise, she would continually
say to herself at every milestone (kindergarten, graduation, wedding) that
"Ryan should have been here." This would, in turn, put an unreasonable
burden on Spencer because no matter how wonderful he was and no matter how
successful he was in any area of his life, it would never be enough because
it would never make Mommy happy.
Gary began by explaining to the mother the concept of the enormous scope
and power of the soul that chose to spend time with her as the personality
called Ryan. He told this mother that if she could see Ryan as a
personality manifestation of a soul that chose to come into this life as an
infant, the infant Ryan, to share his gifts with her and then chose to
leave that she would then be able to feel gratitude and awe for the gifts
of compassion and love that Ryan brought to her. She could then share
these gifts with her husband and with Ryan's siblings. Otherwise, Gary
explained, the mother would continually be turning away from these gifts
and would miss out on the wondrous experience of this soul's intentional
choice to be with her. When Gary said the words "with you," his voice
caught and he took a moment to catch his breath and continue. The camera
scanned the audience and everyone was in tears, as was I, as was Oprah. You
could actually witness the moment this mother understood. She suddenly
broke into a huge smile as though she would burst into laughter. Her
posture relaxed where before she had been sitting ramrod straight,
repeatedly blinking her eyes to stave off the tears. Her joy was tangible,
visible.
The father asked that if this soul existed, then could they connect with,
talk to Ryan. He was slumped in his seat, so devastated. So desperate for
any glimmer of hope that he could reach out and touch his son in some way.
His energy level was so low it broke my heart.
Oprah told him that not only could he connect with this soul but that in
his son's very, very short earthly life he had made a connection with
everyone in that room. That everyone in that room was experiencing the
gifts that Ryan brought. That in just a few short days of his existence as
that personality manifestation, he inspired his mother to write to Gary and
now Ryan's gifts were being experienced by literally millions of people
around the world. Gary gazed at the father as Oprah finished speaking and
said "The answer to your question is 'yes'. But to think of Ryan only in
terms of this personality diminishes the awesome expanse of this soul."
I could not fathom why this segment had me in such a state of grief and
tears. It had been a tough week with Jacob (who came into this life time
experiencing ADHD) but it had also been a week of much personal success. I
have never thought of myself as mourning Matthew Ryan (who is called Ryan).
The next segment brought it full circle. Gary was explaining to a young
woman that digging up the treasure inside of her that was the unconscious
representation of the pain, fear, anguish, and dysfunction with which she
labeled herself, would finally allow her to live the rich life she desired.
Oprah added that one thing that many people do not understand is that there
is no "light switch" that you can turn on and be free of the control of
these self labels. She commented that you have to excavate the pain, walk
through the pain before you can release it.
The word excavate created the ah-ha moment that finally clicked into place
for me. I have never mourned for Ryan because I felt I would sound
ungrateful. I thought it would be a burden on my other children, whether I
discussed it with them or not. The general reaction that I do receive when
telling my story is "But look at the two beautiful children you do have."
However, the label that I have used for myself is "mother who lost a
child". Imagine the wondrous joy when suddenly I realized that I could use
the label "mother with whom Ryan chose to spend 3 months before his chosen
return to the other side"! I could turn an attitude of grief to a
gratitude for great
joy!
Ryan was someone I never held. His earthly representation is held in the
only photograph I have of him, as a black sac in my uterus on an ultrasound
film 14 days after conception. As I knew Hannah Rae, I knew Matthew Ryan.
I have known all of my children's names, their essence, prior to knowing
their sex or how long they have existed here. My experience with my oldest
daughter, Jillian, was the same. Her father and I had a serious argument in
the labor room in 1982 because I refused to discuss
choosing boy names with him. The discussion was irrelevant to me.
I shed many tears as I wrote this story to share with you. I had a
headache from trying not to cry! I cannot tell you how many times I
mistyped the name Ryan while writing this soul story. Yet, the other words
flowed freely and easily.
I grieve the loss of Ryan's personality with deep gratitude that his soul
chose to come and be with me. It is a rare and divine experience to
realize that you have been chosen by someone else because they want to love
you. I am convinced that a part of his soul's mission was to choose to
leave, giving precious earthly life to the wonders that are Jacob and
Kristina. I have had two sons and three daughters in this life. Hannah Rae
represents the possibility of a new life for me in 1990 and Matthew Ryan
represents for me the gift of the continued life of his brother and sister
in 1994. I am convinced that for everything there is a season. I am
convinced that Spencer's brother Ryan brought the gift to me of my own son
Ryan. A gift of love for me, for Jacob, and for Kristina -- the only
beings in this earthly plane that had the privilege of sharing this
experience with brother Ryan.
