Reality Is Deliciously Weird

by Wendy Garrett: Channeling three decades of communion with a sentient nightlight “energy”

Time is not what we think it is. It bends. It folds. Sometimes it slips through the cracks entirely.

If the world “out there” is writhing like a barrel of eels, why do we detect a barrel of concrete when we look? To put the question differently, where is the boundary between the random uncertainty of the quantum world, where particles spring into and out of existence, and the orderly certainty of the classical world, where we live, see, and measure? This question … is as deep as any in modern physics. It drove the years-long debate between Bohr and Einstein. — John Archibald Wheeler  — It from Bit, 1989

Pre-determined Time Hiccups

Physicist Ronald Mallett reminds us, “If gravity can affect time, and light can create gravity, then light can affect time.” That single statement unravels the illusion of the clock as the ultimate authority, suggesting that time is less a ruler and more a fluid medium, responsive, alive, and shaped by forces we only dimly understand.

Author Joan Lindsay, best known for Picnic at Hanging Rock, described her own “time slippage” at age four, an event so strange that it lingered. It became the seed that would one day blossom into her surreal exploration of vanishing moments, where hours slip away, and reality rearranges itself like a dream.

And then there’s Eric Wargo, whose work in Time Loops reframes the human mind as a kind of receiver: “The brain may well turn out to be an organ that extracts meaning from an otherwise noisy, but constant, informational reflux from the Not Yet.”

Imagine that? Our future already whispering back to us, shaping our decisions, nudging us toward outcomes before we consciously know what they are.

When you live in that expanded awareness, the everyday becomes extraordinary. Synchronicities stack like dominos, nudging you toward experiences that don’t fit the neat boxes of linear time. You find yourself in moments where logic dissolves, and what remains is a deeper truth: Reality is far stranger, and far more interactive, than we’ve been taught to believe.

I speak from experience. I’ve told the story before. I plan to keep telling it – just the highlights here.

Flying in the Face of Time: No Ordinary Days

Reality is interactive. That awareness came into sharp focus for me during an encounter so undeniably orchestrated, that it still bends my mind years later.

It began with a simple directive, a telepathic instruction to drive a specific route, following rules that seemed arbitrary at first:

• White car, proceed.
• Black car, stop and wait.
• No deviations.

I followed. For a while. Then I got creative, thinking I would take a short cut.

I veered from the path, circling into an apartment complex that, as it turned out, had a single entry/exit. Not a short cut. We navigated a quiet loop around a small pond.

And that’s when the world bent.

On the water, a flock of geese began to move, slowly, deliberately, until they formed a perfect question mark. Every bird aligned, as if rehearsed for a performance I hadn’t known I was coming to see.

My husband, initially uneasy with my detour, watched in stunned silence before laughing softly. He said, “I guess they also wondered why you took this route.” We were both stunned, watching the geese swim in formation, my mind blown. Thinking about what had happened, I realized even my act of resistance, my choice to deviate from the assigned path, had been folded seamlessly into the experience.

On top of that, if I had not taken the short cut, we would have missed seeing that incredible performance.

These orchestrators, whether guides, watchers, or something beyond those labels, have shown me again and again that reality isn’t static. It’s a dialogue. And every interaction, every pattern, every improbable moment is an invitation to engage with a larger field of awareness where meaning reveals itself in its own time.

“If you haven’t found something strange during the day, it hasn’t been much of a day.” — John_Archibald_Wheeler

Play Time – Tomorrow at Noon

Sci-Fi side trip.

I was late for work — again — when Time ghosted me.

No text. No call. Just gone.

The clock on my stove blinked 12:00 like a nervous tic. My phone froze at 8:07, and the wall clock in the living room ticked backward in slow, deliberate defiance. Outside, the neighborhood looked normal enough, joggers, delivery trucks — except the birds were suspended in mid-flight, wings trembling like they were buffering reality.

The air tasted like copper and vanilla. Time had a flavor, apparently, and it was… complicated.

Then he appeared.

A tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, the kind you’d expect to see on a movie star from 1947. His tie flickered like static, and when he smiled, it rearranged every memory I had of my childhood summers until they played forward and backward like a looping VHS.

“You’ve been trying too hard,” he said, handing me a paper cup of coffee that smelled like fresh ink and vinyl records. “Time bends easier when you stop wrestling it.”

I stared at the cup. The sleeve said, in neat block letters: TOMORROW AT NOON.

“You’re drinking a Wednesday,” he added, tapping the rim. “Careful, they’re strong.”

I blinked, and in the next breath, I was standing outside my workplace, exactly on time, coffee still hot, heart pounding like it had just skipped three days.

No one else seemed to notice.

Since then, the glitches have been subtle but frequent: a laugh track playing faintly in my bedroom at night, my microwave flashing :42 at random intervals, and once, a voicemail from myself that simply said, Don’t forget the umbrella.

It didn’t rain the next day.

But two days later, when the sky cracked open and spilled silver light across the city, I was ready. Umbrella in hand.

Time hasn’t answered my calls since, but sometimes, in the stillness before dawn, I hear it laughing. Waiting for me to catch up.

Plan B. I’m stocking up on towels…

Backstory

Prompted by my inability to remember having used up all of the hemp milk. Seems it disappeared and now there are only (identical size) chai tea cartons. Sure – I must have used it, so why am I surprised? Because I remember having to suffer through the accidentlly purchased unsweetened hemp milk version and thinking my suffering had a couple of more cartons to go. No complaints. I get to restock with the vanilla version I prefer. So, did someone help me out? Andy swears he didn’t toss it out. Time shift magician? Stuff happens. I wonder.