Apocalyptic Visions

Let me preface this with my high school nickname: “The strange little girl who lives down the street.” At least that’s what my best friend’s father called me. Perhaps all those years of extraterrestrial visitations imprinted strange thoughts in my head, sometimes in the form of intuition.

Intuition has always been my friend, with an occasional glimpse of the future through clairvoyance. It’s rare, and I cannot call it up on a whim, but when it does pay me a visit it’s worth listening to. The trouble is that I don’t always interpret correctly, and sometimes the message gets lost in translation.

This time it was water usage. Every time I turned on the water faucet, a little voice chided me for not being more frugal. If I let the water run while brushing my teeth, I saw visions of a future world of water rationing. Ditto for lingering in the shower, or rinsing out the dogs’ water bowls before refilling them, or any one of a number of things.



Being a big-time believer that humans are living on the wrong side of Mother Nature, and that one of these days she’s going to shrug us off as she’s done so many times before, I interpreted these visions as seeing into the future of America, to a time when every citizen would have a water allowance. After all, scientists were already warning of water shortages, aquifers going dry, and offering up predictions of doom and gloom in the not-far-off future.

I never imagined that these visions could just as easily be conditioning me to live in an RV where water might be limited by dry camping, and if not limited by availability, then limited by what our waste holding tanks would hold before they needed to be emptied. Perhaps everyone should live in an RV to learn a lesson in water conservation.

So I wondered: What if these visions had a two-fold purpose? What if it wasn’t just a doom and gloom warning of man’s future, but a personal message conditioning me for a new future living in an RV?

That’s the weird way that intuition works. You cannot always be certain of your interpretation. Knowing the power of my belief in doom and gloom, my little voice, or guardian angel, or intuition, or whatever you prefer to call it, may have simply tapped into the most powerful visual image it could come up with to “move” me in a particular direction. After all, it seemed as if everything else was pushing me in that same direction.

We all have a little voice that guides us, but few people ever learn how to recognize it. The trouble is that it’s hard to differentiate your own thoughts from the little voice that comes out of your intuition, or guardian angel. It takes practice. Get it wrong, and you might be doomed. That’s how I learned to recognize the “little voice” in the first place, by getting it wrong one time in 1985.

One morning I woke up with an intense feeling of dread. I wasn’t stressed about anything, this wasn’t one of those fear-things like dread of a job interview, or taking a test. It was just Doom and Gloom Dread for no known reason. Every fiber in my being was screaming Warning! Warning! Only I didn’t know why.

I got up and made breakfast and as I was eating my toast, words came in: “Don’t go to work today. Don’t go out today. Stay home.” The words weren’t powerful like the Doom and Gloom feeling I’d had earlier, so I started to argue with them. Or with myself, would be a better way of putting it.

I’m not one of those people who stays home for no reason. I’ve got to be super sick, or else it’s just a guilt trip for me to blow people off. Well, I wasn’t sick. There wasn’t a single, logical reason for me to stay home. I wasn’t even sure if the “message” was connected to the Doom and Gloom Dread, as they didn’t happen simultaneously.

So I started arguing with myself. And logic won. I hadn’t yet learned to recognize intuition when it whacked me over the head with a giant two-by-four.

I finished breakfast, got dressed, fed the cats, got in the car, and headed up the street to the gas station. The gas pump was out of order. It looked as if somebody had smashed into it with their car, so I turned the corner and drove down the road to the next nearest gas station.

Now, this gas station was a left turn, not at a traffic light, so I got behind two other people in the center turn lane. In front of me was a pickup truck, and in front of him was a little beige car. I wasn’t up to the truck yet, and I do not remember if I was fully stopped when Doom and Gloom Dread became Oh Shit!

The little beige car turned left and I could see a white car in the opposite lane heading towards us, two lanes over, still a ways up the road but moving at a good clip. That’s the last thing I remember clearly until it was all over, except that I’m pretty sure that the truck started to turn. I have a vague memory of seeing the truck halfway through his turn in front of the oncoming car.

BAM! BOOM! CRUNCH!

I heard the sound of the impact, and then I was laying in a fetal position like a baby in its mother’s womb. It felt like my leg was through something, like the steering wheel, and it felt like I was jammed in a small area, like maybe I was crammed into the space by the foot pedals.

I didn’t feel any pain, so I figured I didn’t have any broken bones. I thought I had a head injury and held my hand over it.

