Index of Articles

September, 1999—

I kissed her cheek once, or she kissed mine, I can't say for sure it was so long ago. The lights were on and all were free to see, but there was no jealousy, for the kiss was for everyone.

There were flowers in the room, but they kept disappearing, and then appearing again, but no one minded.
Her smile once melted me, and I lay there in a shimmering pool of my own bliss, from which I actually had some difficulty emerging.

I once told her I didn't want to grow old without her, and she said I would do just fine. Her response made me so angry because I wanted her to say the same; that she didn't want to grow old without me.

She once called me a thief-—said I had stolen her heart. But she forgave me. She always forgave me.

I remember telling her one day that I felt bad that I had gained so much weight, and knew that my youthful good looks had lost their edge. That night, she cooked me a pasta dinner with rich cream sauces, and for dessert made raspberry tarts sprinkled with bits of chocolate.

Sometimes the pain of her not being here begins to overwhelm me, and then I think of the pain if she had never been here, and find some kind of peace.

I was finishing a bowl of Cheerios and milk one evening in September 1999, when a distinct alteration of consciousness spontaneously occurred. I felt the presence of another consciousness within my own that was clearly not me. The words I wrote above were silently spoken, and as I listened to them not only did I hear them, but I felt them. The emotions within those words came to life as if as they were mine, and yet at the same time I knew this was not the case. There was a calm to this personality and a quiet strength that isn't characteristic of my consciousness. I was momentarily stunned by what had occurred and wasn't sure what to make of it, but to ignore it would have been impossible. The only thought that came to mind, which I wanted to dismiss as quickly as it arose, was that perhaps this had originated from David, a friend who had passed away that same year. I met David and his wife Olivia in 1998. I kept in touch with them periodically by phone, but we weren't close friends in the everyday sense. In August, approximately one month before the experience described above, I went to visit some friends, including Olivia. We all went out to dinner one night, and while sitting at the table waiting for our meal my mental processes began to falter in a most peculiar way. I could neither form a coherent sentence in my brain, nor speak one, except perhaps with extreme difficulty. This circumstance lasted for the entire meal, though we quickly left after eating because it was so noisy we could hardly hear ourselves talk. The experience didn't frighten me and I wasn't concerned I was going to be permanently unable to form sentences or speak them, and a few minutes after we left the restaurant my consciousness returned to its normal state. As it did so, I recalled a comment someone had made before dinner. They said that this restaurant had been one of David's favorites. I wonder now, if in some way I was unconsciously picking up on David's past visits to this restaurant. Or perhaps, was David at that very moment attempting to communicate with me? Was the difficulty I was having communicating connected to David's attempt to communicate with me? Questions began to pile up; questions without ready answers.

David had passed away the same month I had started a new job. I was finally due a week's vacation and I decided I would just surf the web for vacation spots, and whatever caught my fancy is where I would go. I found myself being drawn to a number of towns along the southern coast of California, between San Diego and Laguna Beach. I chose Carlsbad, California, as my home base. I had never been south of Los Angeles, so was looking forward to some new scenery and new experiences. I also followed an impulse to keep a diary for the week I was away.

About a week before I was to leave for Carlsbad, I wrote a silly note to Olivia. It was one of many impulsive acts that I had begun to follow of late. In the note I told her it was good to see her again, and commented on how delicious that seafood buffet was, and what a spectacular sunset we had witnessed. None of this happened, in official time, or in official terms, so I hesitated for a moment to send the note, but decided what the hell. I went up the block to drop it off at the nearby mailbox, and at that exact moment the postman was emptying the contents of the mailbox into his mailbag. I asked if I could put one more in and he said sure. There was something about the serendipity of that moment that made me feel following this impulse was in some way right. I then completely forgot about it.

The night before I left for vacation I was trying to do ten thousand things at once. The phone rang; and it was my former landlady, who had recently moved. Usually, she is not one to stay on the phone, but this night she was in a very talkative mood. I didn't want to be rude, so I waited until the call reached a natural end and then jumped up to continue getting ready for my trip. I made it as far as the next room before the phone rang again. It was a friend from California I hadn't spoken with in quite a while, who had no idea (consciously that is) of my upcoming trip, nor did I tell her. Again, I let the conversation take its natural course before hanging up. I got off the phone, and I would say 30 seconds went by before I heard that familiar ring. I was getting upset at all the interruptions and answered the phone with a slight annoyance in my voice. For a moment I didn't recognize the caller, but when she said, "Come on, you know who this is," I realized it was Olivia. I had forgotten all about the silly note I had sent her, but that was what she was calling about. She was curious to know if the note related to a dream I recently had. I told her it didn't, and that I was just a strange guy who wrote silly notes. We went on to talk of other things, and I told her I was leaving tomorrow on vacation. She asked where I was going, and I mentioned the towns I was interested in visiting. She paused for a moment and told me that was the area she and David had lived in for many years. I knew receiving this information the very night before I was leaving had significance, but at that moment my main concern was with packing and making sure my alarm was set so I would make it to the airport on time. But I couldn't help taking a few moments to think about that silly note I had written and began to wonder: whose memory did that seafood dinner and spectacular sunset really belong to? What other memories that were not mine might be waiting for me along the California coast. It wasn't long before I was to find out.