Preincarnation: Chapter 1
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I couldn’t hear anymore. I snuck upstairs into my room. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I sat there, thinking about the guilt I’ve caused, the mistakes I’ve made. Nothing made me feel worse. I couldn’t take it. I’ve done counseling, I’ve taken my meds- nothing. What hope did I have left?
I remembered that pamphlet that strange man gave me. It seemed so appealing now. No, I didn’t believe in these new age religious things, but seeing how my parents felt made me realize how desperate things had become. At this point I’d try anything just to get better.
I couldn’t believe I was about to resort to this…
Bzzz…Bzzz…Bzzz…
I slapped the snooze button on my alarm clock as a groggily fell out of bed. I don’t even know why I still keep that thing on, like I have anything to look forward to or something. I just lost my job last week; second one in a span of a year. Not like it really amounted to anything anyway- just a simple stocking job. Not much money from that, not enough to move out from under my family’s roof anyway. What’s the point?
So here I am, early thirties, and not going anywhere soon. Worried? Sure, join the crowd. I’ve heard the insults spewed my way: slacker, lazy good for nothing leach, spoiled brat. The truth is a little more difficult to explain. Really I just don’t have “it.” You know- the drive to succeed in life. It’s like everything I do is pointless, and between that and my impatience, if I don’t see results quick, I just stop.
And the worst part of it is, I don’t know why that is. My family is extremely caring, evident by putting up with me even at this age. I wasn’t really picked on or abused in school or anything. If anything life was pretty good. It just is, and that just boggles my mind. Why?
Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen I start my day following the same routine: eating my bowl of Cap’n Crunch while mindlessly walking over to the television, turning it on to today’s sporting news. I pretend to not notice my father, just like he pretends to sit at the dining room table reading his newspaper. I knew, he was watching me, worried about me like everyone else.
He decided to start the day by making conversation.
“Searching for a new job?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied, although he and I both knew I wasn’t searching as hard as I should.
He gave a look of disdain. He wouldn’t argue the point, but the disappointment was apparent on his face. Maybe a little tough love would be useful once in awhile. He was more of a support figure. He never was one to put the foot down when needed. Maybe that’s a weakness, I don’t know.
“You have an appointment with your therapist today?” he asked, switching the topic.
“Yeah,” I told him.
“Well, hopefully you’ll make a breakthrough today,” he hoped. Putting the paper down, he walked over to me and put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Good luck, son.” With that he grabbed his briefcase and may his way out the door.
That’s the worse feeling you can have. Much worse than having a father barking, stark raving mad as if he was about to erupt like a volcano. No, it’s that guilt. It’s the realization that my problems not only hurt me, but everyone else. That’s the worst feeling in the world. I wish I knew where the heart of the issue lies. I wish it was easy to say, hey, fuck it, I’m gonna go out there and make a difference, but it’s hard. Don’t ask me why it is, it just is.
And that’s the excuse for everything in my life: it just is.
“So, yeah,” I began, as I was lying down on a couch, talking to my therapist. “They fired me last week. Said it was because of my abrasive nature, but it’s not like I go out of my way trying to make enemies.”
“But you don’t go out of your way to make friends either,” he suggested.
“I suppose not,” I replied.
“So maybe the reason people assume you’re abrasive is because you don’t make the effort to prove to them otherwise,” he hinted.
“I don’t see why people automatically assume the worst in me,” I told him.
“It’s like everything else in life, Kevin,” he began. “Everything takes effort.”
“And if there was a panacea that could improve my motivation, then I’d gladly take it,” I retorted.
“And you know there isn’t any medication for such things,” he replied. “We can only provide what we can to help balance your depression, but the other half has to be through your own life’s changes.”
“So, in other words, I have to motivate myself to be motivated?” I mocked.
“You need to get your feet wet, Kevin,” he explained. “You’re 32 years old now, and the only way you can beat this is to accept your fears and just do it.”
“Easier said than done,” I reminded him.
He just sighed. “I’m gonna recommend an increase in your medication,” he insisted as he began to write my prescription. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again in the next 2 weeks.”
He gave me the paper and I got up and left. Like more medicine was going to make the difference.
Walking out the building I was stopped by a strange man.
“You seem rather down, son,” he began.
“Yeah,” I replied, stating the obvious. “That’s pretty common in a place like this.”
“Of course,” he replied. “But nothing they do seems to be helping, am I right?”
Okay, so he’s beginning to pique my interest.
“You aren’t some drug dealer, are you?” I questioned.
