Be careful about asking a mystic for what is in his tap water

A bit of be careful what you ask a mystic for frolic yesterday under this public Facebook page post:

If perhaps maybe you do feel maybe (wink, wink) we are not alone, check out and the musings of two certified stranded weirdos, Psycho Psychic and Wacko Wizard. But then, if you be a worrying about Big Brother peeping-tom you, and the whole wide world knowing you are a bone fide weirdo maybe not exactly from this planet originally, then you can just keep on keeping your head down and hoping Big Brother can’t read minds – yet – heh

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Anomalous-Unusual Experiences Don’t smoke anything, drink anything, that alters mind/moods
Doubter I some how doubt that
Anomalous-Unusual Experiences Doubt, or believe, what you wish. This world is covered with people who rely on what they think is so, regardless of what is so.
Anomalous-Unusual Experiences If you read what all I posted at, what you read actually happened. Even the parts you might believe did not happen. And, yes, most of it is really far out by what is viewed as normal thinking.
Doubter I want whatever is infecting your tap water. fr dude send me that shit
Anomalous-Unusual Experiences Are you sure you want it? I can’t give it to you, but I know some angels who can, but that will be their call to make, and how they give it to you and the effect(s) it might have on you will be their call, as will how you respond/react to it will be your call. If you are game, and your soul is calling for it, which might be the case, they you could take an interesting trip that might take a while, and you might end up being very different and your way of looking at and dealing will life very different, too.
 Doubter meth?
Anomalous-Unusual Experiences You wish? Meth, LSD, peyote, ayahuasca, etc. would make me so much easier to try explain. Sorry to be such a bother, but I am something angels found and did stuff to, for a long time, and how that began is found toward the bottom of the home page.
The nonsensical ravings of a lunatic mind
Anomalous-Unusual Experiences I wonder if you will be given what is being put into my “tap water”. If you are given it, you are going for a ride over which you have very little control.

Visitations from the Deceased, by Psycho Psychic

Visitations from the Deceased – Psycho Psychic

In April 1968, I was two months married, and residing with my husband in our first home.  A home a good friend, then serving in Vietnam as a medic, had not visited.  Through letters (there being no internet or inexpensive international calls in those days) we had been planning a party at my home for his next leave, which was estimated to be perhaps in July.

Then one night in the midst of a rather general processing of day time stuff dream, in that dream my doorbell  rang, triggering a dream shift.  I answered the door to discover my friend standing there.  I was full of questions, such as how and why was he here NOW; why had he not told me of an earlier leave?  He brushed all those questions away without actually answering them.

I took him on a tour of the new house.  We talked and laughed.  It was all very REAL.  As real as any waking world experience.  Then suddenly, another dream shift.  It seemed as if now we were speeding along in a low slung race car of some type.  Sitting with feet straight out before us; he in the driver seat, me in the passenger seat.  We entered and sped through a grayish tunnel in which there were swirling vibrant multicolored lights.

Then yet another dream shift.  We were standing now in a room.  It felt like a room, though I could see no walls or furnishings.  It was a room.  At this place, he began telling me that I could not continue on with him beyond this point.  I was outraged.  It felt as if we were on a wonderful journey.  How DARE he say I could go no farther!?!  Wasn’t that up to me to decide? But he persisted calmly and pleasantly stating this was as far as I could go.

He told me my husband would “take good care of” me, and that I would have three children.  Then he began walking away toward what at first appeared to be a very distant tiny point of light.

As he walked, it seemed the light traveled toward him, becoming larger. A vibrant shimmering electric silvery blue.  Three times, he paused, turned toward me, smiled and waved.  As he walked into the light, in the dream, I screamed out his name several times.

And I awoke, setting up in bed hearing myself crying out his name.  It woke my husband as well.  I was so distraught from the dream, I called off work that day.  A few days later, news came of his death in Vietnam.

This occurred in 1968, seven full years before Raymond Moody’s book “Life After Life,” was published.  Reading Moody’s book, I recognized so many elements of the near death experience EXCEPT I was not near dead.  When I shared the dream experience with family and friends, a friend postulated that IF Bob had allowed me to continue on with him, I might have been found dead in bed of unknown cause that morning.  I do not know.

That was my first potential visitation with a deceased friend or loved one.  I was 21 years old.

Other experiences followed.  On the morning of my maternal grandfather’s funeral, in January 1974, I received a phone call.  There was so much static it was difficult to make out the caller (remember landline phones).  But the voice seemed to be that of my grandfather, and he said:  “Hazel?  Hazel?”  then the line went dead.  Hazel was my maternal grandmother’s name.

Bob, my deceased medic friend, visited me in dreams three more times over the next 20 years.  Once waking me with a message.  That time his head and torso seemed to be hovering over me in the air above my bed; though as soon as the message was complete, he vanished like the turning off of a light bulb.

