Timeless Spirituality
Timeless Spirituality, hosted by Daniel "The Past Life Regressionist," is a captivating podcast that explores the depths of spirituality and its connection to time. Join Daniel and his guests as they delve into past life regression, astrology, and the timeless essence of existence. With occasional humorous moments, this podcast offers profound insights, making it a unique blend of enlightening entertainment. Tune in to connect with your inner self and uncover the totality of who you are and who you've been throughout time.
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Website: thepastliferegressionist.com
Timeless Spirituality
Ep. 98 - The Mirror of Time VIII: Generations (Solo)
The Mirror of Time "Home" Series
Part four of five
The Mirror of Time V: Vagabond
The Mirror of Time VI: Sweetness
The Mirror of Time VII: Metamorphosis
The Mirror of Time VIII: Generations
The Mirror of Time IX: Home
The narrative continues with a changing of the seasons; an emotional and nostalgic exploration of the universal experience of growing up and letting go.
Hey everyone, welcome back for part four of the Mere Time Home Series. If you haven't checked out parts one through three, I highly recommend you go ahead and check those out first, because you're going to be a little lost if you haven't listened to those. So go check them out. They are Vagabond, sweetness and Metamorphosis. That's it, that's all I've got to say. I hope you guys enjoy part four and get ready for the finale, which will be coming up soon. So, with all of that said, if you would like to book a regression with me to discover who, when and where you have been throughout time, you can reach me on Instagram at thepastliferegressionist, or my website, thepastliferegressionistcom. And now I think you guys know what time it is. I'm Daniel, the Past Life Regressionist, and it's time to begin Liftoff, and the clock has started.
Speaker 1:This is Time, with spirituality. As a soul living on this third rock from our sun, I believe I've lived hundreds, if not thousands, of different lives in different bodies, on different continents and in different cities, countries and civilizations that no longer exist, and in each of those lives, I believe that I formed connections with inanimate objects that meant something to me in one way or another, no different than a child having an attachment to a doll, a treehouse or a pacifier. But what about the dwellings and shelters that kept me safe in those lives? Do those perceived inanimate objects have memories and feelings of their own, or are they exactly as they outwardly appear to be, lifeless? But what if there is more residing somewhere out there, somewhere among the sands of time? For someone who believes that he's lived these countless lives, you'd think that my familiarity would equate to comfort. But in my 37 years in this go-around, I don't believe any place I've ever lived has ever quite felt like home. And yes, that even includes places I grew quite attached to. In 2004, the band Green Day released a song called Boulevard of Broken Dreams, which feels like the anthem when it comes to my relationship with home, and the first verse is as follows I walk a lonely road, the only one that I've ever known. Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me, and I walk alone. In this five-episode miniseries, I ask the question what is home? Or shall I phrase it in this manner what is a home? Is it a geographic location, a place with four walls and a roof, an enclosed space? Or is home a person?
Speaker 1:This series is presented through a narrative of journal entries written over the course of a year, whose origins originated straight from a guy coming to terms with the imminent nature of having to say goodbye to his childhood home. Some entries are written in the past tense and some are written in the present tense as I wanted to see where and when in time my fingers would take me. So I invite you to sit back, relax and join me on a different kind of journey through time, in the only life that truly matters. This one. This is the Mirror of Time 8, generations. Part 4 of the Mirror of Time Home Series, chapter 27,. September 23rd 2023.
Speaker 1:When the leaves no longer fall off the trees, according to our planetary astronomical measuring devices. As of 2.50 am Eastern Daylight Time, which would be 11.50 pm the previous day where I am, the northern hemisphere of our planet celebrated the autumn equinox. The northern hemisphere of our planet celebrated the autumn equinox. In other words, today is one of two days of a circular solar trip when every location on the planet experiences the same amount of sunlight, every living creature on the planet having the opportunity to bask in the sun for 12 hours if they so choose or weather permitting, that is, on this day. There is no amount of money or bartering that can buy you more sunlight than any of your earthly neighbors. It truly is balance and harmony in its most authentic expression. And, generally speaking, this is also the jumpstart to leaves growing on trees in one hemisphere and leaves falling off the trees in the other. And in approximately six months, when we experience our next planetary equinox, all of our lives will look a little different. Some will lose jobs, loves, loved ones, weight, friends, health and even sanity, and others will gain the forementioned. Then, in six months, the flora will begin their song and dance again, and then again, and then again begin their song and dance again, and then again, and then again. A cycle ensuring the motion of all that is monotonous, yet so necessary and so beautiful.