There was a stillness, and a quiet inside the car with me. I didn’t try to move. I knew that I should just stay put until somebody came to get me, in case there was an injury that I’d aggravate by moving. So I stayed there, all curled up, waiting for help. I wished they’d hurry because I wanted so badly to stretch out.

As quiet as it was in the car, there was all sorts of commotion outside, but I felt removed from it. No pain. No fear. Just a total stillness as I listened to what was happening outside.

Then somebody came and wanted to help me get out of the car, and I asked who it was. I wanted to make sure that only a medical professional took me out. I knew instinctively that I shouldn’t move otherwise. I kept my eyes closed because I knew there was something wrong with my head, or my eyes, or something.

Somebody asked me if I could walk, and I said, “I think so.” They walked me to a vehicle and put me in the back seat. I opened my right eye long enough to see the seat and then closed it again, and didn’t open my eyes again until I was at the hospital.

The man who sat me down put a cloth over the left side of my head, and started to walk away. I asked him to please stay and hold my hand, and he did. His hand felt so reassuring. He told me I’d have to sit there until somebody came to take me to the hospital.

Then there were all sorts of hands, and questions, and they kept asking me the same questions over and over again. And I heard a lady screaming in pain and I figured she must be hurt bad, but I didn’t want to know because I was calm, surprisingly calm, and I didn’t want to lose my calm.

Somebody asked: “What is your name?”

“Sharon.”

“Last name?”

“Delarose.”

“Spelling?”

“D-E-L-A-R-O-S-E.”

“What is your address?”

I told them.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“I’ve been in a car accident.”

They asked me those same questions over and over again, and I didn’t understand because I kept answering them. I wondered if they were trying to keep me calm by talking. Or checking for brain damage.

They asked if I had a hospital preference, or a family doctor. I didn’t. All of the voices were so kind, so very nice to me. I felt good and secure. And all the while the lady was still screaming.

During the ride to the hospital they were talking about my injuries, at the least a broken collarbone and a head or eye injury. At the hospital somebody said to do the paperwork later, let’s get her in here and look at her.

I was surprised at how careful they were with my clothes. On TV they always show emergency rooms cutting clothes to ribbons to get them off, but they didn’t do that. The doctors were so careful, and somehow managed to get my clothes off without destroying them. I was stunned.

Most of the time I was on a cart being rolled around, and then they’d move me to a table by lifting me up in a sheet, and then back to the cart, and all these moves — THAT’S when the pain set in.

Something else that impressed me was that throughout everything, people talked TO me rather than AROUND me. They told me every step of the way what was going on, where they were taking me, and why. They did this from the scene of the accident right up to my discharge from the hospital the next day.

They kept asking if I wanted them to call anyone, and I said yes, please call my neighbor Betty. I didn’t want them to call my mother who lived hundreds of miles away. I didn’t want her to know until I could tell her exactly what my injuries were. I didn’t want her to worry.

As it turned out, I did have a broken collarbone, a collapsed lung, a broken tooth which I remembered spitting out, and an eye injury to my left eye. By this time I was opening my right eye, and saw The Tube.

They had to insert a tube through my side into my chest cavity for the collapsed lung, and I saw the end of the tube that was connected to the machine, which was an inch around. It was HUGE!

I asked the doctor if he was planning to stick that great big tube in me and he said no. I don’t remember the tube going in and they knocked me out for my eye injury, because my sunglasses had shattered on one side and glass was embedded in the crease of my eyelid and they needed to pick it out. It felt so weird them picking the glass out, I started panicking so they knocked me out. They wouldn’t have needed to otherwise. My eyeball was okay, though. No major damage.

All night long, the nurses were so good to me. So kind and helpful. I’d turned down pain pills earlier but I couldn’t fall asleep, so finally I accepted a Tylenol with codeine and fell straight asleep.

They didn’t want to discharge me because I lived alone, and wasn’t capable of caring for myself in that condition, but finally they had to because I couldn’t just stay there. I didn’t call my mother until 7:30 the morning after, and she’d already left for work so I talked to my sister.

Come to find out that Mom had sent me a letter telling me to CALL HER immediately, because she wanted to tell me that my favorite uncle had just been diagnosed with cancer and he only had a few weeks left. Mom wanted to fly me up to see him but I couldn’t go, not after the car accident, so I never got to see him alive again. I didn’t have a phone so she couldn’t call me directly, hence the letter.

