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Between Two Worlds: A Seer’s Quiet Burden

I don’t always understand it, but I’ve come to accept that I see things before they happen.

Sometimes, it comes in dreams, vivid, detailed, and impossible to shake. Other times, it’s just a knowing, a deep, undeniable sense that something is about to unfold. I used to find it strange. Now, I treat it with reverence.

There was a time when I went a whole month unable to focus. The dead wouldn’t leave me alone. Every night, they came to me, not with fear, but with urgency. Faces I’d never seen, voices carrying messages that weren’t meant for me. They pleaded with me to find their loved ones and speak for them. It was overwhelming. I tried to carry on with normal life, but my spirit was somewhere else straddling two worlds.

I’ve looked at people and simply known. I knew that something was coming, good, bad, life-changing. In the beginning, I’d be consumed by fear. But over time, I learned to pray. I realized that perhaps knowing wasn’t just for knowing’s sake. It was an invitation to intervene spiritually, to ask God for mercy or alignment. And sometimes, I’ve seen Him answer in the most miraculous ways.

But some dreams have never left me.

One time, I dreamt that death was coming, not for one person, but for my entire bloodline. Both sides. Maternal. Paternal. It wasn’t vague. I saw shadows moving. I felt an emptiness hovering like a thick fog over my family trees. I woke up with my heart racing and prayed desperately.

Soon after, it happened.

My uncle, strong, full of wisdom, a pillar in our lives, passed away. But the night before his death, I had another dream. I was called by my ancestors to a round table. They were solemn, gathered with purpose. And they told me, without words, that he would be joining them soon. I woke up with tears in my eyes. That night, he slipped away.

And then there was that dream. The one I had before my own near-death.

I was preparing for a surgery, a routine procedure, they said. But the night before, I dreamt I was sitting alone by a riverbank. Everything was still. The water was clear, flowing endlessly, and the quiet… the quiet was divine. It felt like peace itself had taken a seat beside me. I can’t explain it, but I knew then what I was facing. The place felt like Heaven. And I love water, it has always calmed me, reminded me that there’s something greater out there. That night, it felt like God Himself was showing me how close I was to the edge.

During the procedure, I lost my breath. I flatlined. For a moment, I truly left. But I came back.

And just yesterday, I had a warning dream about my father. I knew something was coming, something important. But before the dream could finish, I woke up too early. That’s the downside of this gift: sometimes, I see only part of the picture. The message starts to arrive, and then it slips away. I’m left with fragments and worry, piecing together meaning from echoes.

Still, I live between the seen and unseen. I’ve even noticed that when I want something deeply, and I imagine it, visualize it over and over, it comes to pass. It’s as if my thoughts and prayers, when fueled by faith, bend the future ever so slightly.

One time, my sister told me about the Cherubim and Seraphim, God’s fiercest angels. I was fascinated. The whole day, I couldn’t stop wondering what they looked like, how it would feel to witness them. That night, God answered.

I woke to a presence so strong it shook me. And then I saw them. Not as soft-winged beings but as fierce, radiant warriors, terrifying in their holiness. I screamed the loudest I’ve ever screamed. My husband rushed into the room, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t explain what I’d just experienced.

Is it a gift? A burden? A sacred sensitivity? Or could there be a psychological explanation for it all?

I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe the answer only comes at the very end, when everything makes sense.

Until then, I dream. I pray. I believe. And I carry this mystery quietly within me.

 By Shadow Author
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