Speaker 1:Chapter 28, may 1995, the year before my 10th birthday. Four score and seven years ago are wait, that's not right. Yo, adrian, I wait. No, that's not right. You want to know how I got these scars, these scars? My father was Wait, no, that's definitely not right, because my dad is the greatest guy in the world. Wait, no, universe, my dad is the greatest guy in the universe. And just in case you were wondering, those were three impressions from iconic moments in history Lincoln in the Gettysburg Address, rocky talking to Adrian and the Joker talking about his scars in the Dark Knight. But I digress.
Speaker 1:As I previously mentioned, my parents got divorced when I was young, but they always worked as a team, creating the best conditions for me as a child of divorce the poster child for positive divorce conditions, if you will, and as is typical in most households of divorce in America. I spent more time with my mom than I did with my dad, but he made the most of every minute he had with me. My dad traveled a lot for work and I was always sad to see him leave, but no matter where he was in the world, he'd always stay up a little later or wake up a little earlier just to make sure we at least got a chance to say hi to each other every day. And on the days when I was supposed to be with him but wasn't because he was traveling, well, those became bank days and my mom was always willing to accommodate my dad's travel schedule. Again, I say Lucky I am.
Speaker 1:That was my Yoda impression, and a few days ago I came across a note that I'd written to myself over a month ago, and that note said Mirror of Time 8, australia. Now I've never been to Australia, so what could the note mean? Well, that all goes back to my ninth birthday, which was the day before my dad left for Australia for three weeks. Now that may not seem like a long time, but to a kid of my age it seemed like an eternity. That year my birthday fell on a school night, so there was no out-of-proportion celebration, but I'll never forget how much I cried that night after my dad said goodbye.
Speaker 1:I was still going to get the chance to talk to him every day, but it would be much longer between hugs day, but it would be much longer between hugs, and I love hugging my dad. But I suppose everything happens for a reason, because a few months later my dad informed me that he needed to temporarily move to New York City for work for a couple months. But he'd be flying home nearly every weekend to see me. But there was to be a couple week gap in the middle of his trip where he wouldn't be able to fly home. So I was then put on a plane to go check out my new digs at the hotel where my dad was staying.
Speaker 1:Now I know I didn't technically live in New York City, but since my dad did for a while, do I get a temporary resident status by default? Now, what do I remember from that trip? Donuts and a visit to Central Park. I knew it was big, but at nine years old I envisioned it only being slightly larger than my neighborhood park. But I'm sure the rest goes without saying, as I'm sure you all know where that sentiment will take us. And, by the way, I was referring to Central Park not the donuts.
Speaker 1:Chapter 29, May 2002. My 16th birthday. Since the day I received my learner's permit, I'd been planning this day. Months of thoughts racing through my mind. What would I do once I got my driver's license? Go drive past my elementary school, Go buy frozen yogurt at Ava's. Go get some sports decorations for my room at my dad's new house. But sadly that day would not be my 16th birthday. I'll never forget the smirk on the DMV employee's face as she told me I had received 100 on my behind-the-wheel test.
Speaker 1:Damn straight, I thought Take that friends who barely passed, but unfortunately I had to give you an automatic fail, she gleefully exclaimed. I was so confused, confused. She had just said I'd gotten a hundred. So how did I fail? Well, apparently I didn't fully look over my right shoulder as I turned into a residential neighborhood While passing through a bike lane. Oops, I hope she's happy now, sincerely. I mean, she must have been so beyond miserable in her day-to-day life to find joy in my moment of sadness. But I guess this place we called Earth is just a place of learning, so I'll cut her some slack. Anyways, it's okay, because I would just have to wait a little bit longer for my day to come. But of course that's not the way I viewed it at the time. It was the end of my life, or so I thought.
