by Kelly Utt
As I look around at my surroundings, I notice that I’m with a group of soldiers. We’re not doing any exhibition this time. Instead, we’re preparing for some sort of training exercise. There are a number of horses scattered amongst us and I get the idea we’re learning to ride and work with the horses. Horses are magnificent animals, that’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve ever even ridden one in my modern lifetime, aside from maybe a pony at a seaside carnival when I was a kid in New York City. But I’m coming to realize that horses were an integral part of my existence as a soldier in Ancient Greece.
The horse standing beside me in my memory will become mine. A cluster of information washes over me and I realize that this horse and I have just met. She’s a rich, chestnut brown color with a silky black tail and mane. Her legs are strong and agile. The muscles on her back are as tight and powerful as my own. We hit it off right away. There’s instant synchronicity between us. I raise my hand to stroke the top of her muzzle and she looks at me with her wise and wild eyes. It’s warm this morning, here in my memory, and I can feel the moisture in the air. It just rained overnight. My horse feels it, too. She blows air fast out of her large nostrils as if to let me know and we’re experiencing the same sensations together.
I turn my head to the other side and see my young friend whom I will soon begin to mentor. I remember recognizing him the first time I experienced my Ancient Greek life at Joe‘s office. It’s Leo. My little guy in our modern lifetime was my friend and fellow soldier when we lived together in Ancient Greece. I still find that fascinating even though it isn’t new information. It’s great to see him here again. Leo’s Greek body is that of an adolescent, still bulking up and building muscle mass. But he’s eager and wants to please his superiors. I remember that he becomes an excellent soldier. He goes on to make me very proud.
As I contemplate my mentor and mentee relationship with Leo, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude for the time we’ve spent together and the adventures we’ve had. Most of all, I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to mentor such a fine human being. I’m beyond grateful for Leo to be my son in the modern-day. If what Ethan said is true about children choosing their parents, that makes it even more of an honor that Leo chose to come into our modern life as my actual son. It feels like he was my son in Greece, even though I know he wasn’t biologically. But our relationship was that special.
My attention is drawn to a small group of soldiers grooming their horses in a back corner. I suddenly get the feeling I know one of them, too. In a mix of knowing and remembering, I’m pulled toward the small group so that I can see who it is. I can feel myself getting excited as the sensation of recognition grows stronger and I realize that I’m going to see someone I’m close to in my current lifetime. As I get closer, a tall, broad man with muscles even bigger than my own turns to face me. His face is long like mine and he has round eyes with olive skin and dark, black hair. His stature is the most impressive thing about his physical appearance. He is, by far, one of the biggest men in our group. He looks like a formidable foe. I’m glad he’s on our side. I pull myself right up in front of this man. It’s hard to say whether I’m pulling the energy of my spirit or walking my Greek body, but whatever the mechanism, I stand squarely in front of him and look him in the eye. To my delight, it’s Roddy! It’s my father-in-law from this lifetime, here in Ancient Greece. It makes perfect sense that he would be a soldier. And his giant stature kind of reminds me of his presence in the modern-day. He’s a tall guy in his current lifetime at over six foot, but his attitude and his presence are even bigger than that. Now it all makes sense. Roddy is one big dude. I chuckle as I think about the implications.
I begin to think to myself about the connections and how the relationships are a little different here in our Ancient Greek life. For instance, I don’t think Roddy is Ali‘s dad in this lifetime. I’m not positive about that yet, but she was some sort of nobility and I don’t think Roddy is since he’s a soldier. That’s one of the things I want to look into and try to learn. Also, I wonder about Roddy’s connection to Marjorie. I know Marjorie was with us in Greece because I remember her helping Ali when our baby Ethan was born. Maybe she and Roddy are paired together again. Marjorie’s social position in Ancient Greece was unclear.
Ancient Greek Roddy looks at me with a knowing smile as if we’re old friends. And I guess that means we are old friends. The thought makes me happy. I smile back at him and it feels like we’re really connecting. I have no idea how all this works, but it feels like some higher-level communication is going on in this memory. If feels like Roddy and I are friends on a much higher level. One that doesn’t necessarily have to involve bodies and lifetimes. We just are.
I look down at Roddy’s hand to see if he’s wearing a wedding ring. He isn’t. As soon as I look, I think to myself how foolish it was because I don’t even know if wedding rings were worn in Ancient Greece. I need to brush up on my history. I make a mental note to do some research about Ancient Greek culture as soon as I can. Aside from watching a few movies set during this time, I haven’t learned anything about it since an Intro to History class in college. In fact, maybe when things settle down, I should take the family on a trip to Ithaki, Greece. Wouldn’t it be grand to see where we lived before? I wonder if it would feel like home. I’m now fascinated by the idea. We must travel to Ithaki. It’s just a matter of when.
I watch Ancient Greek Roddy for a moment as he grooms his horse. He begins to whistle a tune as he uses an object that looks like a modern-day comb to run through the animal’s hair. His horse is jet black and looks silky, like a plush stuffed animal. It’s a magnificent horse. Roddy and the beast seem to have a strong connection. I can tell Roddy is a little older than me in this lifetime. His features are hardened from exposure to the sun and there are lines around his eyes. It’s hard to say whether or not he’s old enough to be Ali’s father. But I can tell he’s much more experienced as a soldier and he’s much more comfortable with his horse.
