My computer’s onboard dictionary defines it as:

telepathy |tɪˈlɛpəθi|


the supposed communication of thoughts or ideas by means other than the known senses.

Succinct, but somehow a bit unsatisfying.

The conventional scientific notion is that telepathy
… simply isn’t. But not all science, to be fair—some universities are quietly conducting research. But given that contradictions cannot exist, and given that I have done it:  either conventional science is mistaken or I am. When I’ve done something myself I can’t doubt that it is possible, even though I haven’t a clue how it works.

Years ago whilst working for the government, for an hour each day I had a very boring role, so whilst staying alert and doing my job I doodled. The image below is of a photocopy of one of my doodles—it was lunch time, I was peckish, I was bored, I doodled. Sue me.

My one …

Note if you will that Spouse isn’t normally given to doodling. And my pet name for her at that time (as it had been for years, and actually still is) was “House-mouse”.  So—?

My drawing is to our left … meanwhile some forty kilometres away by road (I hated that commute!) Spouse was wrapping up for her own lunch; had a sudden out-of-the-blue notion to doodle before going off to nibble whatever it is that artists have for their lunches … see drawing over to our right:

Her one …

This of course is easily written off as pure coincidence. Or not, but wait, it gets even more better yet—

—part of my commute involved Auckland’s western motorway. Unconventional hours, I was on my way in to work for a two o’clock (afternoon) start; minding my own business on a virtually empty 2-lane motorway (it couldn’t happen now).

No cars behind, just one nondescript car dawdling along in front. I pulled over to the fast lane and passed. Tried to pass, just as I was parallel the guy—for no apparent reason—decided to change lanes.

It was one helluva bang, completely unjustified in the amount of damage caused (merely bent a door handle) but the guy’s head whipped round and the look on his face almost made up for what he’d done. Life is full of rude awakenings, I hope he spilled his coffee for weeks.

I pulled over to the side of the road to discuss his efforts but he just planted his boot and roared off. I waited till the effects of adrenalin spent themselves then carried on to work, completely unaware that my beloved fiancée (Spouse today) was now frantically wondering how to get hold of me (pre cellphone days and she was under strict instructions to never contact me at work).

At the same time as I had my unexpected shot of adrenalin she’d one too whilst quietly doing whatever it is that artists do with pens and pencils and things—she told me afterwards that she just knew something terrible had happened to me on my way in—and she’d been fretting the rest of the day until I got home around midnight (at which point I was met at the door and copped the full broadside that only worry and frustration can deliver).

Nothing terrible, just a fright and minor damage (the collision, that is, the welcome home made up for everything).

I now cut to the chase and put it down to telepathy but won’t even begin to list all the ‘scientific’ explanations. Coincidence? Yeah … certainly, if it makes you happy.

WE (SPOUSE AND I) HAVE DONE TELEPATHY but we can not do telepathy. Not to order, try as we might and we have tried, mightily. But far too often to be coincidence we’ve both burst into the same tune or voiced the same out-of-context thoughts (we don’t count those).

Shakespeare put it for us—

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy …




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