“Oh, me?” he replied. “Oh, nono!” He then handed me a pamphlet. “Perhaps we can offer an alternate solution.”
I didn’t bother reading it, at least not in front of him. Honestly he seemed kind of peculiar and I didn’t want to spend more time with him than I already had. “Uh, thanks,” I said, as I walked to my car.
Now that he was out of the picture I stared at the pamphlet with a little more curiosity. I picked it up and began reading:
People for thousands of years have suffered and battled many forms of mental disorders: depression, anxiety, schizophrenia. Today many rely on western medicine to quell many of these symptoms. However, what these medications lack is the ability to actually get to the heart of the issue, and while many therapists attempt to find it through counseling and other practices, sometimes the issues are more complex than what is simply told.
The fault of western medicine is the treatment for these disorders are focused directly in the mind. However, what they fail to realize is that the mind is but a relay from where depression acts. Much like walking or talking, everything is orchestrated by the mind based on your commands. Depression is much like you, a driving force in which orchestrates its desires in a similar matter.
Then, what exactly does this mean? Where does the root of depression lie? The answer lies deep within the human soul. Its will is what commands the brain to unleash its actions. However, most science cannot accept the idea of a “soul” without scientific evidence. Therefore they cling onto their western medicinal treatments to this very day.
The Mesmer Foundation seeks to snuff out the root of depression permanently, by combining science and spiritualism into a single, comprehensive treatment plan. Explore parts of your soul that you’ve never thought existed before! With deep introspection and understanding both spiritually and mentally, together we can find the cure.
Okay, I thought to myself. That guy was worse than a drug dealer. He was one of them fruity religious types. I crumpled up the paper and threw it into the back seat of my car. Obviously a clean car wasn’t something I cared much about.
Night fell, and I slowly opened the door, carrying my medication and other stuff I got from the store. I seemed to have walked into a rather personal conversation going on in the dining room. My parents were so into it and the family room was so dark I didn’t think they noticed me walking in. I made it not hard for me to eavesdrop.
“I just don’t know what to do,” My father began. “I mean, this is what, his second job he’s been fired from?”
“Just need to give him time dear,” My mother suggested him.
“Melissa, he’s 32,” he told her. Like I haven’t been reminded so much already. “I want to believe it to be true but, I just don’t know anymore.”
She just looked at him and frowned.
“And me,” he continued, “I should be retiring by now. I thought things would be easy once I reached this age, but it’s just one headache after another.”
“You’re still going to help him, aren’t you?” my mother asked.
“Of course,” he answered. “I love him, dear. But there’s only so much I can do and I don’t even know where to start! I’ve never felt so hopeless in my life.”
“Roger,” she said.
“Were we…” he began, “were we bad parents?”
“I believe we just did the best we could,” she answered. “Nobody’s perfect.”
I couldn’t hear anymore. I snuck upstairs into my room. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I sat there, thinking about the guilt I’ve caused, the mistakes I’ve made. Nothing made me feel worse. I couldn’t take it. I’ve done counseling, I’ve taken my meds- nothing. What hope did I have left?
I remembered that pamphlet that strange man gave me. It seemed so appealing now. No, I didn’t believe in these new age religious things, but seeing how my parents felt made me realize how desperate things had become. At this point I’d try anything just to get better.
I couldn’t believe I was about to resort to this…
Following the directions that were listed on my crumpled up piece of paper, I made my way to this “Mesmer Foundation” place. I was relieved to find that at least it wasn’t located in a temple or church or something to that effect. It was located in what seemed to be a regular old office building located downtown.
Entering the place I could feel a strange aura about the place; tranquil, if not a little nerve-wracking. I was looking around, wondering if there was a sign in sheet or receptionist desk something. I didn’t notice the man at the corner, whom when he first spoke caught me off guard.
“Welcome,” he simply said in his Indian accent, “I am Anub Singh.”
“Whoa!” I cried as he startled me.
“Forgive me,” he said with a smile, “Sometimes I’m much quieter than I realize.”
Shrugging it off, I asked, “Is there someplace here to sign up at?”
He simply replied, “There’s no need for such mundane procedures. Aren’t there much more important things in life?”
Great, another crackpot. Sorry, I just can’t see how people like him can be so happy all the time.
“Uh…okay,” I said. “So then, what now?”
“Come,” he told me. “Let us talk.”
So I followed him side by side as he began to converse.
“Isn’t this simple?” he conversed. “It feels like people never have time appreciate simple conversation like this anymore.”
