The hundreds of first-hand accounts of reality shifts (aka:
mind-matter interaction MMI, quantum jumping, glitches in the Matrix) on
this and the following pages have been collected and shared through Cynthia
Sue Larson's RealityShifters since 1999. Special issues focusing on
particular types of reality shifts (such as: the Dead seen Alive Again,
Seeing Loved Ones Before They Arrive, Invisibility, Walking through Walls,
etc.) can be found by browsing through the RealityShifters
archives and subscribing to the (free) monthly ezine. Hundreds of stories
are reported here in this "Your RealityShifter Stories" section of this web
site, and the phenomenon is documented in the best-selling books, Reality Shifts: When Consciousness Changes the
Physical World, and Quantum Jumps: An Extraordinary Science of
Happiness and Prosperity.
Epiphanies via Disappearing Reappearing
Glasses
Deborah
Bastrop, Texas, USA
While not new to personal Mandela Effects, the one today was
profound for me due to the IMEC conference. Detesting clutter, I keep only
my wallet, keys, phone and glasses in my purse. My bright red,
sequined glasses live in a narrow vertical pouch where the end sticks up
about 1 1/2 inches. Entering the grocery store this morning, my glasses
were not in my purse. I took everything out of my purse both
looking and feeling around the relatively small purse. No
glasses. It briefly crossed my mind to buy another pair so I could
shop but distinctly heard, "NO!"
OK then; this is going to be interesting. I understood that I was
to just hold my list and feel what was on it. At the dairy counter
there was a kind gentleman that helped me with expiration dates. On
another isle, I was "told" to FEEL the ingredients instead of relying on
being able to read the labels. Paying for my groceries--still no glasses.
Got to my car and went to retrieve my keys. Lo & behold: there
were my glasses; right there in the vertical pouch with the sequined end
sticking up. Right then and there I burst into tears with gratitude for
the IMEC conference (which was WONDERFUL).
I understood, based on what I had learned from the presenters the whys of
my personal Mandela effect. I was to connect, for some unknown
reason, to the gentleman at the dairy counter and release mental
entanglements regarding my old ways of, in this case, grocery shopping in
favor of embracing a more heart resonant way of being. Thank you; THANK
YOU SO MUCH for all you are doing in assisting to open me and others to
embracing not only the 9th wave but actually living "how good can it
get."
Note from Cynthia: Thank you so very much for sharing this
beautiful experience of embracing a more resonant way of being and
connecting with others in the process. Wow, that is such a profound
insight, and something that touches my heart so deeply, too. I can
feel how easy it is for all of us to feel isolated from one
another--especially during this time of social distancing--when clearly one
of the very best things for our mental and emotional health and wellbeing
is to check in with others. I love how your glasses were right
where you would expect them to be, after your experience seeing with the
eyes of your heart.
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Larry the Cable Guy and Grandma
Lisa
Davis, California, USA
Here’s a personally stunning reality shift for
you that I just learned about tonight! I was trying to remember the
name of the town in Nebraska where my Grandmother was born, and I just
couldn’t remember the place, although I knew I would recognize
the name of the town if I saw it. So I thought of a very quick and easy way
to find it—I’d previously noted that a very popular
and famous person named Larry the Cable Guy, (yes, that comedy genius we
all know and love), was born in the same town as my Grandma! That fact
seemed hilarious to me when I first realized that these two such opposite
people had that town in common. So, I Googled him and I quickly saw where
the internet now thinks he was born listed on multiple sites, but the place
did NOT ring a bell at all! Apparently, NOW, he was born in Pawnee
City, Nebraska. No way. That’s NOT the same place as my
Grandma! What is going on here? Checked page after page online.
All say Pawnee City. Then I suddenly remembered my Grandma’s
birthplace was Burchard, Nebraska. And THAT'S the town where they used to
say that Larry was born too! I recall it being noted that Larry the Cable
Guy was the only famous person to have ever been born in Burchard. This was
according to what I thought was a Wikipedia article a number of years ago.
Now there’s no record of that memorable
“fact” that I knew. I even remember telling many
people over the years that My Grandmother was born in the same town as
Larry the Cable Guy—in Burchard, Nebraska! How about that?! No
more. Still shaking my head over this alternative history! At least my
ancestor that was killed by the Rock Island Line train is still a victim of
that train made famous in song. Not a mighty good road for him, sadly.
Never thought I’d find a family history reality shift tonight.
I was just recently wishing to find more. How about that? I got my wish!