Speaker 1:On our return home, with my mom behind the wheel, I sat in the passenger seat, devastated All those things I had planned to do. I needed a car for and I wasn't going to ask my mom to take me. This day was meant to be a rite of passage into adulthood, but instead I was grounded by the employee from the DMV. When my mom and I arrived at my childhood home, I craved comfort. But I didn't want to be confined to the house, so I went out for a walk, and, being me someone who finds comfort in the familiar, where better to go than the park where I played as a child? So I walked down the street and passed my dad's old house, where he had moved from a few days earlier. From there, it was only a stone's throw to the park. With my head down, I made my way to the familiar Charlie, charlie Brown. Charlie Brown, is that you? No, it was me, 16-year-old D, and that was not the day I'd feel free.
Speaker 1:Once I arrived at the park, I walked around, just as I had so many times before. It was littered with kids, and I remember looking at them and thinking I was you. No wait, I am you. And as I walked the path through the playground area, I was fenced in on both sides by the sand that had softened my landings as I flew through the air. When I'd fling myself off the swings when I was a child, this was the same sand I'd landed on when I was 10, after I flew over the handlebars of my bike because I took a turn a little too fast, fast, and, if I'm being honest, I also wondered if it was the same sand I'd one day take my kids to play in when we came to visit grandma. In the future At least, the journey through time momentarily took my mind off the pain of not getting my driver's license. That day I felt like I needed to cry, but I wouldn't, because there were people around.
Speaker 1:So I made my way down the zigzag path that connects the park to the elementary school below my old elementary school. It seems like these places from my past just seem to call out to me and they're somewhat magnetic in these moments that feeling of familiarity, moments, that feeling of familiarity. So I found a spot out of view, I sat down and cried. I know when new things could have been worse, as my mom would frequently remind me that there were starving children in Africa. But at the time all I wanted was the freedom of driving on my own, and I'd just have to wait a little longer. But in my typical fashion, when something comes up, I allow myself to feel a little defeated. Then I wipe myself off and get back on the horsey. And as I sat on that zigzag path out of view, I quietly sang the words to my favorite song at the time, and it is still my favorite song to this day Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there With open arms and open eyes. Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there. I'll be there. You ready for the twisted irony? The title of the song is Drive and Drive. I did on my own two weeks later to the day, chapter 30. December 31st 2002.
Speaker 1:New Year's Eve I was with a group of about 20 people and we'd met up at a buddy of mine's house on the same street of my childhood home, bored and sitting around. We all had our driver's licenses, but we walked to the neighborhood park I mean, call the group responsible, as some of them were on certain substances but I crossed my heart and hoped to die. I swear I was clean that night, but sorry I digress. But I crossed my heart and hoped to die. I swear I was clean that night, but sorry I digress. But here we were, walking the same streets, we rollerbladed and rode our bikes on as boys, but at the age we were at now, girls had joined the group. We were getting older In nine months we'd be high school seniors and it doesn't get much more mature than that. And once we reached the park, most of the group celebrated by drinking and smoking pot, but I and a few of the other sober peeps in the group went over and played on the seesaw. I'll never forget the feeling of being at the neighborhood park at night, because until New Year's Eve of 2002, I don't think I'd ever been there much after sunset, as the posted sign stated, open from sunrise to sunset. Our delinquency was not lost on me. But what the hell? I was growing up.
Speaker 1:But while I was on that seesaw I remember feeling as if I was frozen in time. One moment I'm 16 and writing a toy designed for a child and the next I'm back on the same seesaw. The first time I wrote it as a child, 11 and a half years earlier, and as I look back on that evening I wish I could remember who was on the other end of the seesaw. But now I'll accept it for what it is A faceless memory in time. Where has the time gone and, more importantly, why was it and is it so hard for me to let go?