I just digressed. I wanted to get to the point, for my family’s sake as well as my own. “You said you know how to defeat depression.”
Again he just responded with another one of his warm smiles. “You had read the pamphlet my associate gave you, no?”
I nodded. “Seemed like a lot of hocus pocus to me.”
He chuckled as he heard that. “I like you,” he replied. “You have quite the sense of humor. However, I assure you, this is not a magic trick.” He opened a door into his room, which was lined in silk and pillows. The incense was surprisingly pleasant to the nose.
“Much less stuffy here than in an office, huh?” he commented. He had a seat on one of the pillows, and with his permission I had a set myself. Reaching for his coffee pot he offered me a cup? “Do you like chai tea?” he asked.
Well, at least I can be thankful for the hospitality.
Pouring him and me a cup, he got down to business. “That man who gave you this pamphlet was once like you,” he explained. “He would go back and forth from the same clinic, getting medicated and seeing counselors without really seeing any progress.”
“And what made him seek you out?” I asked.
“Much like you did, I suppose,” he replied. “But no matter, this is about you.” He sat his tea down. “So how long have you had this depression?”
“It’s hard to say,” I answered, “and I don’t know what caused it either.”
“Good,” he said, “you helped answer my next question for me.”
“Huh?” I wondered.
“Causation is the root of the problem,” he continued. “If we know what was causing this, then we can deal with it. But the problem with depression is you’re fighting blind against an enemy unknown. So they treat you endlessly with things you may have never needed in the first place.”
“So you referenced in your little brochure,” I reminded him.
“Then you know where I’m going with this,” he said. “Sometimes it may be as easy as talking your problems out with your counselor, particularly if the cause was initiated within this lifetime.”
“This lifetime?” I asked.
“Indeed,” he stated. “In my religion, I believe in a thing called Karma. Obviously you should know the gist of it, what goes around comes around.”
“Yeah,” I responded.
“Think of yourself as a three step machine,” he told me, “soul, mind, body. Everyone one of them serves a function. The soul gives out its desire, the mind picks up that information and the body executes it. Now, your mind doesn’t have any problem telling its body what to do, correct?”
“Not really,” I stated.
“So then in reality only one thing could restrict the mind from truly giving out the information, and that would be your soul itself.”
“And why is that?” I asked.
“Self doubt,” he started, “resignation, defeatism. Whatever is the cause for the soul’s interference.”
“Are you sure this just isn’t some imbalance between neuro exciters and inhibitors?” I suggested, hoping he’d see the science of things.
“Even neurotransmitters don’t just appear from thin air,” he told me, “and obviously the medications you’ve been taking haven’t helped to make things any better, no?”
He had a point there.
“Willpower comes from within,” he claimed. “Without will the soul will always be at odds with its brain. You can never get better.”
“So we’re back at square one,” I said with a sigh.
“Now wait just a moment, my young friend,” he continued. “Don’t be so certain.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“So you know I’m Hindu and a believer in karma and reincarnation,” he assumed. “What makes you believe that the cause of your ailment is tied into this life?”
“You’ve lost me there,” I admitted to him.
“Karma, remember?” he explained. “Perhaps the choices and events from your previous life may have shaped the way your soul acts in this one.”
“This is getting a little farfetched,” I told him.
“Why?” he asked. “Because it cannot be proven? Or is it because you’ve already shut yourself out from the idea?”
“Even if it was possible,” I countered, “it’s not like I can just magically remember things from century’s past!”
“You can’t?” he raised the question. “Are you absolutely certain?”
“What are you getting at?” I wondered.
“What if I can tell you you can?” he suggested.
“I’d say you’re crazy,” I replied bluntly.
“Then would you humor me then?” he asked.
“What’s the point?” I countered.
“That sounds like the defeatist attitude you aspire to beat,” he reminded me. “What will it hurt? If nothing happens you can just blame it on this crazy old man.”
I sighed. I really hate being pressured into doing something. Guilt can do that to you. After all, that’s why I sought out this lunatic.
“Fine,” I relented.
He gave me a warm smile. “Very good,” he commended me. “Please, lie down.”
Well, at least the pillows were comfy. Reluctantly I did what he asked.
“You see,” he began, “All the thoughts, feelings, memories of your pass lives still exist within you. They are just locked up, shackled, if you will, inside the very essence of your soul. These memories build up the template to who you are right now. All I need to do is give you the key, and with it, you can relive those moments. Perhaps from there, you can uncover the truth about yourself, and what ails you. So just close your eyes, and focus inward.”
