“’Begin at the beginning,’ the King said, very gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’” – Lewis Carroll (Alice in Wonderland)

I spent a few days trying to decide how to go about introducing the first post on this blog. They say first impressions are everything. An intimidating realization standing alone, but absolutely terrifying when taken out of the context of (what I believe to be the originally intended) face-to-face greetings. How do you win over an audience virtually? I’m not sure. Though a big fan of numerous internet sensations, even having the opportunity to meet quite a few, I myself have had no success with social media popularity. And to be honest? I’d feel a million times more comfortable introducing myself in a traditional social setting. I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a people person, but I’ve been told I had a knack for turning on the charm.

Winning over the living can be, maybe not so surprisingly, incredibly easy.

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However, in the past days between the creation of this blog and this first post, I’ve been fortunate enough to experience some events that influenced my decision. I’m going to jump right in and discuss the start. And I know what you might be thinking: “begin at the beginning? Groundbreaking [best impersonated with a Miranda Priestly tone].” Well… it can be. Especially when you’re wrestling with the question of when the “beginning” actually took place. Or whether it is beneficial to the overall story to mention it all.
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Luckily, in my case, there wasn’t a blurred period of time where odd events started to catch my attention. That’s usually how it goes, doesn’t it? Some out-of-the ordinary things go down, and at first you chalk it up to “that’s life” or “stuff happens”. But after a while you notice that coincidences can only last so long, and then you attempt to connect the dots/ask yourself questions. By then you’re just confusing yourself and worried that you aren’t remembering correctly, because at the time of the initial event you forcibly paid it no mind. What do you finally tell others when you are trying to explain the situation; that something is wrong? Although still completely valid, your story has a fudged up beginning. And that first impression shit? It flies right out the window.
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My beginning happened at an exact moment in time. In history, really. And I could never forget my experience or (and I used to sadly attempt) downplay the significance of what I remember.
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We all have our 9/11 stories, after all…
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Yes, you did just read that correctly. I hardheartedly still believe, almost fourteen years later, that any form of intuition I possess has developed from the days following September 11th, 2001. Let that sink in for a moment and please try to understand why it is that I have never, ever, told a living soul my thoughts before now. This was the day that changed what we as Americans understood as the War on Terror. People were, and are still, hurt, terrified, bewildered, disgusted, and furious about the chain of events that led to the loss of thousands of innocent lives. And the consequences are still strongly evident: in attitudes, political moves, media sources, to random encounters on the street and private/public sector. How out-of-blue, and in comparison highly insignificant, it would be to bring up spirituality and intuitive developments. In short: I have always been scared of gaining a spotlight that I believe would do better if focused on someone/thing else.
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You know how they say, if you were alive during the time, everyone can remember what they were doing while the news broke? For as many people as I have talked to on the matter, that still proves to hold true. Well I was seven years old and in second grade. My classroom was located on the second floor, in a strangely secluded section of my town’s elementary/middle school, and my permanent seat for the year was in the far back (directly behind my then best friend). Our school day started at 8:15 in the morning. By that time all students were expected to be sitting in their homeroom seat ready to listen to the morning announcements, take attendance, and do lunch orders. And from what I can recall, everything up to that point had went by without a hitch. It was only about the first or second week of the school year, but we were second graders you know, we weren’t babies. It wasn’t like we were still in the first grade where everything was still new and exciting [how well does sarcasm read through a screen again?].
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Anyway, the day was already marked down in my family calendar. It didn’t start out completely insignificant. I woke up that morning fully aware that it was my mother’s birthday, and I went off to school with a complete peace-of-mind knowing that she was the one who had dropped me off and would be doing whatever a stay-at-home mom did before returning at 2:45 for pickup.
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I didn’t miss her. Not like how I once did and used to obnoxiously express. [I had bad separation issues in Kindergarten. Think like, crying-tantrums in the lobby when handed off to the teacher kind of issues. I was that kid].
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But, at some point in the 8 o’clock hour (and yes, I recall for a fact that it was within that exact hour) after homeroom rituals, something within me snapped. We had been passed back our first assignment for the day which had something to do with coloring as I remember trying to focus on the task at hand in the relatively quiet (as second graders can be) classroom. I felt such an immense Sadness and the emotion overtook me completely. I started to cry, straight-up bawling my eyes out, and it was so out of nowhere that my teacher had to kneel by my side while trying to comfort me. Of course she asked, like those seated around me did, what was wrong. And I had no answer to give her. I had no idea what had effected me in such a way. I wasn’t physically ailing, no one was picking on me, the assignment wasn’t difficult; there was no clear explanation in my seven year old mind what my problem was. But of course this woman, who had been in the teaching game for decades at that point, wasn’t buying that. So, I said the first somewhat logical lie that came to mind. I told her it was my mom’s birthday and I hadn’t given her anything. I knew it was such bull then, just like I know it to be now. My father always had taken us kids out shopping so we could pick out presents. And that was true for every holiday, especially when the occasion was for my mom. Well, she believed it and she tried her best to continue comforting me until she was called away.
