Atarata

Psychic shock waves. A "disturbance in the force" if you will. I have given this phenomenon the Sezjeghn name Atarata. I have experienced it since as far back as I can remember. I used its cryptic pictures to save my mother's life.

I have these dreams. They're nothing more than pictures. When I view them in my sleep, I know them for what they are. I always see them, they as stationary objects, while I seem to be in motion. As if I'm walking while looking at a photograph that was snapped on accident.

These "pictures" almost never show what exactly is to come. Rather, when I experience the pictures later, in real life, in real time, I am alerted to an upcoming hallmark in my life. The emotional upset of those close to me is always tied in. Whether for good or bad. Alas, usually bad.

Scripturally, fortune-tellers of current times can only achieve their powers via demonic inspiration. This does little to assuage my nerves. My only consolation is that I cannot actually foretell the future. Merely the emotional upset of those I love, to within three hours of the source.

Lately, I've been bombarded by atarata. Yesterday, at 11:15 am, I was struck by one. I was at work when the picture slid into reality over my eyes. I recalled a recent dream. In it I was wearing a blue shirt I did not currently own, lamenting my back, working a die-cut machine and pondering over a wristwatch I also did not own. I remember thinking to myself as I dreamt it: "That's odd, I don't wear watches anymore."

The cryptic nature of these dreams often causes me to eventually forget them. Until they occur, of course. I have never written them down, nor written of them, until today. I was always afraid that I might be empowering demons by paying close attention to such an uncanny ability. Or at least amusing demons.

When this particular atarata came to pass, I was wearing the mysterious shirt and watch. Both recent gifts from my doting bride.

I called everybody at lunch, giving them the heads-up. My family, as well as my wife's family, have come to greatly fear and respect my warnings. My sister kept my nephews home from school. My mother wrote my number next to the phone in the home she resides in as a guest, and told everyone in earshot to BE CAREFUL.

Last night, I re-called everyone. My mother reported that she had mopped the floor of the elderly couple she cares for. Before she could warn anyone, their grandson rounded the corner in a run. He slid into the oven door, shattering the glass.

Despite this alarming news, I felt that it wasn't an answer to my riddle. Being that the boy wasn't seriously hurt, I sincerely hoped that it was, though.

In the past, I experienced atarata before Angela's death, my mother's near death, my step-father's last time driving a car, my mother's hip-shattering car-accident, my aunt-in-law's food poisoning, my dad's back-breaking motorcycle ride, the extension of my jail sentence, yadda, yadda, yadda. You get the idea. So I feared that the mop and oven incident wasn't The Event.

My wife's close friend, Kim (as of yet, no Cer name), won 4 tickets to the Renaissance Festival in Sterling, New York. A short drive from Rochester. She and her husband offered the spare tickets to my wife and me. We were to go this Saturday. Those plans were finalized on Tuesday. Again, this particular atarata occurred Wednesday. Yesterday.

Yesterday, Kim's other close friend, also a regular acquaintance of my wife, checked in to the hospital in the early afternoon (I don't yet know, but I bet it was around 2 pm). She had a stomach aneurysm. Today she died. She was 21. Needless to say, Kim is devastated. And so, my wife is devastated. And I, excuse my selfishness, now must attend my first funeral rather than the Festival I had my heart set on. I don't know, though. I've managed to dodge countless funerals. I can't handle the grief of others. I don't cry for the dead. I cry for the pain of those left behind. Maybe I can dodge this one. Seeing as how I'm married now, though, and therefore have two consciences to goad me through life these days, I'm skeptical.

Tonight, I had another one at 8:00 pm. At 11:00 pm, Kim called. Quite distraught still. Although that is the three hour mark, to the dot, I don't think it's The Event. Happily, though, when the atarata struck, I had a weightless feeling rather than a sense of foreboding. More exciting, we were talking outside a house we liked, with our Realtor. One can only hope, eh?

By the way, today I started chronicling these strange events in a little notebook. I write a timestamp, leave a gap, then describe the atarata. The gap is to be filled in later, when I discover the event it heralded. I hope to trap my future picture-dreams in this notebook as well, before the atarata slips the real time picture over my eyes, making me woozy with the wash of recollection. I do have one trapped already. Unfortunately, it feels quite heavy.

Oh, yes. Make that three, while I'm at it. Jennifer Plezmar (spelling?), whoever you are, our fates are linked. In a park the crowd will be in a panic, we will seek shelter in a bunker? A restroom? A beige-bricked building. Somehow, you get lost. Or taken. Who are you? Who are we all running from. Please, God. I hope you're not a future alias for my wife.

And my dear sister, in dreams the whole family has seen how you die. And I fear that I know where.