Speaker 1:Chapter 31, fall 1988. Up up and away. I was two years old and Mommy, daddy and me were living in an apartment for a few months as a brief remodel of my first house was taking place, with the addition of a den and updating the aesthetic of the master bathroom to a more contemporary 1980s standard. I don't remember much about that apartment, but I do remember the evening of October 15th game one of the 1988 World Series the Los Angeles Dodgers versus the Oakland Athletics. And oh, do I remember that iconic moment Bottom of the ninth, two outs one man on base, oakland was up four to three. The count was parked at full. Kirk Gibson continued to foul off pitch after pitch. Davis, on first, stole second and then, after a plate appearance that lasted approximately six minutes, the match commenced. Gibson hit a pitch to the right field bleachers and as Kirk Gibson hit his walk-off home run, my parents, along with the rest of Los Angeles, were going crazy. It was the first time the Dodgers had won a game in the World Series since 1981, and frankly, I didn't know what was going on, but it was nice to see my parents so happy. Then, a few years later, baseball crept into my life and made itself at home as a focal staple. For about the next 15 years. Baseball was life and life was baseball.
Speaker 1:When I was a kid, I didn't want to grow up to be a doctor or a past-life regressionist. I wanted to be a baseball player. Those guys were my heroes and I wanted so badly to be them. And in the days before instantaneously checking the scores on the internet, we had to wait until the box scores would be printed in the newspaper the next day. I wasn't always the happiest child, but baseball season gave me something to get excited about. Those days I always loved waking up and running to the kitchen. I'd excitedly open the paper to see how the Dodgers did the night before. But then, as soon as I'd find out, the excitement would dissipate. I'd eat my typical breakfast honey nut Cheerios capped with a plain, lightly toasted bagel with butter. I'd then get dressed and be on my way to a dreaded day of school. But now to inject a little more vigor, hands down.
Speaker 1:The most exciting year for my journey with Major League Baseball was in 1998. That was the year of the single-season home run chase between Mark McGuire, sammy Sosa and Ken Griffey Jr. Not only would I get to wake up every morning to see how my Dodgers did, but I'd also get to check out the cool little home run ticker on the front page of the sports section. Would one of them surpass Roger Maris' single season home run record of 61 home runs? How close were they getting? Was I going to witness history? And the answer is yes. Sort of Tuesday, september 8th 1998. I was 12 years old, the seventh grade began. A few days prior, I was sitting on the couch of my childhood home watching the St Louis Cardinals versus the Chicago Cubs. Long story short, it's difficult to relive the excitement of the moment it happened. The pitch was delivered and Mark McGuire broke the 37-year record, and I was ecstatic. Keyword was he finished the year with 70 home runs, setting the new single-season record, and it was a record that would remain for another three years until Barry Bonds broke it in 2001, setting the new record of 73 home runs in a single season.
Speaker 1:And, as I'm writing this, in 2023, the disappointment sets in. Those baseball players in the 90s were my heroes, but the chase was a show. None of it was organic. A few years later, it came out that most of the heavy hitters were doping Me. I like my juice freshly squeezed and without pulp, but this was a giant load of horse shit. My heroes were cheaters and while shortcuts have pretty much always been present in professional sports, it's my understanding that performance-enhancing drugs really became prevalent in Major League Baseball in the 1990s. Even at 12, I raised a brow. I didn't know if it was due to the steroids or the juiced up baseballs, but something was fishy and it wasn't the Florida Marlins. Sorry, I digressed again. I don't remember much from my time in that apartment in 1988, but I do remember Kirk Gibson's game-winning home run with two outs in the bottom of the ninth. I remember one of the greatest moments in sports history and I believe that moment was organic and I can't help but wonder if that apartment came furnished.
Speaker 1:Chapter 32. May 10th 2020. Mother's Day. Where were you for Mother's Day of 2020? Mine was spent in the garage of my child at home eating Italian food with Mama. The scenery and ambiance was slightly more unconventional than the previous Mama's Days we'd spent together, but in spite of it being different, at least we were together.
