Coincidence, or Communication?

In today's modern society, we are trapped by our day-to-day lives. Step by step, and from generation to generation, we are losing our primal intuition. No longer do most of us feel that type of intuition, that which takes over our actions to protect ourselves and what is ours. The comforts of our modern society do nothing to keep our internal, intuitive "blades" sharp, and many of us have adopted an "If I can't see it, I don't believe it" mentality.

In my new book, Chronicles of the Unexplained, I have included several good examples of the reactions from people who, removed from the structure of their daily lives, experience what is usually described as an uncomfortable event (this could be a haunting, an unexplained type of communication, or even a brush with a creation that is not yet known to the scientific community).

My family and I are no strangers to these types of events, but only recently have we learned that maybe we should pay a little more attention to the little details in our daily lives. More and more we begin to realize that what we experience, sometimes daily, may actually be communication...and not coincidence.

One such experience happend on an unusually stormy Sunday evening in the mountains of Colorado. I am an over-the-road truck driver, and on this evening I had to leave home at about 10 PM so that I could deliver a load of concrete block mix 240 miles away in Grand junction, Colorado, then deadhead to Moab, Utah for a load of bulk salt to haul back. It was obviously going to be a busy week, judging by the already significant early spring snowfall; while that always meant really good pay, it unfortunately also meant a solid 4-5 days away from home fighting the bad weather. Putting it bluntly, I didn't want to leave my family this evening.

The area already had four-plus feet of heavy, wet snow and the wind was raging, but I was used to working in these conditions and my semi truck was well-suited for severe mountain weather (including high horsepower, aggressive-traction tires, and cleated snow chains). I was a mountain trucker, and always got a thrill out of doing things deemed too severe for most other truckers.

Even with the all the proper equipment, I kept receiving strong messages not to depart. I felt really sad for some reason as I dressed to go start our pickup truck so that my wife could drive me down the eleven lonely mountain miles to where we kept our big truck parked. Our brand new pickup had a dead battery, so I had to charge the battery before I could leave; I had somehow misplaced my glasses, which I used for night driving in bad weather; and my little girl said her tummy hurt. The weather forecast was getting worse as avalanche warnings were issued. I kept telling myself that I had to get to the west side of the Eisenhower Tunnels or I could lose a week's worth of work if the road closed down.

We left the house and struggled to get through the snow to the semi truck. Once there and after the semi truck was started, it refused to build air. This truck was also new, only four months old, and once again I had to battle to get it going. I had to try to warm the compressor line to thaw it out so it would build air. About that time, a friend of mine saw that we were at the truck and stopped; he, too, was heading to Western Colorado and we decided we would run together for safety. This, of course, made us both much bolder, and even though my wife repeatedly said, "Gary you shouldn't leave tonight, let's go home," she was comforted to know that my friend Glen was now going to run with me. My wife began her drive back up the mountain to our house, and Glen and I headed west on I-70 towards the tunnels.

Why the roads were open that night, I will never know. I led the way towards the tunnels as we zig-zagged passed scores of cars and trucks spun out or wrecked. We stopped at Bakerville and chained up our trucks, and then continued on at 15 mph all the way to Ten Mile Canyon—where the gates were closed because of an avalanche. Trucks that were turned around told us on the CB radio that it was all shut down indefinitely and that they were going back to Silverthorne or Frisco to try to find a place to park.

Glen and I decided to stop on an off ramp; I parked at the bottom with Glen parked about two truck lengths behind me as a precaution. We agreed over the CB thawt we would both get out and tighten our chains and then decide what we wanted to do. I had one chain that needed a re-fit, so I laid down into the snow and slid between the dual tires of my truck so I could pull the chains very tight. The next thing I remember is laying in the middle of the road gasping for air; Glen was screaming at me, "Are you okay? Are you ok?"

Glen had tried to warn me, but the howling wind covered his cries of warning. It was a very warm storm, and the tires on our trucks were wet and warm. While Glen was tightening his chains, his truck took off—sliding on its warm tires until it rear-ended my truck, driving the rear dual tires of my tractor into my back. It knocked me senseless, and even today I have back trouble because of this incident, but I walked away. Had my cleated chains caught my winter coat I would not be writing this.

The point to this story? There were at the very least four very vivid warnings that I should not have left home that night, Why didn't I listen to them? Why did the need for income override my senses telling me that tonight is not the night? Had I stayed home I would have never known why I felt the way I did.

In retrospect, my entire life has been hammered by these types of signs and premonitions, warning me to not sign contracts, not to drive tonight, to call a friend who turned out to be desperately in need of help, to check on family members out of state who are in danger, etc. Most—if not all—of these warnings to me or my family come during the day, not in dreams but in hunches or bad feelings or disturbing thoughts (that at times physically exhaust me, as if I had run a marathon). Then, there are the confirmations that I did obey the signs and that I am on the right track, like breaks in severe weather, vehicles getting unusually high fuel mileage, or talking to a friend or family member who confirmed they were in a bad situation and needed help.

These examples are not what I would consider coincidences but messages sent for protection or guidance; there is no other way for me to explain them. And to explain, them I would need to write another book as the confines of this article can't begin to scratch the surface.