With my eyes closed, I could hear him chanting. It seemed to resonate to the very fabric of my being. It was like I was being carried away…slowly…gently. I had a strange feeling of peace as I floated along the ethereal winds…back…back.
I popped up from my sleep. Unaware that I was sleeping on a hammock I immediately fell out of it and onto the ground below. It felt strange as my body impacted the ground, as if two air bags collided with my chest and swallowed the blow. Unlike air bags, however, this hurt like holy hell. What the?
The burning sensation led me to take a quick look at what just happened. I landed on my breasts.
My breasts? What the hell?
Pulling the hair from my eye, everything was beginning to sink in. Who am I? Where am I? What am I?
The last question was easy to answer, and I was immediately frightened by it.
I was a girl.
No words could properly explain the whirl of emotions that were running through my head, so I did what I felt was natural:
I screamed.
Preincarnation: Chapter 2
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Noticing how quickly I was becoming comfortable with both my new body and my environment irritated me. Looking at my reflection from a rather dirty mirror only made things worse. I was as Asian as anyone else around here. My body was curved to perfection and without much inspection I could already see I was extremely attractive. I also looked rather young, like 16 or so. I suppose in this culture I could be considered a young adult, but even that made me feel a little uncomfortable.
Looking at myself I wanted to shout every expletive I knew. I tried to remember sentences and fragments of old English, but I couldn’t, only reinforcing my unfortunate predicament. It literally was all foreign to me. I’m guessing that anything I’ve learned from a later life can’t be remembered in this one. As in fact, the only thing I could remember was that I was a man.
I couldn't make sense of what was happening to me. I wish I could just chalk it up as a bad dream but the pain in my breasts was too real to ignore. Looking around all around me was tall grass and tropical plants of all types. The humid air brought a moist feeling on my face. Something in me knew where I was, but I had a hard time recollecting.
“Kamala?” I heard a young girl yell from off the distance. Great, I thought to myself, my scream must’ve have alerted someone. I wanted to run as I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. However, where could I go? This place, familiar as it felt, was still relatively different for me.
The young girl came up to me, obviously worried about my well being. She began to speak to me in a strange foreign language.
“Kamala,” she began, “Paỵha keid cak xari?”
Something about it seemed familiar. The wording, the language, it was all coming back to me.
“Kamala?” she said, trying to get my attention. Kamala…was my name. And if I remembered correctly, this girl happened to be my sister.
“Sorry, Kanya,” I told her, “I fell out of the hammock again. It must’ve been a bad dream. Don’t worry about it.”
My eyes widened to the words coming out of my mouth. I didn't reply in English like I would if I was Kevin, but in Thai, as if I spoke it all my life. And in this case, I wouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t.
“Geez, you’re so clumsy!” she taunted. To my amazement I understood everything she was saying! “You better wake up! I heard there’s that today is going to be a big day!”
“Big day?” I questioned. “What for?”
“I heard that the venerable Chuan is coming to town seeking a bride,” She explained. “I heard he’s one of the sons of the great Phraphutthayotfa Chulalok.”
“The king?” I replied.
“So most people refer to him as,” she continued. “To be a part of royalty, oh it would be so wonderful!” she then looked at me and teased. “You act that clumsy though and there’s no way he’ll pick you!”
“I doubt he would pick a brat like you either,” I teased back. She just stuck her tongue out and ran off. I suppose I should head over to my house. I was starting to remember things; maybe I’ll have a better idea of what was going on once I headed there.
Noticing how quickly I was becoming comfortable with both my new body and my environment irritated me. Looking at my reflection from a rather dirty mirror only made things worse. I was as Asian as anyone else around here. My body was curved to perfection and without much inspection I could already see I was extremely attractive. I also looked rather young, like 16 or so. I suppose in this culture I could be considered a young adult, but even that made me feel a little uncomfortable.
Looking at myself I wanted to shout every expletive I knew. Yet the only thing that came out was Thai, only reinforcing my unfortunate predicament. I tried to remember sentences and fragments of old English, but I couldn’t. It literally was all foreign to me. I’m guessing that anything I’ve learned from a later life can’t be remembered in this one. As in fact, the only thing I could remember was that I was a man.
Hard to convince myself that was the case though.
My “mother” came into my room with a traditional Thai silk dress that probably cost most families an arm and a leg. That was the reason of my being here. It seems like that this Chuan kid is a big deal, and my family wanted to pull out all of the stops.
