Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: E · Essay · Paranormal · #2246626
Essay on being clairvoyant

My mother, and her mother before her, and on and on, back into time, prescient women, tuned in on a different frequency, knowing things without knowing why, or how, that information came to them.
And I, my mother’s daughter, and my daughter as well, carry on this oracle, this precognitive function that just shows us things.
Appalachian Witchy Women.
* Working at home, thinking about laundry, when a fully formed thought leaps into my head and I know something I didn’t know before. It’s always true.
* Walking into a room, my eyes meet a stranger’s eyes, and I know some intimate, personal thing about him. If I meet him and we get to know each other, my perception is always confirmed.
* Empath. I always know what a person wants to hear. Not just friends, but pedestrians, fellow elevator occupants, the guy who hands me a burger. Some people are radio towers, broadcasting their thoughts. Others are quiet, tiny mouse thoughts scurrying around their heads, small bits and pieces escaping into my consciousness.
I’m proud to be an Appalachian Witchy Woman. Our line ends now, my daughter has no children with whom to pass down this metaphysical gift.
It serves me well in crisis. My radar works best in a difficult situation. But with day to day living and loving, unsubstantiated paranoia can mimic prescience, raising doubts, causing angst. My emotions get caught up with my clairvoyance, confusing and confounding. It’s a double edged sword.
I should have been a detective. A counselor. A mental health professional. A fortune teller with the carnival. A stock market guru. A professional poker player. Instead, I am an artist. A mother. A lover. A seamstress. A friend.
I can’t foresee at will. It comes to me or it doesn’t. I know a thing or I don’t. My gift remains hidden, for my eyes only. Other people tend to scorn. As a child I learned not to talk about it, unless I wanted to hear derision, or try to explain it amidst disbelief. Everybody wants to know how I know a thing, and there is no explanation. Except one: I come by it naturally, I am an Appalachian Witchy Woman.
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