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 Everything is spotty after that. I just have a series of flashes of what events took place next. The teacher left my side to go attend to whatever it was that summoned her. Was it a telephone call, someone visiting at the door? I don’t know. I just remember that the Sadness wasn’t over. Shortly after, I was asked if I wanted to go home. I didn’t hesitate in saying yes. It was barely an hour into the school day, God I can still remember the clock above the blackboard, but I was so done with being anywhere that wasn’t home. My mom got called and she agreed to come right over. I should have known even at that moment how weird that was. I wasn’t sick or hurting and usually with a case of tears anyone within a school administration tries to discourage parental involvement. It creates habits and dependency.
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Yet, there I was packing up my belongings and being escorted downstairs to wait for my guardian.
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And it was mayhem.
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There were adults everywhere, most looking completely stressed out, and students of various ages were being brought to them. My residence was only a two-minute drive from the school, so my mom, looking equally as unnerved, was already in the office waiting to sign me out. She looked even more upset than I felt and wouldn’t answer any of my questions.
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We got home, my two older siblings still in class back at the school, and directly headed to the back room where the news channel was already on the television. I stood there with my mom, neither of us bothering to take a seat, and we watched the footage being shown. United Airlines Flight 175 had already crashed into the South Tower. My mom hadn’t known that yet. As she watched the t.v. she cried and groaned, trying unsuccessfully to get my dad on the phone. He was working day shift that day, and since this was before the time of everyone owning a reliable cell phone, she had to keep trying the company number.
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I wish I could remember what she had said on the phone, some of it probably concerning my brother and sister (I think I recall it being said that she “had Nicole”), but I was confused about everything that I was witnessing. Something bad had happened, but my parents put on the 11 o’clock news each night and it seemed like something bad was always happening. I couldn’t understand what had happened that morning that was so different. I also didn’t think about a possible connection between my episode in class and what was going on around me. Why would I of? I was a child who was isolated in the safety net that was my classroom. Announcements were always made on the P.A. system [if there were announcements made addressing the school about the attacks then they were made after I had left. I’m now wondering if there is a way to find that out. I’ll probably ask my brother later] and the only televisions back then were the ones rolled in on a trolley to watch VHS tapes. I couldn’t, even by accident, have been informed while sitting in that classroom. There was no electronics that connected to the internet, no classmate could have said something because they would have left for school before any news broke, and the only adult present at the time (my teacher) didn’t know at that point either.
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What have I tried to excuse this as in the past? Actually missing my mom. Just like in kindergarten – just another tantrum. In this what I actually believe? Not at all. Not at any time have I truly thought that was the case.
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I dwell on this a lot, and I believe that having been only two years later I still would have been able to recall those episodes that I would have pulled. I would have been able to differentiate such strong emotions. I was young, but I was still human.
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So, what do I believe?
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I believe I felt it; the absolute grief of the victims and the loss of life. If I could time stamp it, I would think the Sadness happened when the first plane had hit the North Tower. I don’t have any proof to match my emotions to the exact moment, but it makes the most sense to me personally. I’ve been thinking lately about going to a hypnotist. Will it be beneficial at all? Or have a negative effect? I’m not sure yet, but I aim to find out. I’ve been aiming to figure a lot of things out. If for anything, then for the peace of mind.
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I’ve been doing research for many years. I’m aware of empathy and the condition of being an empath, but nothing so far (except for one possible piece I’m reading right now) has matched my concern on “long distance paranormal empathy”. I’ll go over more of this in a later post, as well as other intuitive experiences and discoveries. There’s a (what sometimes feels like an overwhelmingly) lot to say. And just so much to wrap my thoughts around. I’m hoping writing these blogs will sort through my ideas and put them into a more comprehensive state. However, this post has been crucial to make. Everything I say from here on-in has been connected, or so I feel, to my personal memory of September 11th.
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Maybe those who have experienced something similar can feel comfortable enough to reach out?
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Until then…
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~Stay Spooky~,
Nicole Felicity

5 thoughts on ““’Begin at the beginning,’ the King said, very gravely, ‘and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’” – Lewis Carroll (Alice in Wonderland)

  1. Empaths certainly can receive distress signals and feel the emotional impact of situations without knowing at the time what it is all about. Some empaths get these feelings as premonitions of what’s to come while others receive them as they happen. Interesting post…thanks!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I live in Canada and I certainly recall vividly what I was doing when the planes hit the towers. I think the entire world, at least those countries in communication, were affected by the events of that day and will never forget the images we witnessed on television.

    Like

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