A member of the Mandela Effected Community tweeted a link to Allison Coe’s YouTube channel. I found this, “Past Life Regression from Worldwide Regression Day,” and listened while out walking and praying to G-d that this cough isn’t another cold.
I’m not supposed to do this while walking. But I did it anyway, because… what the hell. I’m a renegade.
It kinda sorta worked. The lady’s voice is so soothing, she put me in an altered state of consciousness within five minutes. I barely remember anything of my walk, only her voice and the images she helped me recover from my lives.
We were supposed to go back in time, then forward, to the future. Find one life in the past that meant something to us, that we’re drawn to in this moment. Then, shoot to later on in our current lives.
I didn’t cooperate with everything she instructed us to do. But she said that was okay.
I didn’t see a space ship or some outer vehicle to transport me through time. I was the time traveling machine — a human superimposed with wings, a black bird and dragon, iridescent glowing amber-white-yellow.
Somewhere in the present, a crow flew overhead, knowing I was on the right path…
I didn’t go back to a time when I was royalty. I wasn’t famous at all. I was a nobody, a thrown away child, dirty little boy lost.
When I became aware of my surroundings, I also didn’t follow the regression playbook in that the scenario kept shifting, superimposing in on itself, playing out simultaneously. I heard before I saw: loud, high-pitched raucous ugly voices of commerce, the splash and thud of muddled muddied roads, phlegmy coughs, spits, screaming, and rarely, the clink of metal on metal — a sign of currency exchange, gold, diamonds.
I vaguely realized where my fortune-hunting came from. Here, in this open market where the rich never stepped foot. Today, I’m always looking on the ground for trinkets, treasure, loot.
Then, images followed, dirty ugly disgusting images of villagers and vagabonds as rats and cockroaches, the ugly dirty disgusting debris of mindless inhumanity — the kind of crowds I revile to this day. They were everywhere, choking me.
At the same time, I kept finding myself in a slate-gray room, sleek, cool, and free of man-made relics. Maybe where I used to go mentally when I felt overwhelmed. Another souvenir: my often-crippling claustrophobia and misanthropy.
I was a little brown boy with brown hair the color of shit, a large scar across my face. I had no parents, no family. I lived on the streets. I lived off the kindness of others, in a time when nobody bothered to be kind.
I used to spend a lot of time tracing people’s currency, trying to figure out what they did for a living and if they could live out the rest of their lives into old age on the kind of work they did. I imagined a world where someone rich and beautiful and clean-smelling would take me in — if only I said the right words, if I were good and useful. I know I tried. I don’t remember if anyone took me in; might be a mental block.
Wait, an old man, kind. They brutally beat him in front of me, like he was nothing, like I was nothing, because in this world, we were.
I remember smelling a woman’s perfume, a sure sign of wealth and home and security. I lived in squalor, wall to wall makeshift shit block ghetto tract encampments, like a New York City in the 1800s. Nowhere near water or mountains or anything beautiful. I wanted to fly away like a bird and never come back.
No wonder I love flowers, lilacs, honeysuckle. They meant freedom.
No wonder I hate the city.
We’re supposed to travel to the last day of our lives in this lifetime. I die violently, of course, at the hands of neglect and abuse. My throat, my face, so much blood. Tossed aside garbage. Garbage.
The future was harder because I was almost home.
I imagined something palatable, instead of something real out of very real fear. Me and my current husband in an RV by the water, me kissing his head, walking outside in the dark with the stars and the crickets, in a happier place. Total bullshit, of course.
This explains so much.
Nobody cares but me.
Now, you know.