Grandfather

Image by Pixabay

I am at the National Guild of Hypnotism Train the Trainer class. The class instructor asked for a volunteer for a past life regression demonstration. I raise my hand as do others. The instructor looks at me and signals me to come up to the head of the class. I don’t have any idea if I will be a successful regression subject because I am analytical. I get settled in a chair and the professor asked me if there was anytime I wished to regress back to. I informed him I didn’t have many memories of mother’s Dad and I wanted to find out if there was memories of Grandpa Stone of which I was not aware.

I am relaxing in the chair as the professor tells me to continue back in my mind to a point in time that I needed to connect with Grandfather. I close my eyes and the professor counts back the years. I regress in age back to the year nineteen fifty-two. I take a deep breath relaxing more and more while the images become more defined . . .
 
 . . . Everything is coming into focus now. Grandpa leads a horse to where we are. Yuck, horses have a strange smell. Grandpa tells me the horses name is Jake. I think a horse having a name is funny. Jake is brown and powerful with muscular legs and feet with hard rough things on them. His hair floats down the side of his body and I appreciate its silkiness. The horse turns around and gives us a nicker; he is ready to go. Grandpa hooks the mare up to the wagon and instructs me to climb up onto the wagon. That wagon is huge and I hang onto the sides of the buckboard so I don’t fall. My heart is beating fast as I hold my breath because I am frightened I will spill off the side of the wagon, but I don’t tell grandpa . . .
 
 The horse pulls the cart. I enjoy the horse and wagon. The wind is brushing against my face and the sun is shining on my hair. The horses feet echo as they clop on the road and then grandpa called out to the horse to “whoa.” The wagon and the horse abruptly halt. How did the horse understand what whoa meant? Grandpa climbed off the wagon and walked into the adjoining ditch. He stoops to the grass and comes up with a handful of strawberries. Grandpa hands the strawberries up and I pick the stems off and pluck the berries in my mouth. I appreciate both sweetness and sourness, not knowing which the berries are. I decided that I love strawberries . . .
 
 . . . I am setting on the front porch steps of my grandma and grandpa’s two room house. There are tall ancient trees in front of the house. Grandpa comes out and moves over under a tree and brings black dirty looking walnuts back to me. He tells me if I sit still he will crack the walnuts for me. Did you know walnuts are hard to open? Walnuts have black sticky stuff on their surface that stains your hands and fingernails if you aren’t careful. Grandpa gets one to open and I can see the walnut inside of it. How will he get it out? I still sit patiently and finally he frees up the prize and gives me a piece of it. I pop it into my mouth and think that is a lot of work but it tasted great. Grandpa and I eat the walnuts as we sit on the porch in companionable silence . . .
 
 . . . My shoes create an echo on the floor as I walk down a long hall. The outside of the building is all brick and is two city blocks big. I am at “the institution”. I am not sure what “the institution” is but it sure is big and my grandfather lives here. I feel a chill go down my back. Then I remember nothing, just blackness. A part of me recognizes that I don’t know if the memory is not there or not accessible . . .

. . . The next thing I know I hear my professor begin to count me back by the years. We get to nineteen sixty and I begin to feel dizzy and disoriented. Feelings of sadness and confusion hit me in the stomach. I hear the words, “He committed suicide.” I begin to cry. My professor instructs me to open my eyes and then close them again. He tells me everything is all right, just let the feeling surface. The next thing I know I am reoriented to the room. I take a deep breath to still the beating of my heart. I release the emotions in my throat as realize I have just had one of the biggest lessons in past life regression I could have had. Everyone on the room is silent. We take a break. 
 
 My grandfather was what they then called bi polar. At that time they did not have many medicines to control his wide range of emotions. He spent most of his adult life in the institution. I remember him as a gentle loving man. Sad that I didn’t get to spend more time with him.