A story of one soul during two lives

Maybe I’ll cast a spell when I get home. Haven’t done that in forever. Seemed easier just to buy things. My spiritual health, I realize with a heart- stopping flash, has never been more precarious. When did I get to be so…worldly?

Somewhere between the signing and cashing of the check, I dimly recall.

She answers the door wearing a low-slung pink chemise and no bra, judging from her smooth, tanned cleavage and prominent nipple bumps. Two rows of perfect white teeth shine between her inviting, ruby lips. Her brown, curly hair is down, fluffy, a tendril resting on each of the breasts I am involuntarily ogling. A part of me wants to take her right there in the doorway, but my calmer head prevails.

“Victor…come in, have a seat. Let me grab a drink and we’ll get started.” I watch her ass as she struts across the room. Miniskirt. My blood is boiling.

“So, did you find out about the biopsy?” she asks innocently, which has the effect of ten gallons of icewater on my lust. Why is everybody suddenly so goddamned concerned about my health?

Especially psychics?

“No…listen, today I want to try to put some things together from my last life. I’ve had some odd dreams lately.”

She nods her beautiful head, and goes over to the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. “Your life as a Merry Prankster, right? Let me get my notes on that one.” She chooses a folder marked “Norman,” extracts it and sits down, setting her drink, which turns out to be coffee, on the appropriate table beside her. “Do you, uh, want anything, before we begin?”

Most past-life regression professionals stringently discourage the use of chemical agents for experiencing their services, and recommend avoiding even the most innocent of drugs prior to a session.

Llewellyn Reece is not among them. In her care, I have consumed psilocybin mushrooms, MDMA, LSD, and Ketamine, and a host of strange herbal brews from the dark jungles of the hot wet ancestral lands, all of
which evoke a different phase of memories. Her policy is to match the subject’s psychedelic state by ingesting the same prescription-to be on the same “wavelength”-but it in no way hampers her effectiveness as a therapist. Llewellyn has a fantastic capacity for any amount of any drug, from either a biological quirk, specific tolerance to each, or supreme discipline over her body and mind.

“Acid,” she explained, “is for ‘birth’ experiences. E can bring you back to when you met a soulmate. K summons the sensation of dying, and mushrooms can take you to the interstice between lives.” Her justification was that these drugs were actually analogous to chemicals produced at these momentous times in the brain itself.

My first impulse is to demure; then I think better of it. “Dose me,” I say. “I should be frying for this. After all, I practically tripped my way through that entire incarnation.”