Nurturing the Hidden Eye

By Rolo B. Cena
Arabian Diaries
Dumaguete Star Informer
01 November 2009

Perceptively clothed like nomads in the wilderness of the Mid-East in the medieval times, this older man came to look for me. I could see him through the bric-a-brac of the hostel I was in. Though I could distinguish him from inside, he could not easily spot me from where he was standing. He was yelling out my name; he was with a younger man, presumably in his late thirties, and an old man, in sixties, but of course was younger than him.

Perturbed, I went out to convene with them; they were eating steamed rice and shrimps. They were eating with their right hands on dirty wooden plates with tree trunks placed haphazardly on the ground made as dining table. Flies were apparently buzzing everywhere; it was actually upsetting. More men of the same looks gathered around the environs and were oblivious of the world around them.

He babbled lines I couldn’t decipher while simultaneously throwing a stern gaze at me; his frail, thin hand was trying to reach me steadily. Suddenly the scene ended in that manner.

Sans commercialism, the above described scene is not from my favorite serial movie Mad Max of the eighties and nineties, which has also become the older man’s favorite; this was my dream. And I was talking to this older man most often through the medium.

The older man is my father; he died in 1994 due to cardiac arrest while I was on a business trip. He died without the two of us coming into terms. The younger man is my brother while the other old man is my uncle, the younger brother of my father. My brother and my uncle are, in God’s grace, still alive.

My dream, without doubt, has disturbed me. First, he is my father desperately looking like intolerable beggar in the wilderness; second, he is dead man walking; and third, he wants me to go with him to a place he never mentioned. And in this dream I don’t know where they are going and where we are actually. The vivid description I gave was triggered by my presence in the civilized wilderness of the Mid-East plus the types of clothes we were wearing.

Looking back in 1989, I prophesied the death of a neighbor. I narrated this to my brothers and sisters and vividly described to them what would transpire. They were upset and did not have any sign of belief. By midnight of the same day, they admitted me to the nearby hospital for a skyrocketing fever. And as to what triggered the fever was unknown to all them, even to the medical doctors.

When I was a kid, my father asked me to go with him to visit my grandmother in the other side of the river. Since it was high tide, we needed to take a long trip by passing through the thick forest. From the house, he was holding my hand. After reaching the biggest of trees in the forest, he unleashed my hand instantaneously and asked “what did you see?”

Incidentally as a young kid, fear enveloped my entire system. Nevertheless, I managed to tell him that I saw a black “tree monster” puffing a large cigar. He took my hand again and asked me the same question “What did you see?”

He confirmed; and he confirmed that I have the same special eye as he had. Commencing from this confirmation, whenever people don’t believe in my visions, I got sick.

My dreams become real. Our Guidance Counselor in College confirmed that I have the “third eye” and that this can also be in a form of dreams. What struck me was when they told me that I have the capacity to interpret dreams which I have proven to be true to myself later in my adult life. According to the elders of the church whose spirituality are deepened by dedication and substance of wisdom, this is a “gift of prophecy”. Whichever and whatever, I know my visions and dreams are coming into realities all the time.

Since then, my life has never been that normal. Most often, my “third eye” gave me visions and dreams that I had to discern whether or not to reveal these to the concerned. Negative visions and dreams often give me fear, or unwanted restlessness. My wife is my sole confidante; she has managed to believe because of several visions and dreams that turned real after my revelation.

This has, whether third eye, sixth sense, or a gift of prophecy, become the road to wisdom. It was through this that I managed to gather the brothers and sisters of my father in Cebu and told them that my father wanted to them to be reconciled with one another and forget personal grudges. This happened during the burial of my aunt (my father’s sister) in the 30th of October 2007 when I saw him (my father) in the cemetery.

My professor in “Theories of Personality”, a practicing doctor in clinical psychology strongly recommends that I nurture this by constantly concentrating everyday to re-collect my visions and dreams for interpretations. More to the point, he said, what I have is an extra-ordinary window to one’s soul, passage to the ultimate wisdom and an unfailing channel of communication between the vast creation and the Master Creator.

I have been told to nurture this since I was seventeen. After graduating from college, my best friend and confessor provided me books about paranormal psychology and meditation. For a time these stuffs work but because of pressing personal concerns, concentration becomes just a word of the mouth to me.

Nurturing, to me, means concentration and time. While this is accorded and has since made available at my disposal, I know it is not easy to do. Most often, things are easier said than done. Nurturing this hidden eye matters most to me. But with the pressing personal, professional, familial, and economic concerns, concentration has become an activity far from reality most of the time.

Just like mine, your visions and dreams in life deserve the nurturing. And whether or not these visions and dreams are ordinary or extraordinary, the thing is, there is a need to nurture.