There have since been other experiences.  For example, in 2013, a friend seemed to alert me in a hypnagogic state (when one is slipping from waking consciousness into sleep), sending  image of a message on Facebook; asking if I could see it.  The image and message were so persistent that eventually I pulled myself out of bed and checked my Facebook page.   Nothing on my news feed, nothing from him on my page.  When I checked his page, I found a R.I.P. note from someone very close to him.  He had passed in his sleep the day before.  Years earlier, he and I had jokingly made a pact that whoever might exit first would attempt to communicate.

Backing up just a bit, November 19, 2011, 12:15 am.  My husband and I had just gone to bed.  Neither of us was asleep yet, though we were slipping in the direction of sleep.  Suddenly, I sensed my mom floating into the room to my side of our bed.  There was a gentle pat on my shoulder, and she spoke my name.  I told my husband:  “I think mom may have just passed.”  Immediately (as in as soon as I uttered those words, and before my husband had time to respond) the phone rang.  It was my brother calling to let me know that mom had passed at 12:05 am.  Ten minutes before I sensed her presence breezing through our bedroom, 80 miles away.

Most recently, two nights in a row I had dream visitations from deceased friends.  Were it not for the fact that I had a bout of hives and was taking Benadryl at night to quiet itching, I would wonder if my own time to cross over might be near.  I mean four individuals over the course of two nights is a bit alarming.

First night, the friend who might have communicated with me via the hypnagogic Facebook post, popped in to say that he was “glad that I.E. is continuing in some form.” And a boyfriend from my teen years called me on the telephone to say, “I’m just calling to tell you goodbye.”  This episode was so real that I actually Googled his name to see if he’d recently died.  Nothing online to indicate that.  I don’t know where he is, or I would contact him to inquire of his situation, as he is (or was) one who actually researched anomalous experiences as part of a course he took in prep school back in the day.

Second night, the deceased husband of a client popped in with a message for his still living wife.  That message has been delivered.  His appearance was followed by a friend who in life was a psychiatrist with interest in anomalous experiences.  His message was a personal one for me.

Are the Benadryl dreams as reliable as dreams that come when no substance is involved?  I don’t know.  What I do know is that each of these experiences FELT like very real visitation.  The essence quite different from that of a dream.

poems that jumped out of and jolted Wacko Wizard awake during dark hours

Dreams last night pointed me toward three poems that jumped out of and jolted Wacko Wizard awake during dark hours, which pretty well mapped my bizarre course with what I vaguely understand God to be. Vaguely is about all I think anyone can comprehend of God.

The first poem jumped out of me in mid-March 2001, the morning after I was told in my sleep, as I slept on flattened cardboard boxes in a business doorway in an exotic little fishing village, “You will fail, but you might enter the Kingdom of God.”

Heavy Wait
I know what it is to love fully,
have my heart broken by death
and by loved ones’ rejections,
Over and over again,
So I can love even more.

I know what it is to be engulfed in pain,
Awash in evil,
Terrified, enraged, despaired,
Believing God has again forsaken me,
Then be given the truth
that again makes me free.

I know what it is to doubt,
Be lost and wandering
time and time again,
Then be rescued yet again
and my faith grows deeper.

I know what it is to blindly trust,
Then be destroyed by betrayal
time and time again,
Until I trust only God.

I know what it is to have much
and be completely of this world,
Then have it all taken away
and be in the world but not of it.

I know what it is to fail in this world,
And fail and fail and fail:
The world’s greatest failure,
I can serve only God.

I know what it is to give
and give and give and give;
I cannot stop giving
because giving is receiving.

I know what it is to explain God
time after time after time again.
Something demands I keep explaining:
Maybe someone will listen,
Maybe me.

The second poem fell out of me in early June 2003, right before I learned I was dying of MRSA.

I am a man.
I said,
I am a man!

What means it,
being a man?

A man is a warrior:
he lives by a code of honor,
his word is reliable,
his actions confirm his words,
his commitment is holiness,
his enemies are welcome at his hearth,
he fears but moves forward,
he cries and gets up again,
he hates but forgives,
he loves and let’s go,
he doubts but trusts God,
he’s a good friend,
he seeks resolutions,
he demands nothing,
he risks everything,
he regrets his mistakes,
he seeks to make amends,
he puts others’ welfare first,
he accepts apologies truly made,
he expects nothing back,
he lives ready to die,
he laughs when he “should” scream,
he screams when he “should” laugh,
he sings just because,
he shrugs off insults,
he learns from misfortune,
he cusses God for making him,
he wishes he was done,
he loves children and animals,
he relishes a woman’s scent,
he smiles when he’s content,
he knows God’s his master,
he walks in rainbows,
his garden is the world,
his way is nature,
he loves fishing,
his wife is his soul,
his food is life,
his pay is whatever he receives.
Yep, he’s crazy.

