*Vision archive: Jeane Dixon (2a) -- 20 Nov 1999


From *My Life and Prophecies* (1969) by Jeane Dixon.


Chapter 2:  The Dove

    It was my old friend, Victor Werner, who unknowingly set the
stage for one of my most surprising visions.
    Mr. Werner came to see me one day and during our conversation
proudly told me that he was about to receive a medal which had been
awarded to  him at the close of World War I by King Albert of
Belgium.  Naturally I wondered out loud why he had never before
received it.
    . . .
    . . .  [E]ven though this award had been officially granted, Mr.
Werner never actually received the decoration because he worked for
the United States Government.  At that time medals and decorations
issued by another government could not be accepted by persons working
in the Civil Service. . . .
    As he was now officially retiring and the State Department would
release the decoration, Mr. Werner mentioned how nice it would be if
the medal could be presented to him by the Belgian ambassador, . . .
    I agreed and contacted my friend, His Excellency Baron van
Scheyven, the ambassador from Belgium, and asked him if he would have
a little presentation ceremony.
    To my great delight the Baron consented.  Not only did he agree
to present the decoration to Mr. Werner personally, but he would also
arrange a reception at the Embassy in his honor.  Tuesday afternoon,
September 12, 1967, was the designated date.
    Thirty-one years had passed since King Albert had bestowed the
award, but Belgium had not forgotten Victor Werner.
    Washington is beautiful in the fall.  The smoldering heat that
envelops the city in summer has turned to a gentle warmth interrupted
by a burst of crisp fresh air.  Everyday more leaves change to
vibrant autumn colors harmonizing with the season, and flocks of
little white clouds appear in the azure-blue sky to make the
spectacle more breath-taking.
    September 12 was just such a day.
    The ambassador’s invitation was for a reception at four o’clock.
    When we entered the Embassy’s exquisite drawing room, we were
moved by its beauty and elegance. . . .
    . . .
    By experience I know that embassy receptions are quite similar. .
. .  Yet I sensed that this occasion would be different.  How and in
what manner I did not quite know, yet the feeling persisted.
    As the decoration was given for the humanitarian deeds performed
by Mr. Werner during World War I, much of the conversation preceding
the actual ceremony related to that war.  Guests were reminiscing and
sharing their experiences of how the war had affected their lives in
different parts of the world.
    My eyes roamed along the ceiling of that elegantly appointed
room, down the wall, until I was looking through the open terrace
doors watching the clouds nudge each other, gently, delicately . . .
    Then it happened!  Just as Baron van Scheyven began the
presentation, a small dove appeared, flying under the terrace awning
and through the doors into the drawing room.  With a soft fluttering
of wings he circled the room.
    My heart smiled.
    “Oh, Mr. Ambassador,” I cried happily, “how fortunate!  This is a
good omen -- a special sign!  It signifies something of tremendous
international importance.”
    By now the guests were watching the dove.  He circled the room
once more, alighting on a magnificent crystal chandelier, one of a
pair adorning the room.
    The ambassador became slightly flustered and called for both his
secretary and butler.  Sensing that he would attempt to remove the
dove, I interrupted.
    “Oh, please do not, Mr. Ambassador,” I pleaded.  “You do not
realize how much the appearance of this dove means!  Just leave him
there, please . . . please!” . . .
    . . .
    “I am sorry, Mrs. Dixon.  This is the first time anything like
this has ever happened.  In the eight years that we have lived here
these doors have been opened many times before, but never has a bird
of any kind flown into the Embassy . . . please believe me!”
    I did not question in then, for I felt God had sent this dove for
a specific purpose.
    [The secretary returned with a newspaper.]  Now everyone became
an expert in strategy, and with advice from all the guests as to its
most beneficial position, the paper soon covered the Aubusson --
directly beneath the branch of sparkling crystal on which the dove
was perched.
    [The award was presented.]
    . . .
    “Let’s enjoy the terrace,” the ambassador suggested, strolling
toward the open doors.  One by one the guests followed, forming small
groups.
    Suddenly Jimmy [Jeane’s husband] called our attention back to the
dove.
    “Look!” he exclaimed.  “Look at the dove . . . he seems to be
following us.”
    Quickly I turned and, reentering the drawing room, spoke to the
