Please take a look at my previous events, it will help you to understand this third and final printing about this unusual voice.
I was getting older now, in my teens and dating. It was during this time, and only this time, that I did not get along with my Dad. His lack of understanding, compiled with my Mom's early passing, was the cause for many personal frustrations.
The mid 1960s presented changes for all. The Beach Boys, Beatles and boys were then my focus. Living on an active farm meant more additional work, more then others had to deal with. I positively detested having to get the cows. Part of our farm's income was milking cows. During good weather they were let out in the morning, after milking, down the path and across the road, to graze and lay in a large pasture, surrounded by woods.
Yes, late afternoon it became my job to collect them, open the big gate swishing them across the same road and up the path slowly. The key word here is slowly... Milking cows shouldn't run as the milk leaks and they become disturbed for hours. The key word again is slowly, as when they enter the barn where my Dad waits, and one at a time he places them in their stations. We are talking about 40 cows here, a job not easy to do alone.
On this particular day, as I walked toward the gate, I could see a storm building in the west. My mind was on my date set for later and running my fingers through my just washed long hair, hoping I wouldn't smell like cow. How I hated this repetitive job. The cows were crowded by the gate and jumpy. I pulled the heavy wooden gate open, and they poured out, much to fast, in fact they were running.
At that moment, after being quiet for years the voice in my brain spoke, even louder than I remembered. RUN-GIRL-RUN, just after, even louder was the enormous cracking from inches behind me and to my left. You can bet I ran and so did the cows, like a wild herd, their feet like thunder. Before we reached midway, my breath gone, I leaned on the last and slowest cow, not able to run as fast, because of her age. My father was in serious danger but of that I had no thought, at that moment.
Selfishly my thoughts were on how angry he would be. Oh poor me... As I braided my hair, I walked in the rain, back to see just what had happened at that gate. The one piece of lightning that storm had produced (that I saw) had reached the tallest and largest pine tree splitting it right down the middle. An enormous trunk half pounded into the dirt, just where I and the cows had passed. I and some of the cows would have been killed. I sat on a wet rock near this fallen tree and prayed, giving thanks.
This ends to date the times I have heard that deep voice, what or who created it, I can only guess. Did I bring the sound to my thoughts from deep primitive place in my brain? Do or did I have a Guardian? Was I to lose this connection when mature? If so, from where did it come? My Grandmother was a North American Indian (Mother's side), could that have given me more ability?
The questions are endless. Your answers have given me a great deal to think about. Can anyone tell me why those cows already knew to run?
Loading comments....
Yes you are correct in saying it was the third and last time I heard that voice. With all its power. If he was a guardian, he stopped helping when I became an adult or when I left the farm.
The voice frightened me, I was glad not to hear it again.
Jan