Inside I was totally repulsed by the mere idea of wearing a dress. I wanted to scream- I was a man! I don’t want some other dude checking me out! But, I learned that by becoming Kamala was I was quite reserved. It didn’t make any sense; it wasn’t as if I was timid when I was my former…future self.
It made me begin to wonder how much my life was nature versus nurture. If my parents wished it then I agreed, albeit reluctantly. I guess I’m quite indoctrinated in their beliefs as well- playing the role that my current gender was designated for. It felt like I was playing a part in a script. I can think, I can agree or disagree, but ultimately I went with the flow. It really began to bother me.
“This is my dress, passed down from my parents before me, and them before that,” my mother explained. “May our ancestors bring fortune to us today on this very special occasion.”
Looking at myself, I kind of felt a tinge of pride. I truly did look amazing. Maybe that was me feeling that; maybe that was Kamala. I quickly pushed that aside however. There was no pride in being shopped around like an item. I think even deep down the real Kamala knew that.
A crowd was huddled amongst the streets of downtown. Millions of young women, some even younger than me were on display, each wearing the most delicate and fashionable dresses their parents could afford. They all looked wonderful, but I knew that no amount of beauty could replace a life of servitude.
And there he was, riding on top of a huge elephant with his consorts riding in front of him. Looking at Chuan’s body language you could tell he was an attention whore. He cherished the pedals thrown before him, the intensity of the crowd’s cheers and wails. I saw fathers and mothers holding their daughter out in front of him, begging him to pick her. The chance for a family to obtain royal status was too much to pass up. It was just sickening to watch, and my family was no exception.
At first thought I believed these feelings were a symptom of a more modernized time which I currently resided in, but after debating it, much like my inability to speak English that my views and values as Kevin were also vague to say the least. No, these thoughts had to be Kamala’s real feelings, and I could empathize with every one of them.
I was so deep in thought I didn’t realize that Chuan was fixated entirely onto me. With a simple smirk he grabbed a decent sized pouch from his belt and threw it at my father’s feet. I knew what it was; it was a simsod, a dowry based on a young woman’s perceived wealth. Normally these things would be negotiated, but Chuan didn’t seem to be one to worry about such trivial things. Not that much mattered anyway; just by being married to royalty was value in itself.
While my father drooled at the sight of the glistening gold he just received I could only gasp in horror. Me…with him? Oh God, no! This has got to be some mistake! I can’t do this! I don’t even like you! Hell, I’m not even supposed to BE here! I’m supposed to be at home, in the future, in my body! This is such a sick joke!
“I shall prepare for her arrival within the week,” Chuan declared. “Go now, and celebrate with your family.”
With that he turned to ride off; his escorts following him. This seriously couldn’t be happening. Somebody, wake me up from this nightmare!
And so I became the talk of the town. Gossip spread quickly as the locals began to refer to me as “Princess,” and “highness.” I just wanted to shut myself off from the world. This was too much. I was overwhelmed as it was- I had a new body, a new language, a new family, a new standard of living, and immediately I was thrown into the fire without any say in the matter.
There was no way I wanted anything to do with that man, and it wasn’t just because inside I knew I wasn’t a girl to begin with. I truly believed Kamala didn’t want him either. He didn’t know me! He was just some snobbish little boy who always gets what he wants! True love was something more than a dowry. I’m not some piece of meat!
Whoa, whoa, I thought to myself. I need to stop thinking as if I’m her. The lines were getting blurrier and blurrier as it is. I have to remember I had a life of my own, and while I feel sorry for her, this means nothing to me. My focus should be trying my best to get out of here and back to my own self!
My face staring at the ceiling I let out a long sigh. That was easier said than done.
“So, they’re calling you princess now?” I heard a voice off to my side quip. Slightly startled, I turned over to the window to see a young woman about my age climbing in from it. She seemed awfully familiar…
From my jumbled head I blurted out her name. “Anvea!” I cried as I ran over to her. She seemed to mean something to me. It was an unusual feeling.
It all made sense as she pulled me over for a deep, passionate kiss. All these foreign memories began to pour into my head. I couldn't place myself in those moment we had together, but somehow I could remember I was there.
“Kamala,” she whispered worriedly into my ear. She then pulled me from her embrace, seemingly concerned over the connotations such behavior held. From what my, or at least, Kamala's memories could tell me was it wasn't her lesbianism that scared her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I…” she began, “I don’t know if I should be doing this. Not after you’ve been chosen.”
“Anvea…” I replied.