little dove in soft, caressing tones.
    “Come here, little one,” I coaxed.  “Come and let me hold you.”
    Just as though he understood my words, he circled around again
and flew directly to me, touching down gently on my outstretched
right hand.
    With the dove in the palm of my hand I slowly turned and walked
back onto the terrace, talking to him softly.
    The dove’s unusual response to me attracted everyone’s
attention.  All conversation ceased; every eye was on us, aware that
something was happening beyond what they were seeing.
    The dove nestled in my hand and watched my face intently as if
afraid to missing one single word.  His tiny black eyes never wavered
but kept looking at me with great serenity.
    Was he telling me something?  I was not sure, but I stopped
talking nevertheless and tried to concentrate with him on whatever
his coming was meant to convey.
    God reveals Himself and His plans in many ways, and when He sets
the stage, no power or person can stop Him!
    My mind’s eye can often look deep into the far beyond, and my
mind’s ear can sometimes tune in to the far sounds of heaven, but
this time I not only saw and heard, but *felt* -- God omnipresent,
God controlling and God directing every capsule of time and space.
Gone from my consciousness was the reception, gone were the people
and Victor Werner.  I was alone with the Eternal One, and felt
reverently awed, and was experiencing again that beautiful unearthly
quiet in the vast unending space of the great beyond.
    Hardly conscious of moving, I stepped onto the terrace, the dove
in my hand.  People moved a little, off to one side, and to me it
seemed as if the Red Sea were parting again.
    Visions came to me . . . scenes of what would be.
    It was as if I were not me -- a mortal -- any more, but a spirit
of consciousness -- off somewhere in vast, unbounded space, looking
down the years at things to come.
    I could feel the earth shake and tremble underfoot.  Then it
seemed as though the world had stopped rotating on its axis.  I saw
that in this century there will be many geological and geographical
changes and many earthquakes . . . rivers will cease to flow, and
others will alter their courses.  Where water is now, there will be
land, and where there is land today, wild, swirling water will rush
in and destroy everything in its path.
    It was then that I saw the blazing Cross appear in the eastern
skies high over a dark and lonely hill.  It was great and magnificent
. . . ominous and foreboding, yet so majestic and full of love that I
knew it was the Cross of Christ!
    Waves of thunder and lightning rolled in succession until all
creation seemed to be echoing the same sound that enveloped the earth
when He created it.  And then there was silence . . . and suddenly I
felt no longer alone.  All sound had retreated into the great void,
and instead peace and tranquillity covered the devastated earth.
    Everyone in the world was somehow seeing the Cross with me!  And
it came to me that everyone witnessing this spectacle understood
clearly that it was the illuminating Light of God within themselves!
    They knew, as did I, that we no longer needed “the moon or stars
by night, or  sun to shine by day” -- each one of us was experiencing
the spiritual glory of the Light of God within.
    And the world, and all its peoples, stood still.
    Entranced, I started to raise the dove up and let him go, but
Somone[*] guided my hand down again, and as it came to rest I heard
the voice of our Lord Jesus say, “Now you are ALL my disciples!”
    I heard -- and hearing I *knew* -- for He made His meaning clear
beyond question -- that the day will come when religions as we know
them today, Christian, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist, will be no more, and we
will all indeed be true disciples of Jesus.
    And with this flash of perfect understanding came His
compassionate voice again:
    “Now you are all my disciples!”
    I kept listening, but the voice had retracted its soft-sounding
echoes and was gone.
    Once again I was mortal.  All sights and sounds had retreated
into the great beyond.
    My hand rose up into the air, to bid the dove farewell.
He slowly positioned himself in my hand and, his message delivered,
without a backward glance he spread his soft feathered wings and flew
westward into the setting sun.
    The vision had ended.
    . . .
    Much has been prophesied for the years following 1999 when this
vision will become a reality . . . and much will happen before that
day.  Yet I believe that the sounding of that voice heralded a new
era of understanding, of love and devotion, for the sign of the dove
is the sign of God’s continuing love and plans for all of us.