Speaker 1:Chapter 33 Late September 1999. Everyone is still a child. In the Jewish faith, a boy becomes a man when he has his bar mitzvah at 13 years old, and even though I had mine three months earlier, on that Friday afternoon, as the leaves began to fall off the trees, I didn't feel like much of a man. School was out for the week and my friend Alex was coming over to my house to hang out. The school bus dropped us off at the neighborhood park and we walked a few hundred feet over to my dad's house. Now we weren't going to be doing anything scandalous, just playing a bit of Ken Griffey Jr baseball on Nintendo 64. But as we rounded the corner and I saw the garage door open, occupied with my dad's car, my heart sank into my chest with a bit of frustration. I mean, according to the Jewish faith, I was now a man.
Speaker 1:So why was my dad home? He knew Alex was coming over. Did he feel the need to be there to supervise I mean, I was a man, right. So Alex and I walked into the house and I marched straight up to my dad's room and when I rounded the corner, I saw my dad sitting on his bed looking out the window. Dad, what are you doing here? He then turned around and I had seen something I never had before. My dad was crying. What's wrong, I asked.
Speaker 1:He told me that three days earlier, my grandmother, his mother, had a stroke that left her virtually immobilized and without cognitive abilities. A stroke that left her virtually immobilized and without cognitive abilities. Apparently, the time frame was narrowed down as on a Tuesday evening. She didn't show up for an engagement that had been confirmed earlier in the day, and two days later, when my grandmother's friends still hadn't heard from her, they had her building reach out to my father to request a welfare check. And when they went to check on her. They found her on the floor of her kitchen.
Speaker 1:Now, in the moment, I felt just as paralyzed as my grandma. This was the first person I'd known who was this close to me to experience a traumatic health condition, and the prognosis wasn't good there. I was overwhelmed with the feeling of imminent loss I'd never experienced before. My grandma was there, but at the same time she wasn't. But more than that, here was my father, roughly half a century in age, facing the reality of becoming an orphan, as his father had already passed away over 30 years earlier. But why is he crying? I thought my dad doesn't cry. I've never seen him cry before. Dads aren't supposed to cry, but he was crying because, even though he was my impenetrable dad on that Friday afternoon in early autumn, I saw him as something I had never up until that defining moment A son who was only human.
Speaker 1:Chapter 34. Spring 2002. Playing catch with my dad. I was 15, on the verge of 16. And, like most kids my age, I did not think that my parents were cool.
Speaker 1:Yet as I sit here writing this entry over 20 years later, I can't help but think of a Saturday afternoon when my dad asked me if I wanted to go play catch with him across the street at the park. It had been a few years since we'd thrown the ball around. But what was time to me? I was an indestructible teenager and when he asked if I was up for the game, I did something very uncharacteristic of myself at the time I simply said yes. No grunting pushbacks or excuses. Maybe it was my foresight for the longing sentimental feeling I'd have surrounding the park as my dad and I were set to move to a new house a few weeks later, as our family was growing with the upcoming addition of my stepmother and stepsister. But my mom still lived in the neighborhood, so it must have had nothing to do with the park.
Speaker 1:Maybe it was that I didn't have anything else to do at the time, so I figured why not? Nope, that wasn't it. Sometimes my eyes and an empty wall were all I needed to keep myself entertained. So could it have simply been that I just wanted to go throw the ball around with my dad? Must have been. Or maybe it was something else, because after a few minutes of us throwing the ball around, I could see he was in pain. He didn't know it at the time, but less than a year later he would have surgery on his back. But it wasn't his back that was causing him the visible pain, it was his shoulder Now, just because I could see the pain he was in on the outside shoulder Now, just because I could see the pain he was in on the outside didn't mean he could see the pain I was in on the inside. That day at the park, I flashed a fake smile when I was crying on the inside, as I knew it would be the last time I'd ever have a catch with my dad.
