Here’s a bizarre one.
I was riding a bicycle on the highway. To be more exact, I was crisscrossing a network of highways like a maniac. Sometimes riding in the same direction as the traffic, other times against it, weaving dangerously between oncoming vehicles.
Narrowly avoiding death on multiple occasions, I ended up on a stretch of road that ran alongside the ocean. I was about to cross over into the lane to my left when I glimpsed someone coming up behind me. To avoid a collision, I swerved back into my own lane, turning around to apologise to my fellow rider. It turns out it was famed West Indies cricketer Brian Lara. “Don’t say sorry. Just do this next time,” he said, making a gesture like he was honking a horn. My bicycle didn’t have a horn.
He moved in front of me, no longer on a bike but sporting roller blades instead. Up ahead on our left some youngsters were playing football on a playground. One of them booted the ball clean into the ocean. Famed West Indies cricketer Brian Lara walked over onto the beach and appeared for a moment as if he was going to wade in to retrieve the ball. He stopped just short of the jagged line marking the highest reach of the tide and simply stood there watching the ball bobble away. Jerk.
Now, the strange part is not the dream itself. Dreams are always weird. Another dream I had this morning, obviously following the same daredevil trend, had me darting across train tracks in a race against a girl who was unaware she was even part of the contest.
No, the bizarre part is that during my customary morning Twitter catch-up, I came across a tweet marking the 13-year anniversary of Brian Lara setting the record for the highest individual score in a test match (400 runs). Of course I remember witnessing it but had no idea it was on this day in history. I don’t even watch cricket anymore. I occasionally get snippets of news about it on social media but certainly nothing recently involving Lara. He’s been out of the spotlight for a good while. Highly peculiar this coincidence.
But come to think of it, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. A few months ago I dreamt of an ex-girlfriend only to wake up to a Facebook birthday notification. We haven’t spoken in years and, reasonably, I’d forgotten her birthday. I can only imagine it was buried somewhere in the old subconscious. Since when did your subconscious double as a calendar reminder though?
I originally had no intention of revealing this next one but it helps to bolster my argument further. Not too long ago I had a dream involving intimate relations with a headless, limbless mannequin. Easy pervs, the details of said dream are far too racy for this blog.
The very next day, I discovered that my fashion designer cousin – in the process of moving and storing some of her belongings at my house – was the owner of a designer’s mannequin torso. I am 100% certain I hadn’t seen it before the dream. Thankfully my cousin has moved in to her new place and taken the bust with her thus removing all temptation.
Perhaps these bizarre coincidences, these pseudo-predictions, are a prelude to more concrete precognitive information. I’ll update you again after my lottery win.