What I experienced a couple of days before the mega-earthquake in Japan was a confluence of precognitive, remote, and deeply empathic sensing so troubling that I’ve had difficulty processing and writing about it. As the disaster continues to radiate from the quake’s ground zero, however, I need to share what happened:
On the evening of 8 March I was surprised by a vague sense of uneasiness followed by a sudden urge to open my bookmarked link to a list of 2011’s Large and Deadly Earthquakes. A mag 7.3 had struck just moments before in Japan. I broke into tears as images filled my mind: cries of panic in the midst of falling debris and dust; buildings crashing down everywhere; flood waters sweeping people away.
I sought more information. I told myself that perhaps I’d simply overreacted to the news of the 7.3. I was somewhat consoled when I learned no casualties had been reported.
Unfortunately, that sense of relief was to be short-lived.
On Friday the 11th, I woke to a changed world: the massive Japanese earthquake and tsunami were all over the media. History had been altered in a big way, yet the extent of the devastation eluded perspective. The cascading visions I’d had a couple days prior were now manifest.
The cataclysm had instantly swallowed up 28,000 human lives in Japan; weeks later, the fallout is proving to be worse than first imagined. Radiation from Fukushima’s crippled nuclear reactors has poisoned air, food, and water supplies around the world. At the same time, the Pacific Northwest and Yellowstone remind us of our planet’s light slumber. Even Canada and Australia, two countries which rarely experience earthquakes, have logged notable temblors in the past couple of weeks.
Earth’s denizens are only a few pages into this new chapter of history. Unfortunately, it seems my terrifying visions may have only hinted at the insidious threat triggered with the Japan megaquake.