The morning of the day my mother will be felled by a Ford 250 truck jacked up on larger than life logging wheels, I wake up with a sense of dread so alarming it feels like the sky is falling.

I can’t seem to shake off a foreboding that began weeks earlier and has now intensified to the point a mental health specialist might be in order.

My morning caffeine fix tastes metallic and my stomach feels the way it does when I have just stepped off a ride at an amusement park. I empty the cold coffee down the sink, glancing at my untouched breakfast on the terracotta tiled kitchen counter.The bowl of granola has the soggy texture of porridge from soaking in milk for the last hour.

Today, I just can’t seem to eat or drink.

The night before this doom-saturated morning, while my children and husband slept, I’d watched a jaunty documentary about New York City in the 1950’s, the black and white footage made all the more poignant by the fact it was now three weeks post 9-11.

I felt a nostalgia for an imagined era of innocence. In the late 50’s before I was born, my mother had visited the Big Apple in an uncharacteristic adventure from her small town Canada life. Years later, in my twenties, I would live in and work the lower Manhattan, in the shadow of the now pulverized trade towers.

Oddly more than three weeks had passed since I last spoke to my mother, just a quick phone call days before the trade-tower-collapse. I’d been cleaning my house while singing a song that my mother used to sing to me as a child: “Que Sera, Sera, whatever will be, will be” were the only lyrics I knew. When I finished my tidying up, I called her.

“Hey, Mom, you won’t believe what I was just singing.”

“Que Sera?” she asked with playful laugh.

“How did you know?” I was always surprised by these coincidences, even though it seemed that mother and I had always shared a telepathic bond.

“Because I was just humming it to myself in the shower,” she replied.

We both sighed at this and then I said something like, “Well, there we go again with the mind meld thing.” It didn’t occur to me at the time to question why that song and why that song now. After all, the lyrics are about fate or destiny, declaring that “whatever will be, will be.”

Looking back, I’d see I was already being prepared by synchronicity for what was to come. This episode of “Que Sera” would be the first in several beads on a necklace of meaning, one I would wear with the religious zeal of a nun with her rosary or a monk with his prayer mala.

I was heading into the labyrinth of non-ordinary reality, where coincidences would begin to startle me with their succinct and surreal odds-defying meaning. Carl Jung and his beetle story would have nothing on my tale of mythic magic. I was heading into waters of enchantment so deep that I was sure no divers had been here before me. Or if they had, they must have not lived to tell the tale.

This post is the first of several in my story of falling off the edge of the ordinary world. It’s ultimately the story of how I discover the tools of magic and if you are willing to follow me, you will learn them too.

Yet, this not a memoir. This is a true fairy tale written with one intention: to transmit to you the magic you are ready to receive. You see, it’s not what happens in life that matters but who you imagine yourself to be in these happenings.

The next 16 posts at The Awakened Dreamer are engineered by love to reveal your true self to you. And that revelation is a game changer of cosmic proportion. We are all going home. Just some of us arrive first and hold open the door.

This blog is that portal. Come on, I dare you to enter.

After all, what do you have to lose, but an ordinary life?

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Did you know I am a guest with a bunch of really awake folks on the FREE online IAM SYMPOSIUM…If you want to hear me speak in my presentation about synchronicity, please sign up..it all begins OCT 12. –> bit.ly/1LnZ8zF

BONUS: The story of my mothers death from a synchronistic sight line.