I hadn’t been discharged yet, and they brought me breakfast. I was ravenous! All I’d eaten the morning before the accident was a half a potato and some coffee. So when they brought me bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, cereal, milk, orange juice, and coffee, it was like being in a five-star hotel. I didn’t eat that good at home, so breakfast was heavenly!

Or it would have been if The Tube doctor hadn’t come in just as I was finishing breakfast but before enjoying my cup of coffee. It was time to pull out The Tube.

He threaded a long suture string into my side so that he could pull it tight as soon as The Tube came out. The doctor yanked that tube out and it hurt like bloody hell. Something squirted out of my side halfway across the room. Some of it got on me as well, and THAT’S when I saw the end of The Tube. It was a full inch around! He’d told me a fib the day before!

My neighbor arrived to take me home and she didn’t even recognize me until I waved to her. I looked that bad with bandages over my eye and bruises everywhere and a butterfly shoulder harness for the broken collarbone. Plus I was still in the hospital gown which they let me keep. I wore it home because putting clothes on with a broken collarbone just wasn’t going to happen.



They’d taken me to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia, and I’m not surprised to find out that this hospital has earned all sorts of awards for the quality of its care. They wouldn’t remember me because this happened in 1985, but I will always remember them with gratitude, for their care and kindness throughout.

After the accident, I had to engage in a bit of investigative work to determine what happened, such as the other lady’s skid marks and the location of the damage on my car. The most likely scenario was that the truck in front of me turned left, and the oncoming lady was driving too fast and not paying attention. She swerved at the last minute to avoid hitting the truck, and ended up hitting me head-on as I sat in the turn lane waiting to turn. I hadn’t started to turn yet.

If you’ve made it this far, you’ll remember that the day began with me feeling Doom and Gloom Dread, which I ignored and went on about my day as planned though I didn’t make it far into the day when disaster struck.

This lesson in recognizing intuition was a hard one, because if I’d listened to the little voice telling me to stay home, nothing bad would have happened. I never would have known that a major car accident was the disaster averted, and I’d have gone on chastising myself for playing hookie for no good reason.

That’s the trouble with intuition. If you follow it, you won’t get verification in a case like this, not unless you ignore it at your peril like I did. You need to have a couple of verifiable successes before you truly get the hang of it.


Another intuition of mine came while driving down the road, and the little voice said, “Turn right here! Turn turn!” I was driving slowly enough to make the turn safely, thinking that it was NUTS to listen to the little voice, but I’d had my fill of ignoring it so what was the harm?

A few houses down there was a yard sale, and at that yard sale was an item I’d been wanting for a long time and hadn’t been able to find. There it was, sitting pretty on a table for just a couple of bucks. I’d listened to the little voice, which led me to A REWARD.

That’s how you learn to differentiate your own thoughts from the little voice of intuition. Trial and error. Success and failure. Doom and Gloom Dread. And sometimes even disaster. But to this day I have honored the little voice, and while I don’t always get feedback on the result because sometimes you just have to trust it, just as many times there’s a reward that let’s me know that I’m doing good.

Does this help me to be certain that the water shortage visions are moving me to prepare for living in an RV? Nope. They could just as easily be what they appear to be — warnings of Earth’s future if mankind doesn’t change his ways. But it does feel like a sign being surrounded by so many others, all moving me and my husband toward giving up this house and transitioning into an RV.

* * * * *

Enter into the journey with us as we share the full lead-in for the Big Change to living in an RV full-time, and to what lies beyond…

In the meantime, follow me on a very different journey of high strangeness. Alien Nightmares: Screen Memories of UFO Alien Abductions shares memories and dreams relating to my personal experiences with extraterrestrials, along with the little-known UFO flaps from the time periods which swept me up into an extraterrestrial neverland of high strangeness.

  • Alien Nightmares

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    2 Responses to Apocalyptic Visions

    1. Gypsy says:

      Woo! Three weeks! It seems that the best places come from boondocking. Wide open spaces. Nature wild and free. Peace, birds, wildlife, the way it was meant to be 🙂

    2. Oh my word! I couldn’t stop reading….thanks for sharing and I’m glad you listen to your intuition when it tickles your senses.

      As to RVing and boondocking (living without hookups), we spent three weeks in the Borrego Springs, CA area before we had to go dump our tanks and get water. You do learn to recycle sink/shower water for functions like flushing. 😉

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