Speaker 1:Now I'm grateful to report to you that my dad is still around and is an avid viewer of Major League Baseball, but those days of my dad and I throwing the ball around are long gone. Why was it so hard for me to let him know how much it meant to me to have the opportunity for those days, weeks, months and years of us playing catch? Why is it so hard for me to walk up to him now and just tell him right to his face, more well, I don't know the word, but why is this the only way I can express it to him, as he's going to be hearing it at the same time as each and every one of you as he's listening to the recording. Surprise. Dad, you already know I love you because I tell you every chance I have, but I also really miss playing catch with you. I'm sorry, I'm so closed off. Life really gets me down. Sometimes. It's not only you who I don't open up to, it's mostly everyone. I don't know why I feel the need to remain so stoic in the face of every sunrise and sunset. Why? How did they decide to put sugar in separate dispensers than the traditional salt and pepper shakers? Why? I don't think I've ever been in love and I know I've had my heart broken. I'm out there making a difference in the world and it's constantly being mirrored back at me, but why do I feel so numb when someone tells me that I've helped them live a more fulfilling life? Why, dad? Why and the question I will ask myself for years to come is why is it so much easier for me to open up in this form in front of the world than individually to those I'm closest with? Forum in front of the world than individually to those I'm closest with? Anyways, I love you, dad, and I'll see you next week for dinner.
Speaker 1:Chapter 35. November 9th 2023. The Cape. It's currently 5.52 pm and about three weeks ago, when I looked, the clock read 5.52 am. At that point I'd been lying awake in bed for about two hours, thinking about the day, a little less than a year earlier, when my mom had asked me to come over to my childhood home to empty out the cabinets in the garage where my childhood keepsakes resided. The move was still months away, but she'd been badgering me for months to come over and send my precious childhood tchotchkes and memories to their new residence in the garbage bin. And finally, on that fateful Friday afternoon in November one year ago, I went back to my childhood home to say goodbye to a little big piece of my childhood. Let me put it to you this way Cleaning out my closet every few years of clothes I no longer wear is grueling enough, but saying goodbye to those little pieces of childhood was fucking torture. I mean, it wasn't like the guillotine that I visited a few times in some of my other lives, but, metaphorically speaking, saying goodbye to my things felt worse than nearly dying of dysentery, only to survive and then die from being trampled to death by the entire Roman army, and then the Mongols, and then the Egyptians and then the French.
Speaker 1:But what I'm feeling right now is a peculiar feeling Because I'm thinking about the world as I see it through the eyes of a writer. You see, when I'm working on a project, my observational senses are heightened to the max. Every step I take in the world is a process where I engage with each and every one of my senses, because the world becomes my inspiration. In those moments I often find myself wondering what will I see today that will service my inspiration as the missing piece of this project? But at the time of cleaning out the cabinets, I wasn't working on any projects and this piece I'm writing now wasn't even a thought. So I guess what I'm saying is even in painful moments, I somehow find inspiration if I'm paying attention. But in order to find inspiration I need to be paying attention.
Speaker 1:And on that day I wasn't paying attention to this pivotal life moment. I was too focused on the feeling of loss Because, had I been paying attention, I could provide a detailed account of everything I got rid of and everything I kept, and what I was thinking and feeling as I decided what stayed and what went. But there was one piece of cloth I found in a box that really sticks out in my mind. It was pink and purple, a few feet in diameter and it had two little strings at the top. And as I held it in my hands, for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it was. My eyes went back and forth from the cloth to the garbage, cloth to the garbage, and my mom's voice played on repeat in my head Get rid of as much as you can. What is this? I continued to ask myself, but I came up short. The memory of my 36-year-old mind failed me. It was a thin piece of cloth. Therefore it wouldn't take up much space in the plastic bin. There was no actual quota to meet for how much could stay and how much could go, but it was a piece of cloth that stoked no memory or emotion. So to the bin it went. That was on a Friday. Then came Monday evening, around 11 pm. I remembered what the piece of cloth was from.