Note from Cynthia: Thanks so much for sharing this extraordinary
experience noticing that such a highly memorable birthplace has changed for
where "Larry the Cable Guy" was born. Surely you would not have
been so impressed that he and your grandmother were both born in
Nebraska! But for someone to also have been born in such a small,
obscure town as Burchard, Nebraska really is quite memorable!
That's fascinating that you also recall having seen a Wikipedia article
about Burchard, Nebraska, mentioning "Larry the Cable Guy."
Vibrating Slot Machines
Rick
New Caledonia
This is a short account of an experience I had in June,
1965. In May, 1965, at the time of my midterm break from university, I
hitchhiked up to Seattle, Washington from Los Angeles, California with a
friend whose parents lived up there. After an enjoyable stay of a couple of
weeks I started hitching south back to Los Angeles. At Eugene, Oregon I got
a ride with a woman, a biologist doing research on hibernation as I recall.
She wasn't going directly south to California, but east through Reno,
Nevada. Since I had no time restraints I decided to accompany her to Reno,
then, who knows? We reached Reno in the late afternoon. She dropped me off
in the middle of town and we said our goodbyes. As soon as I got out of the
car looked across the street and saw the police roughly handling a
hippie-looking young man of my age. Since I was
“hippie-looking” myself I knew this could spell big
trouble if I was noticed, so I ducked into the first storefront door I
spotted and headed for the back entrance. I don't recall the exact details
of my evasion, but I wanted to put as much distance between me and the
police as possible. I knew that I couldn't be seen on the streets,
especially after dark because I'd be arrested for vagrancy and beaten to a
pulp in the bargain. I remember sprinting through the length of a
very narrow, noisy and bustling casino, a canyon of clanging slot machines
and automatons manning them. I had to get out of there quickly because I
was underage at eighteen to be in there. At some point I was face to face
with the iconic front of the Greyhound Bus Terminal. In a flash I entered
the terminal. I knew that as long as I was in the bus station the police
couldn't really bust me, although they could make life very dangerous. I
knew that I had to find a way of getting out of Reno unseen, though that
seemed a nearly impossible task because the town was teeming with cops on
patrol because of all the gambling and prostitution which was the heart of
Reno's economy. In June, 1965 hippie hunting by cops was in open season,
especially in the bastion of Red-Neckdom, the state of Nevada. When
I entered the bus station I was surprised to find it deserted. In one
corner there was a cafeteria and I saw a tired looking waitress doing
nothing behind the counter. There was also a long row of nickel (5 cent
piece) slot machines that ran along one entire wall of the building. In
front of me were several rows of empty seats. I sat down in the middle of a
row facing the entrance of the building and emptied my mind. I needed a
plan. After several minutes I was distracted by noise and movement coming
from the slot machines off to my right about 20 metres away. A middle aged,
red-faced, fat, bald man was furiously yanking the handle of the first
one-armed bandit in the long row of machines. My attention became entirely
focused on him. I was transfixed. After several minutes the man cursed,
abandoned the slot machine and hurried out of the building. What didn't
depart was what I perceived as a hot, red glow surrounding the slot machine
that the man had been working. It was clearly visible and I was intrigued,
so I left my seat and made my way to the slot machine. It was indeed
surrounded by an intense, highly seductive crimson aura. I thrust
my hands into the pockets of my blue jeans and came up with a couple of
nickels. I was otherwise flat broke. I approached the glowing machine
carefully, looking around to make sure that nobody was watching since
underage gambling was highly illegal. The only person visible beside myself
in the building was the waitress behind the cafe counter, who seemed to be
completely disinterested in my presence. The hot, vibrating machine
took my nickel. I placed my right hand on the handle and very, very slowly
pulled it down then released it. Suddenly, there was a clanging as if all
hell broke loose and a flood of nickels cascaded into the tray at the
bottom of the machine. I was stoked. I knew that this was the means to my
escape. Otherwise, my chances were slim to nil. I crammed my pockets full
of nickels then gazed down the long row of slot machines. The machine that
had just gifted me its treasure was now completely neutral and cold, no
more aura. To my delight I saw that several other of the machines were
glowing red with different intensities, and I assumed different amounts to
yield correspondingly. I moved down the row of machines to the next one
that was glowing brightly, looking around to make sure that nobody was
about to pounce on me. I drew one from my fat stash of nickels and
delicately repeated my ritual. The machine vomited a pile of nickels into
its tray. I repeated this several more times, each time filling my pockets
with nickels. Finally there were only “cold” machines
left. Just for confirmation I put a nickel in the slot of one of the cold
machines and it ate the coin. This was my offering. My jeans
pockets were so laden with nickels, bursting at the seams, that I had to
waddle carefully to the cafeteria, which was also where one purchased bus
tickets. I realized that I was starving. I couldn't even remember the last
time that I had eaten. Hitch-hiking penniless around the country was a
common practice of mine, adventure winning over fear and caution every
time, so it was not unsusual that meals could be few and far between, left
more to fate than planning. When I waddled up to the counter I
looked at the menu on the wall above the counter. Everything looked
delicious. I couldn't choose, so I ordered just about everything. Being an
eighteen-year-old highly active athlete with a hummingbird's metabolism
enabled me to eat an extraordinary amount of food at a sitting and burn it
off as quickly as it churned through the system. There were still no other
people in the bus station other than me and the waitress, and an unseen
cook behind the wall. I paid for the meal with a handful of nickels and the
bulging weight in my pockets didn't seem to have diminished appreciably.
