Intuition Saves the Day

We were leaving the mountain plateau of Yosemite National Park, when I had a premonition of my own death. Well, I’d even go so far as to call this a ‘near death’ experience.

It was not quite winter, and mule deer were grazing near the edge of the road for sprigs of remaining grass. My husband Paul was particularly entertained by spotting a black bear wandering between the trees in the distance, for he had never seen one. Even ole Faithful had given us a grand show as the steam rose above the multi colored sulfur flats that led the way to the timely geyser.

As I drove in the direction of Salt Lake City along the two-lane road spattered in a light rain, I began seeing our little Civic driving off a cliff in my mind’s eye. Over and over it flashed across my internal screen. Over and over I said to the movie-like image, “No thanks, I am not dying today.” Then another image would flash of us going off a cliff's edge, and again, I would repeat, “Thank you for showing me this, I am not ready to die. Not Today! NO THANK YOU!” Each time I became more determined in my tone and intention. This must have happened at least four or five times in the silent halls of my mind.

I decided to pull over at a scenic view rest area, intending to interrupt this pattern of destiny that was diligently pulling me towards itself. I didn’t mention anything to Paul as I focused on getting grounded and suggested we take a pee break. After 10 minutes or so, we were back in the car, keeping to our driving schedule to arrive into SLC before dark.

The visions had finally ceased as I continued to drive us along the winding two lane road, with no shoulder or guard rail on my right. Paul nodded off, as men are often able to do, no matter where they are. I am incapable of this feat personally and am a bit jealous of it, if I am to be honest.

The grey sky was misting onto the grey pavement, melting the two together like a Salvador Dali charcoal sketch. As I rounded a curve, I saw a large Peterbilt cab hauling a double trailer full of rocks, making its way steadily up the slope. Briefly I saw what looked like two headlights disappear behind it, and I figured the bend in the road had eclipsed them behind the 18 wheeler. The yellow double lines in the middle of the road created an illusion of safety, but as I rounded the bend to the front of the cab, all I could utter was, “Ohhh shit… ohh fuck…. Oshit. Ofuck.” This woke Paul up just in time to see us coming head to head with an enormous 4x4 pickup illegally passing and taking up the entirety of our lane. I mean COMPLETELY. The oversized tires looked like a black hole sucking up all the space around it, pulling us into their orbit. But I didn’t falter. I didn’t dare budge not one inch towards the steep cliff and certain death that awaited us to my right.

I had already decided today wasn’t a good day to DIE.

The rock hauler hugged as far to the inside shoulder as he could, and I tucked in to him. The two trailers flashed by like a speeding bullet train while the baby elephant on spinning black holes was forced to take the outside line. I glanced in my rear view mirror just in time to see his massive wheels skimming the edge of the cliff, with an inch or two of tread flying through the air, tossing rocks and mud down the face of the vertical mountain.

I knew at that moment, we had just met death face to face, and skirted it, thanks to my visions and my subsequent decision.

We travelled on in silence for while, neither of us speaking a word as we made our way down the salt flats. Both of us were as white as ghosts, and when I saw the color return to Paul’s face, I knew we were still alive.

When we arrived in Salt Lake City, I pulled into a rest stop, parking a bit crooked. I found a quiet table by itself and rested my head in my hands, waiting for Paul to come out of the rest room.

It was there that I began uncontrollably crying and shaking. Much in the same way a paralyzed gazelle does after it was downed by a lion. When the lion wanders away to gather his pride for dinner, it can suddenly jump up, shake it off and then run away to safety. I couldn’t have stopped the trembling if I wanted to, for it just was my body’s natural way of shaking off death.

Paul sat down across the table and took my hands in his. After my crying had stopped, I revealed to him how my visions had determined my subsequent actions that had kept us on the road.

We remained incredibly grateful for the rest of our trip and I felt more alive than I can ever remember.