Tag Archives: epiphany

To see the world in a grain of time. And heartburn in a re-heated dead chicken.

MyMouthI ate a piece of chicken from a takeaway stall in Camden Lock yesterday afternoon. That was probably the cause. It may have been re-heated.

I felt a little queasy when I got home – nothing serious; just a bit of a dicky tummy – and so I went to bed early.

There then followed a whole orchestra of different little bits-and-pieces which meant I had a troubled non-sleep.

Little bits of coughing (nothing unusual there – someone once gave me the unwieldy nickname John ‘Irritating Cough’ Fleming).

But I also had a burning, acidy feeling inside my chest and in a vertical line down my front – presumably acid reflux. And hiccups. And some bouts of building coughing which never quite got to the actual puke point but which came pretty close. And what seemed like sniffles of the nose like the start of a cold but which, I guess, were caused by the orgasms of coughing annoying my nasal passages.

Eventually, some time in the middle of the night, I DID mercifully get to the point of mild vomiting in the toilet and that seemed to get me over whatever it was.

But the point is that – somewhere in among all this fitful sleeping – I can’t remember exactly where – I woke up in the middle of a dream which, as long-term readers of this blog will know, means I was actually aware of what was in my dream. I only ever remember having a dream perhaps once every six months if I wake up during one.

I was in a tube train at Camden Town station. No mystery there, as that is the tube station for Camden Lock, where I had been in the afternoon.

The  carriage was quite crowded with lots of people and, of course, they all had different faces.

But, as well as being aware of their different faces, I was aware of the unique, separate strands of their individual lives. I could understand what each person was feeling at that exact moment and how it fitted into their life strand – when they were a child and in their twenties and how their life stretched ahead of them in experiences until their death.

And, as I looked from face to face, I could move from life to life and could experience how all the strands ran separately and how, for just these few minutes, they intersected.

Unique strands running through the same decades but separately, leading to this brief intersection, then each stretching separately ahead along their own unique strand to death.

So it goes.

Who needs drugs?

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Filed under Death, Dreams

One woman’s epiphany in Edinburgh

Edinburgh from Blackford Hill

Yesterday’s blog had a reaction from Sue Blackwell in Edinburgh, who occasionally crops up in these blogs.

I have no idea idea why she had this reaction. Perhaps it was because I mentioned my ‘inherent nihilism’.

For whatever reason, this is what she wrote:


Your blog triggered a memory of something that occurred many years ago now, when I was in my late thirties. I was drying some cutlery at the time.

Possibly I was over-tired, overstressed, I don’t have any explanation for it.

It was a state of mind that is sometimes reached – so I understand – by taking mind-altering drugs, which I had not done.

I don’t have a belief in God or any sort of higher being although, in my earlier years, there was an urge to question the reason for our existence – which took me down many avenues of exploration.

Not so today nor for many, many years now.

But in that moment or moments – I have no recall of how long it lasted – it was as though thought had stopped and this other state of consciousness came into play. I was aware of overwhelming joy, love and an awareness of order in our existence.

This order was incredibly beautiful, and it was as though a curtain had been drawn back and I understood all things. It was an Aaah! Now I understand! moment.

I have no recall of what I understood or experienced, because thought was not there.

As thought returned, this other state receded until it was no more.

I didn’t tell anyone about what had occurred because, certainly for the next three weeks or so, I found it too overwhelming to speak about.

What a lot of old bollocks this sounds now, but there is no denying that it happened.

I was not depressed at the time and have no explanation for it.

Words could not capture what had happened, so there was no way of communicating it with anyone else.

When I eventually did talk about it with one or two people it moved me to tears each time.

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Filed under Psychology, Religion