Speaker 1:In my mind flashed the memory of a photograph of my preschool class prior to our little graduation. In the days prior to the ceremony, we all built little blue wood scooters. Well, had little blue scooters built for us, and once they were finished we lined them all up in front of the school and posed for our class picture. In the picture there were about 20 of us kindergarten-bound rascals leaning on our scooters with big happy smiles, and tied around our little necks were little strings with a piece of cloth that was pink and purple. We were all wearing little capes, and then the mind chatter kicked in. How could I have been so foolish? Why would I throw away a little piece of cloth? I must have kept it all those years for a reason.
Speaker 1:I held on to a rubber band ball, but I got rid of a cape from preschool. What the fuck was I thinking? Have no fear, I said to myself. The trash gets collected on Tuesdays, so all I have to do is drive over to my mom's house and get it out of the dumpster. If there is garbage on it, it's cloth. It can be washed.
Speaker 1:Yet as I went to grab my shoes, I thought about what I was going to do. It was 11 pm and I was going to my childhood home to rummage through the trash to retrieve a piece of cloth I'd never wear again. So I sat back down and asked myself is this really necessary? And if it is, what is my justification? All I could think of was retrieving it so I could watch my future son or daughter parade around the yard in attire from my childhood, a passing of the torch from generation to generation, just as I have keepsakes from my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. But on that Monday evening in November of 2022, children were a hard no for me. So, with no justification in place, I had to let that little piece of cloth go.
Speaker 1:My little cape from childhood, fast forward to October of 2023. My chest hurt so badly in those early morning hours as I laid there thinking about that little cape. Why did I throw it away? I should have gone back for it. It was a thin piece of cloth. You should have gone back for it. It was a thin piece of cloth. You should have gone back for it. So what changed? Honestly, I don't think anything changed.
Speaker 1:But as I looked back on the experience of cleaning out those cabinets, parting with objects that only held sentimental value, I realized I hold on tightly to many things, including ideas. You see, for the longest time, when I ate a cheeseburger, it would be the patty cheese and a bun. But then one day, when I was 18, I saw a friend of mine eating a burger with some lettuce on it and I got little goosebumps as I heard the crisp romaine detach from the hole. So the next time I ordered a burger, I added lettuce, and I have ever since. For 18 years of my life, I was so attached to the idea of a plain cheeseburger. And then, a few years later, I started adding tomatoes to my burgers as well. And if you told me at 17 that one day I'd willingly be eating burgers with lettuce and tomatoes, I'd tell you that would never happen, but it did. You see, my rigidness can be a godsend that keeps me from falling in tow with the herd, but it also has its own restrictions that can serve as limitations to my own personal growth. And as I continue to lay in bed on that early November morning with new tears filling my eyes, I continue to lay in bed on that early November morning with new tears filling my eyes I continued to ask myself what have I done, as two hours earlier I had woken up from a dream where I saw a child running through the yard wearing my old little cape. Except the child wasn't me, but he looked a little bit like me.
Speaker 1:Chapter 36, february 28th 2023, the Last Supper, just to set the scene for you. February 28th was a cold day in Southern California and we had just experienced a lot of heavy rain. I mean, there's heavy rain and then there's LA heavy rain, but this was just straight up heavy rain and, as you heard me mention at the very, very, very beginning of the Mirror of Time 5 Vagabond, I was supposed to be at my mom's house the morning of the 28th, but I didn't end up having to be there as my mom was available to meet the delivery guys. End up having to be there as my mom was available to meet the delivery guys. Now, it probably wasn't necessary for me to bring that up again, but I'm a stickler for consistency and continuity. So if by any chance anyone was wondering, well, there you go. But I was set to make my way to my childhood home later that evening for my last dinner with mom before she was set to move to her new house.
Speaker 1:Anyways, subconscious scheduling or fate have a funny way of rearing their funny little head. As little less than two weeks before, I was set to meet up with one of my oldest childhood friends, matt, but I had to reschedule due to the Rona. Matt and I went to preschool together and his family even ended up moving into my childhood neighborhood shortly after my mom and I moved there. So, as you can imagine, we go way back. Parentheses in this life end parentheses, new parentheses probably knew each other in another life end parentheses. So Matt and his wife live about three miles from my place, so we get together every once in a while to go on a walk and reminisce about the good old days.
