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When I moved across the country 2 1/2 years ago I left about 10 boxes and a keyboard at a former lovers’ house, vowing to someday return for it. I actually thought I would move back home at the time, but things aren’t turning out that way so after much trial and tribulation, I arranged for a gentleman to bring them here through the magic of Craigslist.
Now, suddenly my living room has exploded into a littered ocean of my former life possessions. Some of them recall fond nostalgia from the past, others recall bad fashion trends, soured relationships and unnecessary trinkets of tourism.
Most of this stuff I can deal with. I will give it away, sell it or cram it onto my existing bookshelves. But increasingly I’m finding items for which I have no acceptable home. Things I don’t want, but are somewhat valuable, and cannot be sold through ordinary channels. For example:
1. Patton leather platform dominatrix boots
2. So-called “tobacco water pipes”
3. Perfectly good small *herbs and spices* scale.
4. 1996 Playboy vintage reprint of the 1953 Marilyn Monroe Edition
5. Various accessories for the exploratory sapphic relationship
6. Graphic Hentai/Manga novels. And by graphic, I mean “Capital G Graphic”. They are all in Japanese, so I don’t even know what they say.
These are just the beginning of my problems, dear reader. “Cleaning out the closet”, as it were, is a painful process – in my case, a reminder of my brash and waning youth. I want to get rid of things such as the above, but how? They ban listings for such things on Ebay, believe me I’ve tried. I guess I could try utilizing the magic of Craigslist again, but I feel like I will be waiting a long time for those platform boots to sell. What’s a girl with a sordid past to do?
What I should really do is pack up my questionable items and take them to the Harbor Lights homeless shelter downtown. Now there is a group of gentleman and, perhaps, ladies of the night who would appreciate the accessories of my former life. Actually, that’s not a terrible idea. It would make for one hell of a Valentine’s Day care-package, that’s for sure.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been that daydreamer who gets lost in stories…not in fanciful novels about fictitious characters – but in the biographies and works detailing the brilliant characters of history. I was first in line with my grade school class to go to the pioneer village and “touch the old things”. I was thoroughly unimpressed by replicas – I wanted the Real Deal. Show me where the tuberculous patients actually died, original bedding a plus.
Yes, my love of history borders on morbid. And like many history buffs, I have found myself attached to certain historic eras throughout the ages. I’ve always been very attracted to the Middle Ages, for example. But everybody knows that the Medieval Period was a dreadful time of poverty, pestilence and ignorance for most people. This leads me to conclude, whimsically, that I must have been lucky enough to have a great life during the Middle Ages. I remember it fondly, with gilded robes, and meals of mutton and wine by the warm fire. In that spirit, I thought I would include a list of my past lives in a time line fashion. Let us now trace the history of a soul who refused to be bound by the conventions of mediocrity.
3,026 B.C.E – Sumerian priestess, Temple of Inanna. Also a skilled cithara player. Died as a sacrifice for the goddess.
2,689 B.C.E – Eunuch wool dyer, and humble slave. Died of dehydration.
1,098 B.C.E – Druid forest dweller. Soothsayer. Died of toxic plant consumption.
600 B.C.E – Chinese potter, devout follower of Lao Tzu. Crushed to death by monolith.
326 B.C.E. – Skilled Persian horseman and avid Zorastrian. Thrown from horse.
52 B.C.E. – Noblewoman and Domina/Mistress of the house of Gaius Julius Caesar. Clogged artery.
250 C.E. – Still in Rome, love it here, who cares about the Fall. Mercenary soldier in the Gothic wars. Fatal wound.
779 C.E. – Viking housewife. Died giving birth to male triplets who went on to lead the army in conquering Germany and Belgium.
1100 C.E. – Bard and lute player to the court in medieval Hungary. Fell down the stairs dancing.
1501 C.E. – Enjoying the renaissance very much, thanks. Boy-loving philosopher-painter. Died of old age.
1779 C.E. – Victorian courtesan, discretely catering to the creative and unusual needs of high-powered clientele. Syphilis.
1899 C.E. – Typesetter and underground news reporter for various resistance movements. Died in jail awaiting trial.
1926 C.E. – Flapper and speakeasy girl of the American demi-monde. Died of partying.
That pretty much brings us up to speed. Not sure what I will do this life I have right now. But I can only hope it’s interesting enough to earn a juicy line in the history books.
My first experience being professionally hypnotized the other day – after I won a past life regression in a raffle. I didn’t know what to expect, but the first surprise was the hypnotist was cute. Young, monkish, soft pleasant face, and a deeply calming voice. We dove right in with him taking me Deep Deep Deeper into Relaxation. I felt a change wash over me as my brainwaves switched gears. It reminded me of the time my brother and I went to some weird clinic in Chicago where we wore a pair of “light show goggles” that changed our brainwaves. As the monk was bringing me Deep Deep Deeper into Relaxation my defenses started to melt. Time and space expanded between us like silly putty, with him feeling 100 miles away one minute, then right beside me the next.
I still had “the program” running in the background – aware of the room and the hot stranger whispering in my ear – until the trance took on a blinder affect, and I suddenly felt like a very sedated creature that was not so connected to her body. I spoke in stretchy drawn-out tones. I didn’t say much but every word I spoke felt like a resounding vibration. He began to ask me questions about my early life. I just told him what I saw in my third eye. Something about being in the sandbox. Then we went back into my “past life”. My imagination was sparking as I saw myself working in the fields in the middle ages. Pregnant and in a bad way. There was some dark shadowy figure who kept coming in and out of my life giving me handwritten letters. In the end I died of a whooping cough. The story was complex and felt obscure and yet personal. The cute monk led me through my violent death with the whooping cough. It was painful and my throat ached like knives. Pretty depressing.
Slowly he brought me out of the trance and into reality. I felt destabilized. What was that crazy story about the pregnant wench? It must have come from my imagination, but I felt pretty into it. I was disoriented, coming back to earth. I wanted to climb on the couch and sip tea with the monk. Reluctantly, I resisted.
We talked about Aleister Crowley for awhile and how self-righteous pagans can be. He told me he used to be a military cop for 3 years before the US invaded Afghanistan and he went AWOL. How he ended up doing hypnosis I don’t know but that certainly piqued my interest. Then he “lent me a book” and wrote his phone number in it. I walked home floating in a half-trance.
Pretty hot date.