Next I bought a bus ticket for the all night bus from Reno to Oakland,
California, that went through Lake Tahoe. People started arriving at the
bus station, the bus arrived, and I boarded, tummy full and relieved beyond
belief. I took my seat and shortly the bus headed out of
town—passing countless street cops and patrol cars. I knew I was
safe for the moment, and with my belly full, I slept soundly. When
we arrived in Oakland early the next morning the sun was shining brightly
in the east. At the Oakland bus station I found the nearest pay phone, fed
the phone slot a couple of nickels and phoned my friend Rob who was in the
neighboring town of Berkeley where he was studying at the university. He
said to me upon answering, “Wow, what great timing. I'm just
about to head for the San Francisco airport to fly down to L.A. for Andy's
18th birthday party. I'll pick you up along the way.” It was
June 10th. I can't remember how we got to the airport.
Regardless, when we got there I hauled out a bunch of nickels and bought a
plane ticket. There were still nickels to spare. When we arrived at
LAX we hailed a taxi, We made it to Andy's parents' house in West L.A. just
in time for the party to begin. I paid the cab driver with my remaining
nickels.
Note from Cynthia: Thanks for sharing this extraordinary
experience! I love the way you got just exactly what you needed, when you
needed it, and had fun being guided to the right slot machines in the
process! I've seldom played slot machines, but once I was on a
vacation on a cruise ship with a friend, and we'd prepaid for our Royal
Caribbean cruise to Mexico, but not factored in the expected tip to the
wonderful stewards and other staff aboard the ship. With only a few
dollars cash, I suggested that we play the slot machines on the ship while
we were out in foreign waters. My friend agreed, and I asked her if
she knew anyone who'd ever been truly gifted and lucky playing the slot
machines--since I said we needed to play to win. Happily, my friend
did have a deceased relative who'd been extremely good at feeling which
machines were "hot" and which were not, and fortunately, I was able to
invite this deceased relative to please join us and show us which machines
to play--which she did. We were then able to immediately win the
exact amount we needed for the tip, and stopped immediately once we had
just what we needed. I reminded my friend of the importance of
stopping once we got what we needed to my friend, who was hoping we could
continue this winning streak, but that just didn't feel right to me.
Sofas change and Steve Irwin different
dates
Steven
Mesquite, Texas, USA
I had a conversation with my friend through the videophone.
While we were talking, I just noticed that his couch and a sofa were
covered with brown cloths. This seemed strange to me, since in my parallel
universe, my friend's couch and sofa are covered with white cloths. I
asked him if he previously had white cloths covering his couch and sofa,
but he said he never covered both of them with white cloths. Another small
but significant shift is that I remember that Steve Irwin, a zoologist of
Australia Zoo - Home of the Crocodile Hunter in Australia, was killed by a
stingray in an accident on September 4, 2006. In my parallel universe,
Steve Irwin was killed by the stingray in an accident many months earlier,
in February 2006.
Note from Cynthia: That is truly amazing about noticing that your
friend's sofa coverings had been white in your memories, yet your friend
states that the coverings were always brown. This is fascinating, since
it's the kind of 'small difference' that might seem insignificant, yet that
change in color can change the feeling in that room dramatically. Thank you
for sharing with me that you remember that Steve Irwin died in an accident
with a stingray in February 2006 and not September 2006. There
really is a big difference in seasons between February and September, so
it's pretty memorable.
