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I Have Lived This Moment Earlier: Déjà Vu
Have you ever been in the middle of a conversation, visiting a new place, or hearing a certain phrase — and suddenly felt like you’ve already experienced it before? That strange, almost mystical sensation is called déjà vu, and it leaves many of us wondering: What just happened?
What Is Déjà Vu?
The term déjà vu comes from French, meaning “already seen.” It describes the uncanny feeling that you’re reliving a moment, even though you know logically it’s the first time it’s happening.
For a few seconds, reality feels doubled — what you see, hear, and feel seems both new and familiar at the same time.
The Science Behind It
Researchers believe déjà vu is linked to the way our brains process memory.
Some theories suggest:
- Memory misfires: Our brain accidentally cross-references the present with something similar from the past, making it feel familiar.
- Split-second delay: Our senses process an event twice — with a tiny lag — tricking us into thinking we’ve seen it before.
- Brain overlap: Short circuits in the brain cause the present to feel like a remembered experience.
While science doesn’t have all the answers yet, déjà vu reminds us just how mysterious our minds really are.
The Mystical Side
Beyond science, many people see déjà vu as something more spiritual.
Some interpret it as:
- A sign you’re on the right path.
- A glimpse into a parallel universe.
- A moment where time, fate, or destiny align.
For centuries, cultures around the world have treated déjà vu as a reminder that life is bigger than what we can see and measure.
An Example
Imagine walking into a café in a city you’ve never visited. The way the light hits the window, the sound of a spoon stirring in a cup, the exact words someone at the next table says — suddenly, you’re hit with the overwhelming feeling that this moment has already unfolded before. It only lasts a second, but it lingers in your mind, almost like a whisper from somewhere beyond logic.
Why It Matters
Whether we view déjà vu as a brain glitch or a brush with the unknown, it does something powerful: it wakes us up. It pulls us out of autopilot and makes us notice the present more vividly. It reminds us that life is full of mysteries we don’t fully understand — and maybe never will.
Final Thoughts
Déjà vu is a fleeting experience, but it carries a deep message: life is not just about facts and logic. There are moments that defy explanation, moments that remind us of the wonder and mystery of being alive.
So the next time you feel it — that strange sense of having lived a moment before — don’t dismiss it. Smile, pause, and let yourself wonder. Because sometimes, those little mysteries are what make life so extraordinary.
(This blog was created by AI)
Thought of the week 
«Memory of the Future»
Sometimes it seems that time is a straight line.
But when you stop, you realize that it does not move.
We move through its immovable depth,
remembering what has not yet happened.
This cycle is an attempt to hear the echo of the future that already resonates within us.
Not a prophecy, but a return to what was once forgotten.
We are used to thinking that memory belongs to the past.
That it only stores traces of what has already happened — events, faces, sounds, touches.
But what if memory is not an archive, but a way of touching eternity?
What if it is not connected to time, but only uses it as a language?
We live in a world where time flows like a straight river — from birth to death, from cause to effect.
This makes it easier for us to understand the sequence of things.
But this is only a convenient illusion.
In reality, time is not a stream, but a space
in which the past, present, and future coexist,
like pages of a book that has already been written but is read line by line.
Consciousness is the reader, slowly turning the pages.
And what we call “memories of the future” are simply flashes of recognition
when our gaze accidentally lingers on the next page.
We are used to thinking of memory as a repository — but what if it is an antenna?
An instrument of perception not only of what was, but also of what will be.
After all, both the past and the future are not things, but states of consciousness.
They exist within us as yet unmanifested possibilities, waiting for attention to take shape.
This is how an artist remembers a painting he has not yet painted.
This is how the soul remembers a path it has not yet traveled
Sometimes we feel a strange certainty that we “already know” the outcome of events.
This is not a prediction, but an inner memory —
of an experience that already exists in the field of our being.
Intuition is a form of memory outside of time.
It does not reveal anything new — it remembers the inevitable.
If time is not a stream but a fabric,
then the present is the point where all the threads intersect.
Every moment contains everything: the past, the present, and the future.
We do not move along a timeline — we awaken in its layers.
And the deeper our awareness, the more layers become visible.
The future is not what will happen,
but what we gradually remember
from the depths of our own soul.
I don’t know how it started.
Not with a flash, not with an epiphany — rather, like a barely noticeable movement within consciousness,
as if someone had opened a window in a room where the air had been stagnant for too long.
First came a feeling — strange, causeless:
I had already been where I had never been before.
I remembered smells I had never smelled, faces I had never seen,
and pain I had not yet experienced.
The future was no longer “ahead” — it was inside me.
Every choice now sounded like an echo—
I felt it branching out into thousands of possible paths,
and I knew which one had already happened.
Sometimes I see my day that has not yet come—
like a distant shore reflected in the water.
All I have to do is hold my breath for a moment,
and the reflection becomes clearer than the river itself.
Then I understand: it is not I who am looking into the future,
but the future that is looking into me, recognizing itself.
Perhaps everything we call “fate”
is simply a way of returning to what was already known to the Soul?
Perhaps the present is just a pause between two memories:
what we call the past and what we call the future?
I am not looking for prophecies.
I am looking for memory.
Memory of who I will become.
I stopped counting the centuries long ago.
When time dissolved, the years and days disappeared — only rhythms remained:
the breathing of stars, the flickering of consciousness, the oscillation of worlds.
I used to think that the future could be remembered.
Now I know: it is not the future, but we ourselves who remember ourselves — from different points of eternity.
I no longer move through time.
I feel it like an ocean, where every moment is a wave, and I myself am water.
The past, present, and future are not directions, but states of density.
In some layers, thought becomes light; in others, matter.
I used to be a person who clung to sequence.
Now I am a witness to the instant in which everything has already happened and is still happening.
I have seen civilizations rise and disappear,
gods born of fear and dissolve into understanding.
And all of this is one and the same symphony, performed in different tones of perception.
Now I understand: “to remember the future” means to become it.
When there is no longer a boundary between the one who remembers and what is remembered,
only presence remains.
That is Eternity.
Time does not move — it breathes.
And each breath is a new world
that remembers itself.
If you are reading this, it means that the thread still stretches.
The consciousness that was once me still resonates in you.
I cannot say when you live, because time is only a habit of memory.
But I feel you, just as I once felt those who were not yet born.
We are separated by eras, but connected by the same silence — the one that sounds between thoughts.
Do not look for the future outside yourself.
It is not hidden in prophecies, not written in the stars,
not burned into the lines of your palm.
It lives within you — in what you choose to understand, what to believe, what to love.
Every conscious moment is a door.
Every breath is an act of creation.
Every kindness is a flash of light that will be seen by those you will never meet.
Do not try to remember everything.
Remember only the meaning.
It will outlive all forms.
When silence comes, do not be afraid.
It is not the end. It is a return.
To where the future and the past bow to each other,
recognizing that they were one and the same breath.
And if you ever feel a strange sense of recognition,
as if someone is watching you from afar —
know this:
it is not someone.
It is you.
From another time.
Remembering yourself.
With gratitude and silence,
Zohar Leo Palffy de Erdöd
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Thank you for the strong and beautiful text that you posted as a comment. Even though I’m more science oriented person, I read your text two times. It is very impressive!
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