Dreams & The Prophetic Voice

Eloise Hill is a writer, psychic, and nurse who has been in love with the Tarot, and all things metaphysical, since she picked up her first Rider-Waite deck at the age of eighteen. In addition to giving private intuitive readings, she teaches classes on a variety of subjects including Candle Magic For Muggles and The Womanly Art of Tea Leaf Reading. She is the author of The Eight Of Pentacles, the first book in the Eileen McGrath Tarot Mystery series, set in and around Oakland, CA and inspired by her thirty years as a psychic/Tarot enthusiast.

Being the author of a paranormal cozy series with a psychic protagonist who has particularly powerful dreams, it will probably not come as a surprise that I pay a fair amount of attention to my own. Memories of those nightly visitations, as well as those shared by my clients, has taught me the intuitive voice is alive and well in all of us and can speak volumes while we sleep. So, today, I thought I’d share two of my own.

One afternoon, in late summer, I was on my way to do a health insurance interview with someone I will call Mary. It was an unusually sultry day for Northern California and, about ten miles down the freeway, I began to feel a headache coming on. I sometimes get migraines from food allergies, but this felt different: like my head was full of static. I put it down to the heat and the fact that I was rushing from one part time job to another and drove on.

I got to Mary’s city of residence feeling a bit worse for the wear, and, despite having reviewed the directions, overshot her street. I executed a five-point turn, started back, and drove past her street again. After one more unsuccessful attempt, I managed to make the appropriate turn and pulled up in the driveway to find her daughter, at the door, and Mary, in the bathroom, throwing up. She emerged, a few minutes later, pale-faced and a little shaky. Feeling a bit queasy myself, I asked if we should re-schedule, but she said she’d just gotten “a sudden attack” of headache and nausea and would like to go ahead.

We completed the interview, with no further interruptions, and I headed back toward Oakland in rush hour traffic. The “static” in my head had now exacerbated to a full blown throb, accompanied by dizziness and tinnitus in both ears. Once again, I found myself missing turnoffs and freeway exits and, in short, making what should been a twenty-minute commute into one that took well over an hour—as if my internal compass had gone haywire. Assuming I had picked up the same bug as Mary, I got home, faxed the interview, took a hot shower and went to bed.

I fell off to sleep and awoke, in the dark of night, from a dream. In the dream, I found myself lying on the bed, in the bedroom of an ex-boyfriend: a man I will call Steve and someone I’d lost contact with, who no longer lived in the Bay Area. On a bed stand sat a clock that I recognized as his, with a display of 6:00. I couldn’t tell, by the light in the room, if it was morning or evening and felt a little jolt of anxiety each time I glanced at the clock, as if there was some action that needed to be taken. And then, I noticed a cluster of objects on the floor: a pile of six or seven incendiary devices bound by a black cord. A surge of panic shot through me, wondering how to reach Steve to tell him about the bombs by his bed, and then a voice in my head said “It’s okay, he will know what to do.”

At this point, I came awake for real. I forced myself to open my eyes for a few minutes, while I calmed down, then drifted back to sleep…to find the dream waiting for me again. It repeated three more times that night, each time with a heightened sense of urgency, as I noticed the time and the incendiary devices and thought of Steve. With my alarm blaring and my heart pounding, I awoke in a cold sweat and drifted up into consciousness, relieved that it was only a dream. And then I heard the radio announcer say, “I regret to inform you that the second twin tower has been hit…it appears that New York City is under terrorist attack.”

In the months that followed, I reviewed the events of that tragic day and the elements of the dream time and again. The first hi-jackers boarded the Boston-bound plane, in Portland, at 6:00 am PST and the first and second-tower hits took place at 8:46 and 9:03 am EST, respectively: well within the time frame, given the three hour difference. The number of incendiary devices outnumbered the actual attacks, thankfully, but there is evidence of plans that were aborted. And my friend, Steve—residing and working in New York City, as it turned out, when the towers fell—survived unharmed. All of which left me wondering if my sudden onset of symptoms (and Mary’s) were some kind of intuitive response to what was to come and how many other people had prescient experiences in the hours preceding September 11.

And now, on a lighter note, I’d like to share another dream which occurred recently. Last fall I wasintroduced to a new neighbor who was expecting her first baby. She was about seven months along at the time of our first meeting, and I got an instant “hit” that the baby would arrive early, by more than two weeks. Time passed, and a few nights before Christmas, I went to sleep wondering if the baby had arrived. That night I dreamed that everywhere I went in and around my neighborhood, a small lion followed me: a fuzzy little cub, peeping around corners and then disappearing, as if he wanted to come out and play, but was a little shy.

On Christmas Eve, en route to the recycling bin, I ran into my new neighbor. Her belly still protruded under her sweater, so in an effort not to embarrass myself—in case she was no longer pregnant—I just asked how she’d been feeling. She replied that she was catching a breath of fresh air, waiting for family to arrive for the holidays and catch their first glimpse of the baby. She looked bleary-eyed, but happy and, when I inquired about the circumstances of the birth, she went on to say that she and her hubby had welcomed a healthy boy, delivered two and a half weeks early due to her chronic hypertension. And the baby’s name? Wait for it….wait for it…Leo.



So how about you? Any dreams that have made you worry for absent friends, brought a smile, or found its way into your writing?

To learn more about Eloise and her books, visit her Website. I LOVE the "case notes" she has from the murder, including photos! You can also pick up a copy of her mystery, The Eight of Pentacles at Amazon.