24 November 2017

Past Life Hypnosis pt. 2

Everything in my mind is darkness.

"I don't see anything," I tell the hypnotist. My words crumple the room, falling deep into my throat.

"Wait until you do," he assures me. I concentrate on not moving. My mind seems profoundly empty. I am wandering through the dark, arms outstretched. My ears are piked, listening.

Think of something, think of something. 

And then it starts to appear, like a memory triggered by smell. A mix of worry and dark images. My cheeks go cold and I open my eyes to see my hair in the wind. It whips across my face and I know that it is dark and very long. As I pull it away from my eyes I feel a familiar ache-I am looking for someone I know I won't be able to find. I want to ride a horse to him. It is known that it is a him. I turn and I am next to a horse, but it's my horse and this I just know. I am in the moors and I am in Ireland. I am firm in the ground, I am firm in the hypnotist's chair, but these are my memories.

I have a message. And I have dread.

There is a small castle on a cliff and I mount my horse so that I can ride to it. My face is cold, the tips of my nose and my cheeks. My eyelashes are covered in salt and I hear the ocean not far away. With a small hand, I gather the dark hair and tuck it into the collar of my coat. It is wool and itches the skin it comes into contact with, but I am grateful for it's warmth.

The room I am lying in has lost its reality and I am drifting into the middle of two worlds it would seem. I am present perfect in both.

I ride and ride. I am both a good rider in this time and in my real life. It is difficult for me to tell if I am remembering what it is like to ride a horse, to find your rhythm with the animals, to move when it moves, but I try not to think of what I know. I focus on this memory of where I am a familiar rider.

I come to a castle on the edge of a gray cliff. There is a gate that reaches above me and people in the court, carrying barrels, moving animals. I see my friend, he is young, but so am I. His teeth are spaced and his hair is long and red.

"Do you recognize this person in your life?" I hear the hypnotist ask.

"No," I tell him. "But he is my best friend."

"He is your best friend? Is he your brother?"

"No, we are just friends."

He and I start speaking. I am off my horse and now I see that we are the same size, but I have the foresight women gain before boy. Or maybe I am a psychic, I just seem to know things. We begin to speak about a battle that is expected to come, but I think that it will be more men than they are expecting. I think that no one is really ready, but my worries are dismissed because I have been wrong before.

"What have you been wrong about before?" the hypnotist asks me.

"I've predicted things that have not come true," I tell him.

"How does that make you feel?"

"I feel angry and worried. I know that I am right this time. I know that this battle will be bigger than they know."

The boy and I hug and I ride my dark horse to a hill above the castle and I see the clashing of men. Hundreds of ruthless herds, teeth thrashing. Some of it looks like Game of Thrones and as I recall these moments, I dismiss them because I know they are not my own. Images from movies are breaking through. This is not my past memory, this is my imagination. But the worries for my friend begin to pump through me harder and harder and after awhile I think to myself that his father must be dead because the castle has been overtaken. I go to a camp with a fire and I hear murmurs around me. I hurt for my friend who must now grow up without a father. How can a boy become a man? How do boys become men?

"Lisa, I'm going to ask you again: do you know this boy?"

"I do," I tell him, suddenly realizing. "It's my brother. That boy is my brother, Bob."

I slip pack into the hypnosis, deeper now. I know that we never speak again after his father dies. I just love him from afar.


Years pass without recollection. I think that I must have always been so cold. My country is all night time. I meet a man with dark skin, darker than anyone I have ever seen before. He comes to my village with an ability to heal and is very well-respected. He and I are married when we are both the right age, but I worry what people think when we walk together. I dream of us being hidden from the world. I think that I need to hide him from what the world could do to him.

These things I remember very quickly.

It takes almost no prodding and I feel as though I am physically running from scene-to-scene. I can see and feel everything. My husband's face is so clear that I don't even trust myself. I must have seen him before, but yet I cannot place him in my current world. 

I have complex feelings towards him; I feel very protective and defensive over him. I know he is not treated the way he should be and I feel shame about this. He comforts me and we speak frequently about leaving Ireland, but he prefers to stay. He has work to be done, there are things I cannot understand about the world beyond.

The hypnotist asks me one hundred times if I know who he is, but I do not. I think I may not have met him yet. 

And then suddenly I am very ill. I lay in bed with full sweats for months upon months. I have full body sweats and I dehydrate. I have a nurse who is my closest friends and cares for me while I hurl towards an early death. We bond as I lay dying. 

The hypnotist asks if I know my nurse and once again I recognize her only in my present life, but I do know who she is. 

"It's my mom," I tell him. "My mom is my nurse."

My husband comes to my bed, but I tell him I do not want him to watch me die. I believe this moment and even in this life, I would be too proud to die in front of someone I loved. 

My nurse holds my hair back as I vomit off the mattress. I claw at my throat in the chair in the hypnotist's office. 

"How do you feel?" he asks me. 

"I want to die," I tell him. "I am in so much pain."

"Then die."

I see myself roll over. My skin is yellow and wet. My eyes bulge from my head, wild and dark. I watch the light of my life go out and then suddenly I am filled with peace. I hear the hypnotist begin a prayer, but I sink under and under until it has all ended and I am dazed and being led out of the room.

I meet Ben in the waiting room and we walk into the sunlight and I think that all the cars are driving backward down the street. We take the train back three stop to our apartment and the cars seem to rearrange themselves politely back on the road.


I wish I could write to you and tell you how to do things. I want to write about my true darks. I wish I could pen what it's like to call your mother after something like this. Really capture the mood of quiet. Maybe one day I'll write this story enough and I'll be good enough to tell you how it is. 

It's always dark outside when I walk home from work. I get off the train and Montrose and there is this point where the crowd disperses and I'm walking alone and that's when it hits me. I feel it swell up inside of me, my own personal thunderstorm. I hold it in sometimes, I suppose, but mostly I cry openly because it's dark and there are lots of trees and because really, I can't not cry. It is the darkest part of my day and there is nothing glamorous about it, there is nothing I can do to stop it. I walk like this for seven minutes, about two songs. And then I get home and there are cats begging for food and lights that need to be turned on and dinner that needs to be made, projects that I want to work on. So I stop crying and it's over. The storm sinks back into the ocean. 

I am just a 27-year-old girl cooking dinner for her boy in her apartment filled with trees. Nothing magical. Just a life continuing on. 

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