I decide to try asking myself about Roddy and Marjorie and Ali in the hopes that my subconscious mind will release some information. Joe hasn’t said a word. Unlike last time he hypnotized me, he seems to be giving me more room to move about my memories as I wish. At least, I haven’t heard him say anything. I suppose it’s possible that I’m too involved with what I’m experiencing to have noticed. I think the thought in my mind, asking myself whether Roddy and Marjorie were husband and wife or romantic partners in this ancient lifetime. A wave of knowing washes over me quickly and I come to understand that they were. I don’t get any more details yet, but I know that they were married and very happy together. I can sense that their relationship had an ease about it just like it does in our modern New York lifetime. I find this fascinating, especially because my mom and dad were not married or romantically involved in Ancient Greece as far as I know. Mom was in the higher-class governing council. And dad was a medicine man who lived in the village outside of the city. If they were together, it was before any memory I have of them. Perhaps I should try and explore my memories of their relationship.
I decide to try again by asking my subconscious mind a question. I think it to myself as I ask whether or not Mom and Dad from my modern life were romantically involved here in Ancient Greece. I wait for an answer, but an answer doesn’t come. It’s strange. If feels like something is blocking my access to this information. I try again, asking more firmly this time. But still nothing. Apparently, I’m not supposed to know the answer right now. I find this very interesting. I recall Joe saying that I could say things out loud to him if I wanted to, so I decide to try that in the hopes that maybe he can provide a prompt which will help me learn whether or not my mom and dad were together in Ancient Greece.
Joe and my modern-day body sitting on the dock of Lake Tahoe feel very far away now. It takes all of my energy to speak. I keep my eyes closed so as not to lose my place in the regression.
“Joe?” I inquire. I can hear him sit forward in his
chair as the wooden pieces creek with his movement.
“Yes, George,“ he says. “I’m right here. What do you see?“
“My mom and dad,” I say.
“Do you see your mom and dad in your memory?“ he asks. He isn’t understanding. I’m going to have to say more words than I had hoped.
“No,“ I reply. “I want to know about my mom and dad, but I can’t. Help me find out.“ He gets it now and takes the cue.
“Okay,“ Joe says. “I want you to go now to the time in your memory where you can see if your mom and dad from this present life knew each other in Ancient Greece. Go there now.“
I try to steer myself along with his suggestion, but my consciousness won’t budge. I still see Roddy in front of me grooming his horse and whistling in the morning sunshine. I feel locked into this spot and unable to move as freely as I have before. Why is my mind doing this right now? What is it trying to show me?
“It’s not working,” I mumble to Joe.
“Go now to your mom, Linette, wherever she is in your memory of Ancient Greece,“ he tries.
I tell myself to go and I try to push my consciousness. It almost feels the same as trying to wake up from a bad dream, but you can’t. Nothing. My mind won’t budge. It won’t take me to Mom.
“No,“ I say to Joe. “It won’t let me.“
“Alright,” he says. “Let’s work with the flow instead of against it. Go now to your dad, Alec Hartmann, and see him in your mind’s eye the way you remember him in Ancient Greece.“
Again, I try to steer my memory. And again, my mind doesn’t cooperate. I feel locked into the current scene. I can’t move it at all.
“I can’t,“ I say to Joe with my eyes still closed. “I can’t move from this scene.“
“George,“ Joe says. “Tell me what you see.“
I shift in my chair a little. I’m nervous that talking too much will pull me out of the Greece memory altogether, which is the last thing I want to have happen. I need information. If I’m being called back to active duty with the Air Force, there’s no telling how long I’ll be gone. I don’t know when I’ll get another chance to work with Joe like this.
“I’m at a training ground,“ I say, careful to hold firm to what I’m seeing in my memory. “Leo is here and so is Roddy. We’re all soldiers.“
I hear Joe move and it sounds like he’s gripping the arms of his wooden chair. I think he’s fascinated just as much as I am by all of this. Now that he’s more open to the idea, he seems to be getting engaged with the storyline of my memories.
“Good,“ he says. I can hear the enthusiasm in his voice. “What are the three of you doing at this training ground?“
“Working with horses,” I explain. “Leo is younger than me and I go on to become his mentor. I saw him in my memory before. This is the first time I’ve seen Roddy though. He’s older. More experienced as a soldier.“
“Very good,” Joe says. “What are you doing with the horses?”
“We’re grooming them right now,“ I say. “I can see Roddy in front of me. He’s whistling happily while he carefully grooms his horse. It’s morning and I can feel the moisture in the air from overnight rain. It’s nice.“
“That’s it,” Joe affirms, encouraging me. “I want you to immerse yourself fully in this memory. We’re going to explore all of your senses. Keep feeling that moisture in the air. Is the sun shining on you?”
“Yes,” I say.
