ALEXANDRIA'S ALCHEMY
ALEXANDRIA'S ALCHEMY
Dreams, Mirrors, and the Unknown + Exploring the Thin Veil Between Realities
Lately, I’ve been speaking more about the 3D and interpersonal relationships. Today, I want to talk about some peculiar things I’ve noticed as a resident “in-betweener.” Last night served as confirmation of a hunch I’ve had since May—one that also connected some dots to experiences I’ve had before. Nothing can be explicitly proven, but this is my experience.
I’ve spoken before about dimensional shifts and how I’ve had dreams that didn’t feel like dreams. They always take place in my home, but I am acutely aware that I am not on my current timeline. Additionally, this phenomenon usually occurs in anticipation of, before, during, or after severe weather—particularly tornado watches or warnings. It really makes me think of The Wizard of Oz.
Back in May, after flying home from Maryland, I took a midday nap. As I drifted off, I saw a vision of a tornado. The sky looked gray and dusky. During this nap, I “woke up,” but my living room looked different. Something told me I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, but I decided to ride it out. Everything looked the same, except my dining table and chairs were missing. I decided to play along and look at myself in the mirror.
People often advise against looking in the mirror while astral projecting, but I did it anyway. When I did, I saw that I was several shades lighter, and my hair was long and parted down the middle. The only thing that confirmed it was really me were my eyes. This startled me, so I went back into the kitchen, where my husband was on the phone. I told him, “I don’t belong here.” He immediately told the person on the other end that he needed to get off the call.
I remember feeling a deep sense of doom, like I was stuck. I couldn’t feel my daughter’s presence in that space. I also knew that if I told anyone I was stuck in the wrong dimension or timeline, I would sound insane. I started wondering—who could even help me get back if I was stuck? I began to panic, fell to my knees, and started screaming, “WAKE ME UP!” over and over.
When I finally came to, I had sleep paralysis for a while. Once I fully regained consciousness, my entire body was buzzing. I felt off for most of the day. When I checked my phone, I saw that a Tornado Watch had just been issued.
Months later, I took another midday nap. I “woke up” and looked at my phone. I could see a number, but the text thread was empty. Shrugging it off, I went into the kitchen. I could hear my daughter playing upstairs, which puzzled me because, in real life, I had dropped her off at school. Clearly, my soul wasn’t fully aware that I wasn’t awake.
At my dining table, an older woman was sitting there. My husband was rummaging through the fridge when the doorbell rang. He went to retrieve a package. I asked him what he got, but he didn’t respond. That’s when I realized—he couldn’t see or hear me.
I looked at the older woman. In hindsight, she may have been an older version of me. She resembled my great-grandmother, Cora, a bit. She just sat there, staring, lips buckled as if she had no teeth. I can still see her in my mind’s eye now. Then, I woke up. I knew that I had somehow astral projected. When I checked my phone, I saw that another Tornado Watch had just been issued.
Then last night, it happened again. I can no longer call this a coincidence.
I put my headphones in to listen to an audiobook about creating your own reality. I drifted into sleep but woke up in my home. Everything looked the same. I went to my daughter’s room, trying to find a YouTube video for her to fall asleep to. Oddly, all the thumbnails looked creepy—not entirely strange since she likes spooky things.
While I searched, she kept hopping in and out of bed, running back and forth to my bedroom to see her dad. I was trying to get her to settle down. The whole time, I could still hear my audiobook playing in the background from my real timeline. I was aware this time—I was not on my current timeline.
I even had an internal dilemma: should I leave this version of my daughter running around so I could wake myself up? But then I thought, Even if this isn’t my Cece, I have to make sure she goes to bed. It was so interesting. This version of Cece felt more like an energetic or circumstantial signature rather than a real, physical being.
Time, as we understand it, is linear—a series of past, present, and future events unfolding in a straight line. But what if that’s just our perception? From my understanding, disembodied souls don’t seem to follow this rigid structure. Instead, they can exist in memories or circumstances that are detached from time altogether. A medium might say, “Your mother’s soul is a child on the prairie where she grew up,” implying that a soul can reside within a past experience, reliving it over and over like a looping scene from a dream.
It’s as if souls can live inside memories, not just recall them but actually inhabit them. The idea makes me wonder—are these just echoes of the past, or are they as real as the present moment? And if memories can hold pieces of us beyond death, then maybe time isn’t a straight road at all. Maybe it’s more like a vast, interconnected web, where we slip between strands, reliving, revisiting, and sometimes, even getting lost in the spaces in between.