The third poem fell out of me on June 7, 2004, after I had spent the past few months totally blowing a spiritual assignment I had been given in a series of dreams in early 2004, and I was in a bewildered, frightened, deranged state:


A calling to serve carries its own wisdom,
which legitimates both the calling and the serving
so that the two are one:
Only the one called to serve
can know this wisdom,
and for some who are called
the knowing comes easily,
while for others the knowing is a fiery baptism.
Each calling is different,
and while some callings can be declined,
others cannot,
and those whose calling is without repentance
know they are in it for the duration of the calling,
and while others may try to persuade them out of it,
the calling for ones such as these always prevails;
thus is it advised to all called for keeps
that they view their calling as a blessing
even when it seems at times to be a curse,
and that they try to reconcile the loss of their captain status
and allow the Spirit of God to man the helm of their ship,
and be glad and willing crew members thereon,
knowing that all sailing ships of souls
need a crew as well as a captain
to maintain and navigate the ship through
seas of many tones, depths and flavors;
so consider each league sailed
as part of the overall journey
going to where the captain deigns to go
by using whatever winds and sea currents available
to navigate the ship to the experiences
this ship and crew need to have
in order to fulfill their calling and its wisdom
revealed by the journey of many leagues,
many known only to the ship and its crew,
all of whom come to know,
some sooner than others,
that once conscripted
there is no safe jumping ship.

Is internal jihad humanity’s only real chance to change and survive?

Is internal jihad humanity’s only real chance to change and survive?

Been doing some traveling and hanging out since leaving where I had lived from late 2000 through last fall. I now have 9 homes in 6 different states, where I can hang my hat for a little or a long while. An old friend at one of those homes told me the other day that I have taken being homeless to a new level. I chuckled, said, yeah, a jump shift.

My friend said he is reading Kosmos Journal for Transformation, and that is helping him some. I looked at Kosmos and submitted a comment under one of their articles:

“A dear friend with chemical dependency and clinical depression told me today about “Kosmos, journal for global transformation”, which led me to the above. I told him a little about the dark night of the soul, which is induced from the spirit realm. The self-proclaimed dominant species on this planet, in the main, seem to have lost their rudder and the results are varied and visible and invisible. I come from the perspective of someone who has been through the dark night of the soul, and the black night, which makes the dark night seem like heaven. And, there were later dark nights. And, it all was instigated by angels, who are still poking me along, sometimes gently, sometimes not. Eventually, starting 2000, through now, I was put into different kinds of human political arenas. I concluded political parties are religions. Movements are religions. And, they most entirely look outward. Seeking to change what is around them, hoping that will make them feel better. I was not convinced that method would work before it was given to me to try to impact. I am not convinced now that it works. I think the only tried and true method is the internal movement, which requires a great deal of being stood in front of a mirror looking at self, while the outside life roughs us up and provides grist for the internal grindstone and furnace. That process requires a great deal of help, I think, from angels. ETs also are involved in trying to help Earthlings change in that way. Internally. From what was, to something else entirely. Death and rebirth, it has been called. That journey is not a best seller. It does not make money. It can be terribly lonely. It can freak out people not aware of such an experience. It can get the internal pilgrim ostracized, locked up, medicated. Yet, it is my opinion that the inner “jihad” is the only way humanity really will shift, and it is not, I don’t think, something humanity, on its own, will ever bring off. It will have to be imposed from the spirit realm. On humanity. Across the board. No prisoners. Meanwhile, some people can, as has been done for a very long time, make that journey alone, or perhaps in pairs, or even small groups, with angelic help. If that’s what they really want and the angels agree, or the angels impose it because their souls requested it despite their egos’ wishes.”
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if you fear Big Brother knowing you think we are not alone in the Universe

If you fear Big Brother knowing you think we are not alone in the Universe, then keep on keeping your head down hoping he can’t read minds – yet – heh. But if you are in the heroes journey  ilk of Joseph Campbell, Luke Skywalker and Obe Wan Kenobi, then welcome to and join in the discussion.

What caused me, Wacko Wizard,  to write that above, was Psycho Psychic told me the other day that she has a heap of friends who think we are not alone and/or who have anomalous experiences, but they are afraid of saying it on Facebook or anywhere else online, because the U.S. Government will find out about it with Facebook’s and other help, or word of it will get out and their reputations will be ruined, they will lose friends, jobs, money, etc., and that’s why they don’t want to go public on social media.

Also, some of Psycho Psychic’s friends  had personal interactions with me or read my musings in the past, and they don’t like me and wonder why Psycho Psychic still has anything to do with me? I tell her that’s their problem, not mine. My problem is trying to keep a band of angels happy with me, which is not something I see bothers Psycho Psychic – yet, nor any of her friends she has told me about.

