(Picture Credit - Past Life Progression Therapy by Esmart Com)
Who’s that? This man looks vaguely familiar. Some sort of doctor or therapist. Middle aged and smartly dressed. I do not know him though.
Where
am I? I turn my head as best I can. I’m clearly laying on a
soft couch of sorts. Yes, he must be a therapist. Others are here too.
Man (smiling): “Hello, I’m Doctor Logan Mohammed-Henderson,
are you okay?”
Me: “MMM, I guess so. Where am I?”
Logan: “You are at the Leeds Institute my good man.
You are perfectly safe here. What is your name?”
Me: “Paul White.”
Logan: “Paul, what is the last thing you remember?”
Me: “Err. Well, I remember I’m in a Care Home. I’ve
got Dementia and I’m close to death. The last thing I remember is laying in my
bed waiting to fall asleep.”
Logan: “Good. Do you know what year it is, right here,
right now?
Me: “No. My memory is shocking these days!”
Logan: “It’s 2157, Paul.”
Me: “Eh? I thought it was the two thousands…”
Logan: “It was, Paul, but you are no longer in that
home.”
Just noticed. I raised my arms as I was speaking. They
look different! I look down. My body looks much slimmer, younger looking. Do
not recognise these clothes.
Me: “My body’s all changed!”
Logan: “That’s right Paul. Do you not recall talking
to me before?”
Me: “What? No I don’t.”
Logan: “Interesting. We’ve talked a fair few times now
Paul. Tell you what, would you like to see yourself in a mirror?”
Me: “Yes, why not? Can’t be much weirder than these
arms!”
The Doctor motions to another man, who steps near me,
obviously to help me up. I’m still reeling from all this and very apprehensive
now. I’ve always had something of a phobia for mirrors, so this is not good
news.
I’m led into an adjacent room. Both rooms look quite
“modern”, as one might expect considering the “year”. Right in the centre of
this space is a full-length mirror.
And there we are. I now look like some slightly
spotty, early-twenties male. I guess I just gasped in disbelief.
Me: “Why have I changed, Doctor?”
Logan: “Ah. Well that’s not easy to explain to you,
Paul. Let’s go sit down and talk about it.”
They help me back to that couch.
Lady: “I’m Doctor Clara Foster. Do you want a drink,
Paul?”
Me: “Er, okay, I am thirsty, can I have an orange
squash please.”
With drink in hand, I’m ready for Doctor Logan to
continue explaining things.
Logan: “Paul, as I say, this is hard for me to tell
you. But… (he shrugs)… strictly speaking that body of ‘yours’ belongs to my client,
Dave Summers.”
I can only stare at Logan in astonishment.
Logan: “Mr. Summers suffers from what you would call
Multiple Personality Disorder or Dissociative Identity Disorder. You’ve heard
of that, yes?”
I nod. I do not
like where this is going.
Logan: “To put it bluntly, Paul, you are one of his
‘identities’…”
Me: “I can’t be, I’m a real person!”
Logan: “Hate to say this, Paul, but fact is you are a
real dead
person. I mean, do the Maths.”
Me: “Dead!”
Logan: “Yes, but you are real: we’ve done the research.”
Me: “Oh My God.”
Logan: “So what I’ve been doing with Mr. Summers, in
my capacity as a Hypnotic Therapist, is to repeatedly regress him to one of his
personalities. You, sir, are taking part in another such session.”
Me: “You say there are other, er, personalities like
me?”
Logan: “Yes Paul, and most of them so far have been
tracked back to real people who lived before Mr. Summers was born.”
I gasp again.
Logan: “The thing is, Paul, the trouble is with all
you personalities is that you cannot recall these sessions.”
Me: “Well, you do look vaguely familiar to be fair,
Doctor.
Logan: “Please call me Logan. I’d like us to be as
informal as possible…”
Me: “That’s okay be me.”
Logan: “But let’s cut to the chase, as you say. I have
a request to make of you.”
Me: “Request?”
Logan: “Yes, Paul. I was wondering if you would allow
me to hypnotise you?”
Me: “Me???”
Logan. “Yes You. Not Dave Summers – he is already
under hypnosis, but just you.”
Me: “Why?”
Logan: “Why? So that the next time I summon you, you
will remember this and every subsequent session. Hopefully you will also recall
everything you did whenever you “took over” Mr, Summers’ body in everyday life
outside this Institute. And I’m sorry to have to press you, but this needs to
be done this session, very soon.”
MMM. I have no option but to agree. Can’t go on like
this, being “awakened” over and over again…
Me: “Okay. I’m up for it. Why not.”
And it is done.
Logan! He’s here again! I’m awake once more. As though
never asleep.
Me: “Hello Logan.”
His beaming face is priceless.
We talk a while. Everyone is overjoyed that my
hypnotism worked.
Me (presently): “What happens next, Logan?”
Logan: “I’m going to put you back to sleep soon, but
the next time I awaken you, I will be asking you for a full report on
whatever’s happened between sessions.”
Me: “You mean you hope I’ll remember one of my
“possessions” or whatever of Dave.”
Logan: “That’s right.”
Me: “I can’t wait.”
Can’t lose here either. The least I’ll get is another
awaking by The Doctor.
He puts me back to sleep.
And I’m awake.
And it’s not in the Institute.
Where
am I now?
God, I seem to be in some sleazy 22nd
Century version of a night club. And I’m with some friends it seems, with a
drink in front of me.
Oh well, it could have been a lot worse.
Paul
Butters
©
PB 16\9\2015.