Finally, I got her in bed and woke up. I could still feel the rapid eye movement as I regained consciousness, and the audiobook was still playing. My body felt shaky. I also felt sad—but reassured.
I felt sad because I was reminded of the impersonal nature of our memories. These figments are just snapshots we can revisit, but they also raise the question: What is real? At the same time, I felt grateful for the now—for my daughter being small and for the little things, like our back-and-forth over what to watch on YouTube before bed.
Anyway, I woke up, turned on The Boondocks because my body was buzzing again. Then, a few hours later, I was startled awake by the wind. It sounded exactly like a tornado outside. My husband told me to go get our baby, and I ran to get her. We spent a few hours in the closet because, sure enough, there was a Tornado Watch, and the winds were insane.
That’s when I realized—I had that experience again during a tornado watch.
I don’t have these “dreams” of alternative realities at any other time. That’s what’s truly insane to me.
It’s no coincidence that The Wizard of Oz keeps coming to mind when I reflect on these experiences. Dorothy’s journey begins with a tornado—an unstoppable force that rips through her reality and deposits her somewhere both familiar and foreign. It’s not unlike what happens to me during these strange, in-between states. I “wake up” in my home, but something is always… off. The details are almost right, but not quite.
Dorothy’s biggest challenge isn’t just navigating Oz—it’s recognizing that Oz isn’t her true home. I relate to that deeply. In these alternate versions of my life, there’s always a moment when I realize something isn’t right. The missing furniture, the inability to feel my daughter’s presence, the eerie sensation that I don’t quite belong. And just like Dorothy, once I realize I’m in the wrong place, I become desperate to get back.
Most of all, the biggest theme in The Wizard of Oz is that home isn’t just a place—it’s a state of being. Dorothy’s ruby slippers were her key to leaving, but she had to realize she could leave before they would work. When I find myself in these other versions of my life, I always have that moment of panic: What if I can’t get back? What if I get stuck in the in-between, where things look like my life but aren’t? And yet, I always do wake up. But I never feel the same afterward.
Each time this happens, I wake up to a tornado watch in real life, as if the storm itself is a portal—an energetic threshold between dimensions. At this point, I can’t call it a coincidence. The real question is: What are these places and are they real?
Dreams, Mirrors, and the Unknown + Exploring the Thin Veil Between Realities
Lately, I’ve been speaking more about the 3D and interpersonal relationships. Today, I want to talk about some peculiar things I’ve noticed as a resident “in-betweener.” Last night served as confirmation of a hunch I’ve had since May—one that also connected some dots to experiences I’ve had before. Nothing can be explicitly proven, but this is my experience.
I’ve spoken before about dimensional shifts and how I’ve had dreams that didn’t feel like dreams. They always take place in my home, but I am acutely aware that I am not on my current timeline. Additionally, this phenomenon usually occurs in anticipation of, before, during, or after severe weather—particularly tornado watches or warnings. It really makes me think of The Wizard of Oz.
Back in May, after flying home from Maryland, I took a midday nap. As I drifted off, I saw a vision of a tornado. The sky looked gray and dusky. During this nap, I “woke up,” but my living room looked different. Something told me I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, but I decided to ride it out. Everything looked the same, except my dining table and chairs were missing. I decided to play along and look at myself in the mirror.
People often advise against looking in the mirror while astral projecting, but I did it anyway. When I did, I saw that I was several shades lighter, and my hair was long and parted down the middle. The only thing that confirmed it was really me were my eyes. This startled me, so I went back into the kitchen, where my husband was on the phone. I told him, “I don’t belong here.” He immediately told the person on the other end that he needed to get off the call.
I remember feeling a deep sense of doom, like I was stuck. I couldn’t feel my daughter’s presence in that space. I also knew that if I told anyone I was stuck in the wrong dimension or timeline, I would sound insane. I started wondering—who could even help me get back if I was stuck? I began to panic, fell to my knees, and started screaming, “WAKE ME UP!” over and over.
When I finally came to, I had sleep paralysis for a while. Once I fully regained consciousness, my entire body was buzzing. I felt off for most of the day. When I checked my phone, I saw that a Tornado Watch had just been issued.
Months later, I took another midday nap. I “woke up” and looked at my phone. I could see a number, but the text thread was empty. Shrugging it off, I went into the kitchen. I could hear my daughter playing upstairs, which puzzled me because, in real life, I had dropped her off at school. Clearly, my soul wasn’t fully aware that I wasn’t awake.