For them, I offer the thought that slavery comes in many forms, and most slaves don’t know they are slaves. And, as I tell Psycho Psychic from time to time, when you destroy your reputation, you can be free.

With all due respect to Master Yoda …

In the sci-fi movie, “Serenity”, the galactic Big Brother created a serum that was supposed to make the Empire’s subjects serene. The serum was tested on a remote colonized planet named Miranda. The serum worked great on maybe 95 percent of the Mirandans, but it turned the other 5 percent into Reapers, a kind of space-faring cannibal zombie. The Empire desperately tries to keep secret what caused the Reapers. The Empire just as desperately tries to keep secret a teenage girl it had developed into a ninja-like weapon beyond the galactic subjects’ wildest imaginings. Had the Empire succeeded in the cover ups, the movie would have had no heroes or heroines on the rebel star ship, Serenity. A bit more gripping than the Star Wars films.

rainbow poetry inspired by the feminine

In the February 2, 2019 blog post about Psycho Psychic’s dream of my left hand being smaller than my right hand, I mentioned rainbow poetry inspired by the feminine, which I had not yet published at this website.

White is black
Black is white
When they fuse
Rainbows bloom
Rainbows know no master,
fueled by Father Sun
they touch Mysty Earth
only Heaven knows where.
Rainbows are more precious than diamonds,
and more brilliant than gold,
more shining than silver,
and more sacred than pearls.
Rainbows paint heavens beautiful,
make angels sing.
Rainbows are you, and me,
Full spectrums of Infinity
blazing across Eternity.
Rainbows are Now.
Rosa Mystica
Sweet Mystery
Bride of Christ
Living Water
without which
there are no Rainbows
and God is dead
Earth –
The sacred prism
through which souls are refracted
into their elemental parts,
purified in Holy Fire,
Then one-forged
and sent on their way
to not even angels know where,
simply because they are all
unique emanations of God,
evolving …


Contact us and/or submit for publication reports of your own anomalous experiences:

  1. deviating from what is standard, normal, or expected.
    “an anomalous situation”

meaning of dream about my left hand smaller than my right hand?

Meaning of dream about my left hand smaller than my right hand?

In one of my recent dreams, Psycho Psychic told me that my left hand was smaller than my right hand. I looked down at my hands and they seemed about the same size. I woke up and started wondering what the dream meant?


she spoke fondly of  Joseph Campbell’s “left hand path”. I thought maybe that’s the path Robert Frost meant, when he said he came to a fork on a road in the woods, and he took the one less traveled by, and that had made all the difference. That’s what I did, steered, nudged, dragged, shoved and yanked by angels.

Then, I found myself mulling the right side of the human body is the male side, the left side is the female side. However, the left side of the brain is the intellect side, or the male side, and the right side of the brain is the creative side, or the female side. Humanity is afflicted with too much thinking and striving and destroying, and too little feeling and being and creating. I had learned that from being dragged by angels through my own “testosterone poisoning”.

I then thought of rainbow poetry mused by the feminine that fell out of me in 1994-95, which I had not yet posted on this website. Perhaps that would make my left hand bigger?

And then I thought, well, I have posted quite a bit more to this website than has Psycho Psychic.

Then, I thought of something mechanical.  I am retarded concerning anything mechanical.

Psycho Psychic had told me that she had been advised by one of her spirit guides that this website needed a public forum. So, I set out trying  to put a public forum on the site.

I tried to pay Go Daddy, which hosts this site, to do it for me. They replied that they were not set up to create a forum. I then tried to create a forum myself, by installing a popular forum plug-in, which didn’t work out, perhaps due to my IT ignorance, or perhaps it simply is not possible.

So, I jerry-rigged an “Anomalous (Unusual) Experiences Forum” page on the left side of the 2nd line in the top menu, and made it the homepage for  this site. The content in the new home page was dwarfed by the content in the old home page,  “Greetings Earthlings, from Wacko Wizard, Psycho Psychic & Friends”,  on the 1st line of the left side of the top menu. Both pages were dwarfed by the content in the blog posts in the right-hand side menu.

Wondering if that was what Psycho Psychic meant by my left hand is smaller than my right hand?, I made the “Greetings Earthlings” page the home page again. And, I wondered if this website needs a real public forum page? If so, somebody a lot smarter than I will have to create it.

Contact us and/or submit for publication reports of your own personal experiences with ETs and UFOs, ghosts, Angels, dreams, visions, psychic experiences, past lives, synchronicity, guidance from Angels or invisible friends, and more:

  1. deviating from what is standard, normal, or expected.
    “an anomalous situation”