(June 5, 2015 at 1:18 pm)rsngfrce Wrote:(June 5, 2015 at 1:07 pm)FatAndFaithless Wrote: I'm very sorry for your loss, and I'm aware of how blunt my next words might appear but..
Look, you said you're looking for "logical support" and SteelCurtain gave you his appraisal of the situation. What exactly are you looking for us to say? We're certainly not going to posit that you actually have the aiblity to predict the imminent deaths of other people.
No, it is NOT logical that I can predict the imminent death of other people. MY PROBLEM is that I feel that is what I did (and I stress, not "other people", but a special person). However, I have more problem personally with the fact that I KNEW that it happened. I know I cannot come here and convince you of this. I AM STRUGGLING WITH THIS MYSELF! It makes NO logical sense to me, but it happened...
Think about when the last time you saw her was. I bet she was in pretty rough shape, and sometimes our mind knows and locks things away with out us actually knowing them. The brain is funky like that and I won't lie because we are just beginning to learn about it. So its possible that your put together she was gonna die without you thinking or knowing about it.
However even if super natural empathic connections are possible as some people claim it has no bearing at all on weither there is a God or any particular religion being true, so no need for a crisis. I'm very sorry to here about your loss as well. I have experienced similar loss and it sucks.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
