Excerpt from Arjuna’s (John Hogue’s) recently released book, ‘Nostradamus: Premonitions of 9/11’.
This is a segment from the middle of three powerful premonitions I’ve had so far in my life that are revealed in this book. This one began on the afternoon of Ash Wednesday, 4 March 1981, shortly after my return from India. I’ve told a very abbreviated version of this story twice in my Hogueprophecy articles over the last 16 years…
This new version has many more intimate and additional details I never felt ready to publicly share until now. This is just a taste of what is my most intimate and personal book of life experiences framed in the phenomenon of mass premonition stories about those few of us who did warn the world about 9/11 years – centuries! – before it happened:
When my “Lent,” my day of ashes came, I was preparing to drive down from my home in San Pedro, California, to Utsava Meditation Center in Laguna Beach to have dinner with my girlfriend at the time.
Just as I was about to leave, I sensed a vastness hovering over me – an omen of impending death. I felt like a small, transfixed ant sensing but unable to see with its minuscule insectoid perception, a premonition acting like a great giant regarding that ant, lifting its hobnailed boot, bigger than the sky, hovering over that ant before squashing it.
The premonition was so tangible it froze me at the threshold.
I stood motionless for sixty seconds passing like sixty hours; then something pushed me into action. I fumbled for my car keys and headed off. Twenty to thirty minutes later, a light in a Long Beach intersection had turned green. I accelerated my olive-green, two-door Maverick forward just as Death met me a second time in a big hurry from my left. A station wagon ran a red light at 55-miles an hour and slammed into the driver’s door of my compact car.
Glass and steel ripped apart like garments before I was thrown into an infinite golden light!
Back down in Long Beach, witnesses of the crash would say I was unconscious for twenty minutes. The paramedics and just about everybody in the crowds gathering had given me up for dead. The body in the wreckage looked white as a sheet and the neck was hunched over forward at such an extreme angle that the paramedics had reasoned that the force of the crash had snapped my neck. An understandable deduction since none of them knew just how limber and double-jointed I was.
The paramedics went to work on the other driver, a “three strikes you lose” kind of guy: an illegal Mexican alien, apprehended by the police arriving at the crash scene. He had broken his forearm driving his brother’s car without a license while running a red light. His brother would later try to blame me for the crash. (Sorry I happened to be in the way when your undocumented brother ran the light. LOL!) No police report supported this outrage. No court would waste their time.
Twenty minutes or twenty centuries made no difference to what had been “me” in the ruined car. All meaning was discarded in the din of the shredding metal and shattered glass falling away. My consciousness had been launched into an ocean of infinite golden silence.
Perception of myself was everywhere and nowhere, running at a million years a moment. I remember simultaneously hovering over my mother’s shoulder and hovering above friends and beloveds trying to convey as a released energy that something had just happened to me. Perhaps that’s how it felt to be my great-grandmother’s brother, a shadow on the wall at evening supper when only an instant before he was encased in a body blown to bits by a German shell at the Somme as he clamored over the top of the trench into no-man’s land.
The shade in the corner, drawn to his sister like a magnet, somehow wanted to convey something he could no longer summon as mind, thoughts, feelings and body had been ripped off the essence by the sudden violence of the death. In limbo, an essence “reached” without arms to her. She saw the shade and screamed as it vanished.
On some level of reality I had become that shade, a messenger of a premonition that something big and terrible had happened to me. I wanted my girlfriend to know. I looked through her eyes in the Laguna center’s kitchen. My essence passed like invisibility into the back of her head and I witnessed through her own eyes her hands cutting carrots for the meal we would never have.
She had felt me pass within her.
Her hands suddenly stopped cutting carrots.
She put down the knife and folded her fingers thoughtfully.
I was thrown by the crash into the golden land of Wasn’t There. “It” that had been “me” did this “not there-ing” with as much reality as I had “done” the physical body.
There were others “not-there-ing” in the golden silence. They cast the impression, like turning on a light, that I was home and there was no need to return “down there.”
No one uttered and no one-ness heard their perfectly equanimical set of choices delivered with a profound yet loving neutrality. If I would put wordlessness into words, the message was that I had come home. Indeed I had “never left” this home in the golden infinite and I could remain if I wished. However… they lovingly reminded me of what I had chosen to do “down there.”
“If you choose to go back, it would really be wonderful.”
I cannot tell in words what blissful tenderness radiates from a message perfectly delivered, impressing itself in a truth that only illuminates The Whole by being a nothing said, or being burdened by existing. To exist you must end. This place to which I had returned by not returning was beyond ending or beginning.
I was shown all the potential futures possible from my life choices, if I went back “down there,” including this 25 year-old victim of a car crash living an additional 95 years.
Excerpted from Nostradamus: Premonitions of 9/11
Arjuna (John Hogue) is author of 740 articles and 40 published books (1,170,000 copies sold) spanning 20 languages and counting and is sought-after for radio and TV talks shows. He has dozens of other books in various stages of completion and has predicted the winner of every US Presidential Election since 1968, giving him a remarkable 12 and 0 batting average. Arjuna presently lives in the Pacific Northwest on Whidbey Island, USA and welcomes e-mails from fellow travellers. hogueprophecy.com. He also welcomes you to join his FB Page.