Now that I’ve turned my attention towards it, The sun feels warm on my skin. It’s early in the morning and the sun is still low in the sky, but the temperature seems to be warming up by the minute. I can feel the warmth in the air. I’m struck by how kind and nurturing the sun is. It’s profound to think about how it has nurtured the earth and its inhabitants for so many years. Here I am remembering myself in Ancient Greece and the same magnificent sunshine is casting its rays on my body.
“What else can you feel with your Greek body?“ Joe asks. “Is your clothing comfortable?“
I turn my attention to my Greek body, just as Joe asks. My uniform feels familiar. I’m not sure I’d say it’s comfortable, Because it’s heavy and rigid. It has to be that way to provide protection.
“It’s not very comfortable, but I’m used to it,” I say in response.
I can feel the heaviness of the armor over my chest and abdomen. Something about that heaviness feels safe though. I trust my armor to protect me, to protect my body. I intuitively know that it has protected me before. I’ve come to appreciate it. It may sound strange, but this armor on my uniform is like a security blanket of sorts. When I’m underneath it, I feel safe. Then again, maybe it’s not so strange at all. Now that I think of it, I feel the same way when I’m wearing my United States Air Force uniform. I don’t rely on it to protect me in combat because the Air Force works mostly at a distance with technology rather than as infantry in hand to hand combat. But I feel safe inside my Air Force uniform nonetheless. Seeing my last name Hartmann across the chest of my uniform makes me feel proud. There’s something about it in all uppercase letters, neatly aligned and placed prominently. It feels like a badge of honor all its own.
I guess I really am a soldier through and through. Then and now. In ancient times and the present. I can feel the rightness of that identity on a visceral level and a spiritual one. The tools I’ve used in each lifetime are different. Those tools have equipped me for the jobs and the times that I’ve found myself in. But my desire to help and to offer myself for the good of my people has not changed throughout the course of thousands of years. This realization brings tears to my eyes. The feeling of pride is powerful.
Joe probably sees tears coming out of my eyes now. He must not know how to interpret them. He continues with his line of questioning. “Let’s move to another sense,” he tries. “What do you hear? Tune in to the sounds around you.”
I do as instructed and instantly notice birds chirping. I can’t tell what kind of birds they are, but they’re energetic. They sound happy that it’s morning. They sound happy to face the day. There are a lot of them. Their chirping is like a chorus in the background. It makes me feel happy, just like the birds do. Their enthusiasm is contagious.
“Birds are chirping,” I say to Joe. “They’re loud. Full of life.“
This statement makes me ponder the beauty of living in the moment. A human lifetime is short enough in the grand scheme of things, but when I stop to think about a bird’s much shorter lifetime, I’m moved. These birds that are chirping in my memory of Ancient Greece are but a flutter in time. Yet they’re living each day to the fullest and are enjoying being alive. They have a vigor that we humans could stand to model after. These birds aren’t worrying. They’re living. It’s a magnificent thing.
“Good,“ Joe says reassuringly. “You’re doing very well, George. What else do you hear?“
I tune in again and push myself deep into my Greek body so I can experience everything. I push past the chirping birds and I listen. I can hear the sounds of the sea lapping gently against the rocks down the cliff nearby. It’s making a sloshing sound that feels primitive and soothing. It’s the same sound that the waters in my modern lifetime use to soothe me. It’s the sound of the Potomac River I heard all those evenings sitting on the dock with Liam. It’s the sound of Cayuga Lake that moves and flows right behind our home in Ithaca, New York. And it’s the sound of Lake Tahoe beneath me as I sit on this dock with Joe in my modern-day body. Water is very important to me and now, I suspect that I realize why. It takes me back to my home in Ithaki, Greece, living on an island surrounded by the sea. This thought moves me even more than contemplating the lifespan of the happily chirping birds did. Tears come out of my eyes faster and I can feel them stream down my cheeks. They aren’t sad tears. They aren’t exactly happy tears either. They’re more just being alive tears. They’re tears of gratitude at being part of this huge living, breathing place that is Mother Earth. And they’re tears of being part of the cosmos and the c
ollective consciousness that we share as living spirits. We share it with each other and with the animals, the trees, and even the waters which surround us. The tears are raw and fundamental. Like the building blocks of being alive. They flow the same as the waters around me and I’m grateful.
I continue to listen and I hear the sounds of the horses and the soldiers in the background. I hear the hooves of the horses as they shift their bodies and plop their feet down hard on to the ground below them. I hear the sounds of the brushes and the soldiers’ hands moving over the horses’ manes and coats. I hear the horses breathing in big, powerful bursts. I hear the occasional neigh and the soldiers speaking to the horses reassuringly. My attention turns to the kind treatment the soldiers are providing the horses and I’m struck by just how loving and nurturing we are to these impressive animals. I know intuitively and I can also tell by looking at this group that we’re formidable as foes to our enemies. We’re strong and powerful and we fight fiercely to protect our city and our people. But that doesn’t mean that we’re unkind or unnecessarily callous and aggressive. For the most part, we’re a bunch of big-hearted guys. We care about these horses. We care about each other. I’m proud to be a part of such a group.
Joe moves me forward again. “What do you smell, George?“ he asks.