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  • I don't even remember the first time I realized I could do this. I suppose it just sneaked up on me. At first I didn't think anything of it. I just did it naturally, but little by little, it dawned on me that not everyone could do it. I guess I was in my mid-twenties before I admitted to myself that this was something of a gift. Something special. So what am I talking about? I can find things that have been lost. Mostly things lost by others but also things that I have lost myself. Although I must say, I rarely lose anything. I can't say I actually "see" the lost item in my mind's eye, it's more of a feeling I get. I think about the lost object and I get a feeling about where it is. I have learned that if I don't feel the item at all, it is gone forever and it will not be found. I don't know why. Maybe it's been found by someone else, or maybe it's been swept away by the sea, or buried in the earth. Maybe nature has claimed it and is hiding it in it's deepest folds. I know that if I don't feel the object in that part of my soul that knows where to look, the object is gone for good. For a while I questioned this thing that I could do that others couldn't. "Was I imagining it?" "Did I really know where to find these things?" "How did I know?" No answers, but time and time again, I found the things I could "feel" were there. What I have learned is to trust that inner voice that tells me where to look. Not to question where it comes from.
    Two memories from my childhood seem to be connected to this "ability".

    One very snowy Connecticut winter, when I was just seven years old, we were putting on our warm weather gear to go outside and play in the new fallen snow. It had been snowing for a couple of days and school was canceled. There was at least three feet of snow out in the yard and we couldn't wait to go out and get buried in it.
    Earlier, I had somehow talked my mother into letting me wear her beautiful Colombian emerald and diamond ring. It was a gorgeous ring set in white gold with a HUGE emerald in the middle. I had just discovered that having been born in the month of May, my birthstone was the emerald, and had talked my way into getting to wear it for a while. As I was putting on my snowsuit, my mother asked me to take the ring off before going outside.
    I didn't want to take it off because I knew I might never get another chance to wear it. I didn't say anything, but I didn't take it off. Hours later, red faced, and exhausted from outdoor play, we came in to warm up. I tore my gloves off and noticed right away that the ring was gone. I ran back outside with no gloves on and started digging in the snow. I was panicked and desperate and crying. My mother ran out to get me but I didn't want to stop. I just kept crying and digging and crying and digging. My mother said it wasn't important. It was just an object. She didn't care. But I cared. I cared because I knew it was right there. I could feel it. For days I kept looking. In the springtime, I went out and looked some more. I could feel it but I couldn't find it. In the summer I kept looking. Then, my father had a new back porch put on the house and they did some major digging in the back yard. We found all kinds of things in the earth, including some very old coins, but not the ring. I knew it was still there under the earth. To this day, although the house belongs to someone else, I am sure it's there. I can still feel it.

    When I was about ten years old I was staying with my family at a seaside campground. One day, in the late afternoon, we were all swimming and splashing in the sea and having a great time. We noticed a small group of women looking down into the water. One of the young women was crying. We went over to see what was going on. The young woman explained that she had just gotten some very expensive "bridge work" done to fix several teeth she had missing. While playing around in the water, the entire bridge had fallen out of her mouth and was lost in the sea. She was devastated. She would not be able to afford a new one. She was covering her mouth in shame and embarrassment. We all looked for hours, it was almost dark when we gave up. The young woman and her family were staying at the campground too. The next morning my mother got us all up very early and we went right to the beach. She set up our beach blankets and headed right out into the water. She didn't say anything and I watched her curiously. My mother didn't swim well. She never went into the water by herself. She walked slowly but deliberately right to a certain spot and stood there for about a minute. Then she reached down into the water and in her hand was the silver bridge with the young woman's missing teeth. How had she done that? The high tide had come in and out that night. How did she know exactly where to look? Later that morning, my mother made that young woman cry again, but this time they were tears of joy. Many years later, I remembered this, and realize now that my mother could do it too.

    There have been times when I have heard news of missing people. Sometimes they have been children lost in the woods. Sometimes, I have "felt" these people and am pulled to go out and look for them, but most have been lost in places very far away from me. Even so, I am always sorry I didn't try to go and find them anyway. I am fascinated by the stories of those that take it upon themselves to go and look because they had a strong "feeling" they knew exactly where these people could be found. And then they just go out and find them. They don't know how they knew where to look. They just knew. I know that feeling. Those people are like me.
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