Early on, I developed this "rule" that paranormal or supernatural events had to make sense, or they weren't "right". In the beginning, my definition of "right" was "of God" because I was still recovering from the religious indoctrination that anything beyond humdrum was of the devil. So, it had to make sense, serve a purpose, or it was "of the devil".
This did not last long. The fact is, we rarely know why we get one thing but not a word about another, bigger thing. You are not going to easily find rhyme or reason in anything paranormal. I find this annoying, frankly. That Bible verse about how the Lord works in mysterious ways feels like an annoying cop out, much of the time to me. I admit it.
Back when I was maybe two years or so into my first hitch in the Air Force, stationed out West at the time, a strange thing happened. I was tired, long day, walking to my car and one of the pilots, an officer, was coming my way on the sidewalk. We reached each other and saluted, and as my hand raised it suddenly hit me with absolute belief and certainty that he was dying. He gave me an odd look so I am sure a weird expression came over my face but he walked on and I stood there in confusion.
This had never happened to me before. It was the last thing on my mind, I barely knew that man. Just a name around the squadron to me. It had to make sense, it had to serve a purpose, but, what purpose? In that split second I knew he was as good as dead. I saw in his eyes he also knew it. The man was dying. Why the heck did I need to know and what was I supposed to do about it?
This upset me to no end, to wonder why it happened, this useless and sad insight. Sad for him, Sad for me to worry useless stuff like this maybe meant I really was evil and had demons playing with my mind and was of the devil. Old accusations still haunted me then. I brushed them aside, prayed a great deal for insight and for God to keep me safely, and two days later while I was working, suddenly the squadron intercom came on and the Commander told us that pilot had just crashed and had not ejected, out on the range. He was presumed dead.
Such things are terribly sad within close military units as we had there, but it also stirred up again my feelings over that moment of insight as I saluted him two days before. It troubled me for a few hours, why had I seen it? What did it mean? Then, the analyst in me kicked in and I realized he had known he was dying, and he had chosen to die that way. His family would get more money for him dying on duty if nothing else. It was quick. He was too good to mess up like that or not bail out. It had been suicide, I believe now.
But, still, why did I see that? Why must I, who had nothing to do with him or his friends or family have to know this?
I never told anyone, of course. Would not have anyway. But, I have come to realize that an ability to pick things up doesn't mean it is some cosmic plan to reveal something specific to you. All that happened is I picked it up as we passed on the sidewalk. A random ability like this is sort of a sacred thing the way I see it. I am not a voyeur sort. What I see is screened harshly before I speak of anything, because I have a massive respect for other people and their secrets and shadows. I did pray for him and his family especially, because of that odd insight, but otherwise it is simply a thing, one of those things. I hope he got to say all he wanted and did as he wished before he ran his plane into the ground. I hope he knew peace and went happy enough doing what he loved. It is not my concern to judge or deal with it further.
Information might be like bubbles, little blown bubbles in the air, and you get the tiny tingle of moisture from it if it pops closely to your skin. A bit of data floating about. It is not all about you or some larger purpose beyond that we are all fellows, made in the image of our Creator it is said. Maybe it is just a shared moment in silence of humanity.
Maybe, as it is so human, that is why there is no rhyme or reason to it much of the time.
I write to serve.