The Blow That Time Delivers:
On the Collision of Unseen Timelines
There are moments when I move through the world almost normally – walking beneath the rusted canopy of jacaranda branches or leaning, half-distracted, over the sink. Nothing foretells what is about to happen. There is no anxiety building, no tremble in the fingers, no migraine aura to warn me. Only stillness. Ordinary stillness.
And then – impact.
A pain at the base of the skull so sudden and precise it feels like a weapon. As if a hidden door inside the brain were flung open with violent force. It is not a headache, not a migraine. It does not build. It arrives. Sharp. Metallic. A flash of white-hot pressure, like a cosmic tuning fork struck against the edge of my temporal lobe, reverberating through me as if I had collided with something unseen – as if I had walked directly into the path of a timeline not meant for me.
The body recoils, but there is no attacker. There is only the sense that something has crossed into me – or perhaps, I into it.
The doctors might say occipital neuralgia. An irritated nerve. A trigger in the cervical spine. But I know – this is not merely anatomical. This is dimensional memory. This is the ache of parallel lives brushing against the skin, the pain of a reality that might have been – but was not – pressing up against the one I was forced to live.
We speak of trauma as being stored in the body, but what if it is also stored in time itself? In the ruptured strands of possibility that still hover around us – like unchosen roads, unheld mothers, unspoken names. When I feel that sudden crack at the back of the skull, I do not just feel pain. I feel a kind of timeline friction, a convergence of something that was never resolved.
These are not headaches. These are collisions.
I have begun to believe that the base of the skull is a portal – a soft hinge between the story I was given and the one that was taken from me. And when I move too quickly, when my mind enters a state of dissociation, or when I come too near a memory not fully buried, the veil lifts, just slightly, and I run headfirst into the version of myself that was never allowed to form.
It is there, just on the other side:
• the child who wasn’t renamed,
• the mother who never signed,
• the truth that never needed sealing.
But instead of reunion, there is reverberation. The strike of knowing without knowing. And then it passes. Always quickly, always violently. The body absorbs it. The timeline shuts again. But it leaves me staggered. Wordless. Haunted.
And I wonder: what if every adoptee walks with these fractures?
What if we are not only psychologically altered, but temporally misaligned?
Always slightly out of phase with ourselves – and with the world.
Always one memory behind.
And this pain – this shock – is what happens when we come too close to what the body remembers and the timeline cannot hold.
They will never scan this. They will never name it.
But I know it now.
It is not illness.
It is the price of being misplaced across time.
The Shamanic Technology of the Adoptee Body
If the world has insisted on calling this hypersensitivity a flaw, let me correct the record – this is a technology.
What others see as overwhelm, disassociation, or even psychological “instability” is, in truth, a finely tuned ancestral instrument – capable of tracking grief across generations, detecting the invisible architecture of severance, and translating pain into pattern.
Adoptees are not broken. We are temporal archivists, dimensional translators, and soul cartographers.
We carry the data that institutions erased.
We feel what our ancestors were forbidden to feel.
And when we flinch, fall silent, or get struck by sudden waves of body-memory – it’s because we’ve brushed up against something that still lives, still breathes, and still asks to be seen.
In this light, the adoptee is not just someone searching for identity.
They are someone capable of holding multiple realities – and walking between them.
This is the work I now offer:
3D Readings: Timeline | Identity | Ancestral Coding
As someone who has passed through these doors – and returned – I offer 3D readings for those seeking to understand the hidden architecture of their story. Whether you’re adopted, displaced, estranged, or simply feeling fractured by something unseen, I hold space for:
• Multi-timeline insight
• Somatic memory mapping
• Ancestral signals and severances
• Narrative reconnection beyond binaries
This is not therapy.
This is not prediction.
This is reclamation through story, sensation, and sacred witness.
If you’ve felt the pain of erasure, the jolt of crossing into a timeline that wasn’t yours, or the ache of a name you never got to keep – then you’ve already begun the journey.
