That’s Mom and me. Dressed like twins in outfits she made! The year was circa 1955. Eisenhower was President of the United States, Hoola Hoops were the craze, Kerouac’s book, On The Road was on the best sellers list, Frank Sinatra was singing us through what Edward R. Murrow was reporting, and I was seeing my first “indoor movie’ (so-to-speak): a colorful array of celluloid magic only for my three year old child’s third eye to see.
“Linda, snap out of it. What are you staring at?” I can hear my mother’s voice so clearly, as she asked me to explain something I could only see, not interpret.
I remember having run into the house with Mom following close behind, and into the living room where my father had set up a projector screen for us to view his never-ending filming of his first child (me). Now that my mother was expecting number two, he kept the screen set up. I pointed to it.
My mother shook her head. “There is nothing but a blank screen, honey.”
I nodded. “I know, but I have one too. It’s in my eyes. I get to see movies in my eyes all the time.”
My mother thought about this for a moment; probably trying to figure out a way to ask me in a child’s language what I meant. Fortunately, I was around grown-ups for the first 4 years of my life, so baby talk was not big on the list, and I was treated more maturely.
“Tell Mommy what you see on the screen,” she asked, as she bent down in front of me and took my hands into hers.
I explained that I didn’t see things all the time, but when I did, I would get what I called “the woo-woos”which were tiny butterflies in my stomach. Only problem was, and today still is, that I can’t always define what they mean. Are they good? Bad? Were they predictions? Premonitions? Or nothing at all?
I told her that the images are on a screen like my father’s, but it is behind my eyes and in the middle of my eyebrows. I tried to explain that the “jector” in my head only shows me things when someone has something happening to them. And then I shrugged and gave her a smile, so proud that I had this “jector” all to myself.
So, I’ll tell you what I told Mom over the years, as I began to understand more: I see slow moving scenes that begin as shaded visions of black and white and transform into colors as the moving image gains detail. The colors emit from the person’s aura like the colors of a rainbow. The rainbow eventually streams out of their mouths like bubbles!. To the child Linda, that was the fun part of having a knowing: the bubbles!
Once the colors in the movie are defined for me, (like on a television screen), the action ends and the movie is over. This all happens in about 60 Seconds, but I usually come away with a very detailed account of something the person in the movie might need to know. Today they call that Clairvoyance, but when you’re a toddler, you can get pretty distracted by these little vignettes and I tended to be stuck in this “daydream” so long that my mother referred to it as “Zoning.”
Every time I hear Cher say the words “Snap out of it!” in Moonstruck, I think fondly of my Mom, remembering her snapping her fingers in front of my face to bring me back to the present.
PS: Eventually, we both realized that snapping me out of it that way was not helpful to me. I need to have that zoning out moment in order to receive information.