“So what’s it like?” she asked. “being a part of royalty.”
I shook my head as I responded. “I hate it. I didn’t want this. I don’t have any interest for him! Why did he pick me?”
“He probably sees the same things I see,” she believed.
“I think the only things he sees are wrapped behind my clothes,” I quipped, holding in firm grasp my breasts. I can’t believe I was thinking like this!
“Well,” she seductively replied, “those are some nice things too.” I couldn’t help but fall into her embrace as she disrobed me. This must’ve been something we did several times before, because I had total trust in her. I loved her.
“You’re the only thing I want, Anvea,” I told her as I stood bare in front of her. “Ever since we were little girls I knew we were soulmates. I…I don’t want it to be this way.”
“Shhhh,” she replied, with tears in her eyes, “let this night be one we’ll never forget.”
I never felt this way before. No dream could have accomplished what I just felt. Even the sex I felt as a man seemed mechanical, more like a function. This…this was passion, all the way through my body and into the very essence of my soul. For a moment, my thoughts…my fears, seemed to have vanished. All I wanted to do is let go and let myself go as I washed myself in the intense pleasure I felt deep within the core of my being. I only wished it could go on forever.
Sadly all good things must come to an end. As the sensations began to wear so too did my thoughts return- this time with a vengeance. Laying on my bed I slowly stroked my lover’s hair, thinking, contemplating. I didn’t know what to do. It would be wonderful if I could run away with her, going wherever the wind would take us. But was it possible? Chuan was royalty, and had more than just a silver tongue and a pouch of gold in his arsenal. If he wanted he could use his military to hunt me down to the ends of the earth, and although I knew I was pretty resourceful, I had no idea where to go or who to trust if I decided to do such a thing.
Anvea got up and started to put on her clothes. “I must leave,” she told me. “I hope you don’t forget me, Kamala.”
Forget her? I don’t think I could live without her! I reached out for her hand, wishing for her to grab it, but she never noticed. She climbed out the window, leaving me to my uncontrollable fate.
For all the wonderful feelings I had that night, the end of it left me in tears. I just didn’t know what to do. Do I fight for love, or do I do my family proud? I would literally disgrace my entire lineage if I did such a thing. But was it wrong to be happy? Would my ancestry shun such selfishness?
Just stop having me wrestle with these thoughts! I screamed inside my head. Please just wake me up! Please!
Pounding on my pillow, I was quickly becoming fatigued by all the emotion. I didn’t care anymore, whether it was waking up or falling asleep- I just didn’t want to be here anymore.
No sooner did I fall asleep my eyes popped wide open. The first thing I instinctively did was pat down my chest. Flat. My eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room, I realized I was back inside Anub’s room, in my old, male body. I couldn’t help but feel as if I was still floating on thin air, sort of like tripping out on some recreational drugs- or at least that’s what I assumed.
Taking a few minutes to get my bearings straight, I regained enough composure to finally leave the place. Taking a step outside, I realized that the sun had set. I also realized that Dr. Singh was no longer in the facility. It was quite odd as you would think most therapists would stay with their patients for as long as necessary. Of course that’s to say he was some ordinary therapist.
“I see you are awake,” I heard a young woman’s voice calling out from the end of the hallway It was a young Indian girl, I would say in her mid to late 20’s, seemingly dusting off some of the office’s furniture.
“And you are?” I wondered as I walked up to her.
“I’m Vera,” she stated, “I’m Dr. Singh’s granddaughter. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Where did he go?” I asked rather bluntly.
“He decided it be wise to give you your space while on your journey,” she explained. “Don’t be alarmed. Sometimes patients can be out for days on end. It’s perfectly normal.”
“Days!?” I replied, shocked. “And how long was I out for?”
“Only a couple of hours,” she replied. “If you wish you can stay here and sleep off the haze you’re probably feeling. Traveling to your past lives can initially take a lot out of you.”
“Thanks,” I told her, “but I think I’ve spent enough time here for one day. I ought to be getting home.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“It’s not a long walk,” I stated. “Take care.”
As I closed the door behind me and began to make my way back home I began to reflect on all that occurred. That was no dream. I was able to remember every detail vividly, from my name down to my dilemma. But what did it all mean? What exactly happened in my previous life that made me into the mess I was now?
My mind was more distracted than a driver texting on a cell phone. I didn’t even bother greeting my parents as I walked through the door. I could only lay on my bed and wonder- wonder where all of this was leading to, and furthermore, how it will fix the problems I had at present.