Stories that may or will provoke you:
I would go to the right next streetcourse. Crowded by people dressed when summer is here. Blush in palette colors happy and laughing like the mouth of the faces you face. Three streets more, I’ll go. Two crossings and then I would meet the person. How can I only know this. I can not explain, I only know. That is, my whole life. Meetings that change and you look the world differently like you are, new in love. The sky is getting bluer and the sea looks warmer. Nothing has changed.

It happens that I do something you should not do. Not for not, but for training myself, to see what is not to be seen. It was told to me that the master, who told the monks, would learn: sit there by the wall, close the eyes and be in deep meditation. When you can see what’s happening on the other side of the wall, tell me what you see.

The first time I did this. Could I look into the neighbor’s apartment. There were smoking pancakes oz, to the kids who put the forks in their hand and beat them in the table. In the apartment after, it was empty. A gray mood and there was cheap art on the walls. Somebody has to have recently gone away. I did not know any of the neighbors, because I was visiting this city. Read in the book that made me want to try to look behind the wall.

Later that day I asked who were neighbors, with the person I visited. He described exactly what I had seen. The first neighbor has little children and the other neighbor had a recent passing son.

It was written in the book that it takes years to train to be able to look beyond where you are. I could do this at once, but it would take years to understand that all people can not do this and do not want an understanding that there are other principles you can live a life on.

Is this a spiritual awakening or deep meditation. I have no idea. What I think is that no one has yet found a language to be able to explain. Everything just is.

I could check anything about anyone. But I do not. The only thing I do is that once a year, is training, to see what people do in my environment. A few have permission to contact me and ask about things about their lives. I answer and the accuracy of the years has become scary, sure. It’s not 100 percent yet but a good bit over 90 percent.

When someone new comes to ask, it’s the best. Then everything is at its peak, because they will always test me if I can. A period, I do not like this test vulnerability. I would like to start with the essential questions.

A poor woman, I said, so you removed your left womb last week.
I used to say things that I absolutely could not know and the person in front of me would never say to another person. It usually became too much. Because I put everything, at its peak, so my ego could be free, and this was not healthy.

I doubted all the time also if it was really possible that I could do this. Today I have no doubt at all. Some things can not be measured or found. One sign is when I get strange answers. I do not know why and I do not know why I can do this.

I usually never tell people that I can do this. At the beginning, I was so enthusiastic and told many. That made people test me.

I remembered a couple who started asking and I saw that they did not believe it. I should not say anything, but I could not help. I started to respond and it became an unpleasant atmosphere in the room.

They lied. They did not tell the truth and I was too ignorant and stupid not to realize that people do not tell the truth. I told what I saw and they protested wildly.

They asked about their son. So third person, which I learned now, never to talk about people who do not get me permission. I do not remember what they wanted to know. But I know the consequence of what I said.

The son was dead and they did not say that, but behaved like he was alive.

The man became furious, because the grief over the son’s descent was not processed.

I had impressed that the son had no connection to the father who became angry. The father did suicide, a week later.

I had been right.
The mother had never told the father or son that the son had another father, the son died when he was 23 years old.

Am I guilty or innocent of what happened?

I think life had taken me to a crossroads where I would learn something and the people I meet would also. How their lives are, is largely determined beforehand. If you do not choose to take another route then all the conditions change.