Mimi, of Baltimore, Maryland, had a TWIDDER that both fiddled with time and location. I like the explanations offered by the boat captain and the middle-aged Scottish lady—”fairy time,” or “walking into the mists.” I’ll have to remember those descriptions! Let’s catalogue this spacetime slip as an account of both a Lost Location AND Lost Time. (See original post at http://realityshifters.com/pages/yourstories30.html.)
I experienced a time shift this past summer on the Isle of Lunga, one of the Treshnish group of islands in the Hebrides west of Scotland. I had left the group as they photographed the puffins and other sea birds to further explore the island. It had been a gray rainy, all together typical, Scottish day. But as I distanced myself from the group, the day became beautiful, cloudless and warm. As I rounded the island I could see Staffa off in the distance. We’d been there in the morning and since I’d been there more than once, I recognized it as an old friend.
I could then see the landing area where our boat had picked up a landing ramp anchored off shore, and rammed it onto the rocks for us to disembark. But there was no boat, neither was there a landing ramp anchored anywhere. Strange I thought as I neared what I thought was the top of the hill which would lead me down to where we’d started. Only it wasn’t as it had appeared, instead it was the edge of a deep and narrow gorge beyond which I could see the hill descending to the landing area. I realized there was but one choice and that was to retrace my steps.
We’d been dropped off at about 1:45 and had been told to be back by 3:45. I looked at my watch and the time was 3:15. I panicked because it had taken me an hour and a half to get there and there was no way I could get back (recircling the island) in a half hour. I pictured either a boatload of angry people waiting impatiently as I scrambled over the rocks, or worse, that they’d leave without me.
Bearing in mind that I am 56 years old, a bit overweight and very out-of-shape, I tried to run. But one does not run on a volcanic island that is covered with brachan and peat. It’s uneven. So I tried to find the path, but couldn’t. This was getting serious and fast. I had only one choice and that was to circle back as best I could.
Yes, there was Staffa off to the upper left, (how can you get lost on a small island?), yes there was that big island that looked like a hat, Bac Mor. I had to be getting closer. Then I realized it was colder, darker, and drizzling – didn’t have time to turn around to see if it was sunny behind me – had to keep pressing forward. Finally I saw someone, a woman from our group, sitting on a rock looking through binoculars. I approached her and commented that I was relieved to see her as I’d wondered a bit too far and was afraid I’d be late. I asked her the time and she answered 3:15. I looked at my watch, sure enough, it was 3:15.
I didn’t say anything of course, just kept going and as I rounded the bend, there was the boat just offshore with the ramp still tied to it.
Later that night I went to a community gathering in the village. The boat captain was there and asked me how I’d liked Lunga. It was beautiful, I exclaimed. Funny, how the weather broke for that hour, I said. He looked at me a bit strangely and remarked that it had rained off and on the whole time. I told him about my experience expecting him to think I was crazy. But he said quite nonchalantly, that I’d obviously walked into the “fairy time.” “Yeah, right,” I answered, “let’s have fun with the American tourist!” He said he wasn’t kidding, that it happened sometimes. He said time stops on the outside, but continues on the inside. Sometimes people get lost in there and never come back, sometimes they come back and they’ve aged but the rest of the world hasn’t. He insisted that it wasn’t unusual. I didn’t believe him, still thought he was pulling my leg.
I went back into the hall to sit with my new Scottish friend, a local middle-aged lady whom I’d met when I first came to the village. It was she who’d invited me to the party. I then told her about my experience. Oh, she said, you’ve walked into the mists. She explained it could happen any time any place, but not that often. She’d never experienced it herself but had heard of others who had, although she’d never met them personally. She wanted to hear all about it and was excited for me that I’d experienced it. I told her I wish I’d known what was happening so I could have paid more attention and remembered more details.
I don’t really understand the time aspect of it. I personally believe that I passed into a parallel dimension – rather like the Glastonbury/Avalon myth. I have photographs too. Most show a gray misty day but a few show the sunny day I’d experienced.
Now I’m pretty level headed, a Unitarian, so obviously liberal. But not really into metaphysics. My gentleman friend has a Ph.D. in Physics and does Neuroscience research at the University of Maryland. I finally told him about it, expecting him to laugh. But he said that time is relative and really just a human invention to try to order our world. He said there’s probably a way of explaining it scientifically, but that “time” wasn’t his field.
So there you have it. What do you think?