At my dining table, an older woman was sitting there. My husband was rummaging through the fridge when the doorbell rang. He went to retrieve a package. I asked him what he got, but he didn’t respond. That’s when I realized—he couldn’t see or hear me.
I looked at the older woman. In hindsight, she may have been an older version of me. She resembled my great-grandmother, Cora, a bit. She just sat there, staring, lips buckled as if she had no teeth. I can still see her in my mind’s eye now. Then, I woke up. I knew that I had somehow astral projected. When I checked my phone, I saw that another Tornado Watch had just been issued.
Then last night, it happened again. I can no longer call this a coincidence.
I put my headphones in to listen to an audiobook about creating your own reality. I drifted into sleep but woke up in my home. Everything looked the same. I went to my daughter’s room, trying to find a YouTube video for her to fall asleep to. Oddly, all the thumbnails looked creepy—not entirely strange since she likes spooky things.
While I searched, she kept hopping in and out of bed, running back and forth to my bedroom to see her dad. I was trying to get her to settle down. The whole time, I could still hear my audiobook playing in the background from my real timeline. I was aware this time—I was not on my current timeline.
I even had an internal dilemma: should I leave this version of my daughter running around so I could wake myself up? But then I thought, Even if this isn’t my Cece, I have to make sure she goes to bed. It was so interesting. This version of Cece felt more like an energetic or circumstantial signature rather than a real, physical being.
Time, as we understand it, is linear—a series of past, present, and future events unfolding in a straight line. But what if that’s just our perception? From my understanding, disembodied souls don’t seem to follow this rigid structure. Instead, they can exist in memories or circumstances that are detached from time altogether. A medium might say, “Your mother’s soul is a child on the prairie where she grew up,” implying that a soul can reside within a past experience, reliving it over and over like a looping scene from a dream.
It’s as if souls can live inside memories, not just recall them but actually inhabit them. The idea makes me wonder—are these just echoes of the past, or are they as real as the present moment? And if memories can hold pieces of us beyond death, then maybe time isn’t a straight road at all. Maybe it’s more like a vast, interconnected web, where we slip between strands, reliving, revisiting, and sometimes, even getting lost in the spaces in between.
Finally, I got her in bed and woke up. I could still feel the rapid eye movement as I regained consciousness, and the audiobook was still playing. My body felt shaky. I also felt sad—but reassured.
I felt sad because I was reminded of the impersonal nature of our memories. These figments are just snapshots we can revisit, but they also raise the question: What is real? At the same time, I felt grateful for the now—for my daughter being small and for the little things, like our back-and-forth over what to watch on YouTube before bed.
Anyway, I woke up, turned on The Boondocks because my body was buzzing again. Then, a few hours later, I was startled awake by the wind. It sounded exactly like a tornado outside. My husband told me to go get our baby, and I ran to get her. We spent a few hours in the closet because, sure enough, there was a Tornado Watch, and the winds were insane.
That’s when I realized—I had that experience again during a tornado watch.
I don’t have these “dreams” of alternative realities at any other time. That’s what’s truly insane to me.
It’s no coincidence that The Wizard of Oz keeps coming to mind when I reflect on these experiences. Dorothy’s journey begins with a tornado—an unstoppable force that rips through her reality and deposits her somewhere both familiar and foreign. It’s not unlike what happens to me during these strange, in-between states. I “wake up” in my home, but something is always… off. The details are almost right, but not quite.
Dorothy’s biggest challenge isn’t just navigating Oz—it’s recognizing that Oz isn’t her true home. I relate to that deeply. In these alternate versions of my life, there’s always a moment when I realize something isn’t right. The missing furniture, the inability to feel my daughter’s presence, the eerie sensation that I don’t quite belong. And just like Dorothy, once I realize I’m in the wrong place, I become desperate to get back.
Most of all, the biggest theme in The Wizard of Oz is that home isn’t just a place—it’s a state of being. Dorothy’s ruby slippers were her key to leaving, but she had to realize she could leave before they would work. When I find myself in these other versions of my life, I always have that moment of panic: What if I can’t get back? What if I get stuck in the in-between, where things look like my life but aren’t? And yet, I always do wake up. But I never feel the same afterward.
Each time this happens, I wake up to a tornado watch in real life, as if the storm itself is a portal—an energetic threshold between dimensions. At this point, I can’t call it a coincidence. The real question is: What are these places and are they real?