“What?” Jennifer stirred but did not open her eyes. She smelled eucalyptus.
“Are you getting any reactions? Any sensations?”
Jennifer nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “It seems I’m in a tropical jungle or something. I can smell fruit, figs particularly. I am high up, sitting in a tree, I think.” She shook her head as the image faded, then quickly was replaced with a stronger, more vivid picture. “I’m seeing primitive people. Very primitive people. They are running, throwing spears at each other. It’s so weird. I mean, I don’t know.” Jennifer smiled, amused by the images that floated to the surface of her memory.
“Keep talking,” Kathy instructed. “What else do you see?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I’m seeing lots of things. I see a little girl. I know it’s me, somehow. I am pounding on an animal’s skull. Someone is going for me. A woman. She’s running fast. My father is there, I think. It’s all whirling past me, out of control.” Jennifer felt her body tense, opened her eyes. She saw that Kathy had pulled away the flannel sheet and was gently twisting a few of the gold needles.
“Don’t open your eyes. Don’t stir. Everything is fine, just as it should be. Talk to me, Jenny, and tell me whatever you can about these images.”
“I see myself. I mean, I know it’s me. I’m somewhere else, I think. I’m standing at the entrance of a cave. I’m bare breasted, and I’m wearing just a piece of leather around my waist. I am happy, very happy. And I am beautiful. An African, maybe. My skin is chocolate colored. I am carrying this bowl in my hands. I am a painter, I know. I hear something. I’m looking around, looking at this dense jungle, and I think I am hearing something. Then I see a crowd of people—cavemen!—they are coming towards me. I am frightened, but I don’t know why.”
Jennifer stopped speaking.
“Yes,” Kathy whispered, leaning closer. She had taken out a pad and begun to scribble down notes.
“It’s gone. Nothing.”
“That’s all right,” Kathy instructed, “let the image go and wait for the next one. There’s more. Your body is in tune. Your meridian points have been reached.”
“I see Rome or somewhere like that. Greece!” Jennifer interrupted. “It’s a building with an open courtyard. I see two men talking. They’re talking about me. I’m a student here, at the palestra, a young boy. One of the men, the man on the left, will be my lover. I know that, looking at him. He’s a poet.”
Jennifer fell silent. The recollection stunned her.
“Don’t try to evaluate anything,” Kathy urged. “Just describe. We’ll talk later.”
“I see something else,” Jennifer whispered, concentrating on the visions. Her eyes were closed, but the images that filled her mind were fully realized and brilliantly rendered.
“I see a ship. On the Nile, I believe—and it’s extremely warm. Blistering hot, really. I am wishing for a breeze, any sort of breeze. The boat is moving with the tide, toward the sea. I’m a maid, a lady-in-waiting or something.” Jennifer saw a man turn to her and ask a question. She did not hear the question, and the handsome Egyptian was someone she had seen before. It was the young reporter from the magazine. But before she could even describe the scene, explain it to Kathy, the scene faded, and dissolved. Then her mind was filled with another world.
“I’m walking down a cobblestone street. I’m wearing nun’s clothes. A long black habit. There’s a crowd of people. I’m being led to a square. I’m being punished for something, I think.” Her body began to perspire on the massage table.
The flannel sheet suddenly was too warm. “Take it off,” she begged, and Kathy Dart reached over and pulled off the long sheet. Jennifer felt a cool breeze, but her body was clammy with sweat.
“Go on,” said Kathy.
“I’m to be burned to death for my sins.” She felt herself being pulled forward by black-hooded monks, saw herself going up onto the great stage where the Grand Inquisitor stood. She glanced around at the open square, crowded with peasants, then at the high bleachers, filled with the aristocracy of the Italian town. She saw Margit there, staring down at her. She kept turning and saw another woman, dressed, as she was, in the habit of a nun. Then the Grand Inquisitor stepped into her line of vision and began to read the charges against her. He turned to the crowd as he recited the list of her sins against God, and Jennifer realized it was Simon McCloud, condemning her to death.
“Are you okay?” Kathy asked.
“I don’t know.” Jennifer realized she was crying.
“Perhaps we should stop.” Kathy stood to remove the half dozen acupuncture needles.
“No, please, let’s continue.” Jennifer wanted now to know the secrets of her past. The Italian scene had slipped away to be replaced by another image. Men were riding horses across open fields. She could see snow-covered mountains in the far distance, saw, too, that the men were being chased by Indians. Hundreds of warriors were swooping down off the hillside, billowing dust across the landscape as they galloped after the fleeing white men.
Behind them, in the distance, an overturned covered wagon tipped into a rushing riverbed. She saw a child running from the prairie schooner and realized that it was she. She saw the fright on the little girl’s face, the terror in her eyes, as she came running. One of the Indian braves swept down on the fleeing child and lifted her effortlessly into his arms. The child screamed in Jennifer’s ears as she was carried off into a cloud of dust, and she saw that the Indian was Tom. Tom, as an Apache, was stealing the white child.
On the table, her legs jerked.
“I think we’ve had enough,” Kathy whispered.
“No, no,” Jennifer shook her head. She was naked and wet with perspiration, but she was not cold. Her body felt aflame. “Please, I want to know.”
“All right,” Kathy whispered, “but remember that you have already lived these lives. Nothing can hurt you now. Lie quietly,” she instructed. “We’ll go on in a moment. Now, just calm yourself. Do you want me to explain anything of what you have seen?”
“Yes,” Jennifer said at once. “Am I seeing a lot more than other people? Or less?”
“You are a very good subject, attuned to your previous lives. We say that such a person has ‘clear antennae.’ It isn’t often that we receive such rich material on our first attempt. People often can only locate one or two such images from their past lives. I have to credit my spirits, too; they’ve guided my needles well.”
“I was seeing people that I know today. What does that mean?”
“It’s not surprising. We’re all connected; what’s important is the relationship. Who did you see?”
“Tom. Simon. And that young journalist who is doing that story about you.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out that Simon was once your husband. Or even that you were Tom’s slave in a former life.”
“And Margit was with me in one lifetime.”
“The connection between you two is very strong. Perhaps she was your mother in another lifetime. What we have here is the intense bonding that is only possible in such maternal relationships. That is why Margit came to you after she was murdered. Are you ready to go on?”
“Yes.”
Kathy Dart stood again and twisted the long gold needle that she had planted in Jennifer’s third eye. “I’m going to stimulate your recollections.” She pulled the flannel sheet up again over Jennifer’s body.
“Have we been doing this long? I feel like I’ve been on this table for hours.”
“Linear time means nothing to us, Jenny. Let your mind flow.”
Jennifer kept her eyes closed and concentrated on relaxing, on keeping her mind free. She tried to keep herself from dwelling on what Kathy Dart had said about Tom, that he was such a dominant force in her life, her master.