Chapter 4:  The Future that Was

    . . .
    [The Apollo experience began] when I first met Jean Stout, wife
of a retired Navy commander who, at that time (September 1965), had
become Chief, Mission Operations, of the Office of Manned Space
Flight. . . .
    . . .
    [T]here was nothing enjoyable or inspirational about what
happened when we lunched together at the Mayflower Hotel in
Washington on December 20, 1966, when Jean asked me to meditate on
the future of the space program.
    “I am interested in the Apollo program.  How does it look?”
    I held out my hand to her.
    “You have something in your purse that has to do with the
Apollo,” I countered.  “May I have a look at it?”
    Jean opened her purse.
    “Is this it?” she questioned while showing me a memo pad on which
was a sticker seal of the Apollo.
    “No.  It is something cubicle . . .”
    Jean was perplexed, but searching further, she found a little
gold plastic cube that held an Apollo tie tack which Fred had brought
back with him from Cape Kennedy.
    “Is this it?
    I nodded.
    “But how in the world could you know I had that thing?” she
exclaimed, somewhat puzzled.  “Fred got it only yesterday and dropped
it into my purse as we drove in this morning . . .”
    I didn’t answer but instead took the top off the tiny module and
peeked inside.  There they were -- three miniature astronauts,
reclining on their couches.  I stared at them and felt a sudden wave
of pity engulfed me.  Jean commented later on that she noticed a
tremendous change come over me -- as if I had suddenly discovered
death in Paradise.
    “Jean,” I said softly, “there’s death in this program . . .”
Horror filled me as I watched what was unfolding before my eyes.
“Jean, there is going to be a loss of life in this module before the
end of January.  Three men will die in the capsule, but not
necessarily in flight.  What is going to happen will happen due to
negligence.  It can be avoided if the wiring is checked and rechecked
and carefully examined.  There is nothing, however, that your husband
can do about it.
    “There’s also something strange about the floor of that capsule,”
I went on.  “It seems so thin that it almost resembles tinfoil.  I am
afraid that a tool dropped on it or a heel pushed firmly against it
would go right through it.
    “And under the floor” -- for a moment I stopped, groping for the
right words -- “under the floor I see a great clump of tangled wires
. . .”
    I took another close look at the capsule.
    “I see a terrible fiery catastrophe . . . and it will cause the
astronauts’ deaths . . . I sense their souls leaving the blazing
capsule in puffs of smoke . . .”
    Both of us were shaken, and when Jean Stout put the capsule with
the three little men back in her purse, it was as if she reverently
put the men to rest.
    We parted quietly, each with her own thoughts of the impending
disaster.
    Since Fred Stout had flown back to Cape Kennedy, Jean had
arranged to meet two friends of hers and ride home with them.
Discussing what I had told her, they advised Jean not to tell her
husband inasmuch as he wouldn’t take it seriously anyway.
    When, however, Fred arrived at the airport just prior to the
Christmas holidays, Jean did tell him anyway and his response was
just about what she had expected.
    “You sure have a collection of astonishing friends, honey,” he
remarked humorously.  “We’re not having a flight that soon, so you’d
just as well forget about her prediction.”
    “But Jeane Dixon didn’t say it would happen in *flight*,” she
emphasized.  “She just said it would happen!  And there’s something
else I want to tell you too -- Jeane said something about the floor
of the space capsule, something about it being very much like tinfoil
and that a man could almost put his foot through it . . .”
    Fred registered distinct surprise and after a mystified pause
made some comment under his breath about some space designs being
different -- very different.
    Then the following month, on January 27, 1967, it happened!  An
uncontrollable blaze charred three promising young astronauts beyond
recognition while they were testing the Apollo capsule on Cape
Kennedy, leaving a stunned America in a state of shock.
    . . .


Chapter 5:  Psychic Visions Turned Reality

    . . .
    Many people did not believe me when, at the time of the Kennedy
inauguration, I predicted that not only would Jacqueline Kennedy add
much glamour and many stars to her husband’s crown but would end up
losing some stars in her crown.
    “Impossible,” many of my friends commented . . .
    . . .
    Her dignity, her royal bearing, and her inspiring discipline
during the mournful days following her husband’s assassination caused
France’s President Charles de Gaulle to say, “She gave an example to
the whole world of how to behave.”
    If anything was happening to her crown, it was just the opposite
of what I had predicted, but when a short time after the President’s
death Jacqueline and her sister, Princess Lee Radziwill, appeared in
public with Marlon Brando, many people who knew about my prediction
contacted me.
    “Is this her mistake?” they asked.  “Is this going to affect her
‘crown’?”
    My constant denials became almost monotonous.
    “No, this is not it,” I kept telling them, and, “No, her mistake
will come *after* she has moved to New York.”
    “How about the big house she just bought in Georgetown?” I was
asked.  “Does this not indicate that she is going to remain here?”
    “*Her reputation will suffer as the result of something that has
to do with a book*,” I finally replied, having not the slightest
premonition as to how a book would become involved in this.  I had
not heard of any specific books being written about Mrs. Kennedy, nor
did I know of anyone planning to write a book.  When it was
announced, however, that William Manchester had been requested to
write a book about the President’s death, I knew that was it.
    “It has finally happened, Rose,” I said to my friend.  “This book
will bring about the mistake that will weaken her pedestal.”  And
when the book was published, it did just that.  In fact, it started
during the final days preceding publication when a  disagreement
between the Kennedys on one side and William Manchester on the other
resulted in a legal battle over who had the right to make the final
changes in the manuscript.  A nationwide survey indicated that, as a
result of this controversy, one-third of the people polled had lost
faith in Jacqueline Kennedy.
    There is no doubt that she had a right -- a responsibility -- to
object to anything in the book that would tend to invade the privacy
of her own immediate family.  The agreement she had drawn up with
William Manchester specified just that.  She had, in fact, the right
to read the manuscript and make the changes herself.  When it finally
came to a reading of the manuscript, however, she delegated this
responsibility to others and then complained to the publisher that
not all corrections had been made prior to publication.  She asked
for further changes at the last moment.  This caused such a furor
that the items she wanted to delete form the manuscript were printed
the world over, thus producing a hundred times more readership than
they would have had otherwise.
    Many of my visions seem to foretell the impossible -- as was the
case with the vision about Jacqueline Kennedy.  Yet it came true.
Another one that falls into the same category concerns the eventual
return of Russia to Christianity.
    For a long time now I have known that Russia is being made ready
to undergo a tremendous change.  It was made clear to me in a vision,
however, that this development would take place in the distant
future.  The Russian altar I saw was far away, but I saw that, once
again, the alter of Christian churches would be within the reach of
the people of Russia.  This religious revival will be a part of  a
general renaissance -- a rebirth of faith in Jesus Christ.

    (continued)


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