Speaker 1:But that day a walk was out of the question as I was still feeling super worn down after the Rona. So we ended up hanging out in his home office just doing our thing, as we always do, and one of the first things he said to me was I heard your mom is moving to the desert. I said, yep, tomorrow I'm going over there one last time for dinner tonight. And then I had my eureka moment, as I said to myself wait a tick. Matt's parents still live in the neighborhood, so if I ever need to get in I could just ask them to call the gate Problem solved. So I asked Matt and he said of course and that was something else to be addressed from the mirror of time five, just in case anyone was wondering Although again you probably weren't Consistency taken care of.
Speaker 1:Where were we Now, as I sit here writing this entry nearly a month later? It seems a bit surreal to me that the next time I go to hang out with Matt, my mom won't be a resident of the neighborhood. It has nothing to do with proximity, as Matt and his wife live about 15 minutes away from his parents, but it's the essence of it all. I associate Matt with childhood and now it's hitting me. I had my problem-solved moment with gaining entry to the neighborhood if needed. What happens once Matt's parents leave Shit?
Speaker 1:Then, after leaving Matt's, I grabbed some takeout and made my way to my childhood home for one last dinner. I drove up the same road I'd traveled on the darkest day of my life, yet the trees were a little bigger and the air was a little cooler than on that hot summer day. I circled the roundabout and made a quick left and pulled up to the guard gate. Now, when people hear guard gate, I feel there's an automatic assumption that only mansions reside behind the barricades. But my childhood home was far from a mansion. It was a single story two bed, two bath, quaint, little slice of comfort, and it's 1540 square feet was all my mom and I needed. And as the guard checked me in, I thought back to the late 1990s, when the guardhouse was constructed. I thought about the times my friends and I would go hang out at the guardhouse when we'd be out rollerblading. I thought about what the street had looked like before the guardhouse went in. Then I looked to my right and saw middle school me walking home from the bus stop with my friends flashing a fake smile, and I sent a little love to myself, letting him know it was okay that he was hurting, but it wouldn't last forever. And then the gates went open. Sesame and I was on my way to the last supper.
Speaker 1:On the short drive from the gate to my childhood home, I saw a woman pushing a child in a stroller. I'm fairly confident that she was younger than I. Am a woman, that is, and this reminded me that not only do we grow physically older every day, but generations change as well. I was five years old when I first set foot in that neighborhood, and here I was witnessing a woman who probably wasn't even born yet at that time pushing her young child in the stroller. The mothers become grandmothers and the children become mothers. Time is a tricky little thing.
Speaker 1:Next, I pulled into the driveway and went into the house through the garage. When I opened the door, I was hit with the familiar scent of mom's cooking. But it was just a memory, as I was the one who brought dinner that night. I felt a little robbed, as I guess I took the last home-cooked meal for granted, as at the time I didn't realize it would be the last in my childhood home. And that all hit me within the span of a second, even before I firmly had both feet in the house. The interior of the house looked different, as there were mounds of packed boxes. Had I been 30 years younger, this and a few blankets would have been all I needed for a night packed full of entertainment. But I was older now, just a few years younger than my mom was when she moved into the house, and one thought permeated my mind when had the time gone?
Speaker 1:So my mom and I ate at the dining room table, as she'd already given away the kitchen table. That's because it was a kitchen table she no longer needed, as her new home had a built-in kitchen island and she was beyond excited to eat at it. It was a little dark in the dining room as she'd already packed up the chandelier, but we had just enough natural light pouring in from the outside. As this was an early dinner, I suppose we were both getting old. So there we were, at opposite ends of the table, with our view obstructed by packed items in the middle of the table.
Speaker 1:The last supper was a somber experience for a multitude of reasons, but what really hit home for me no pun intended was the location of the meal. We were sitting in the dining area, not the kitchen. The dining room table was reserved for special occasions, but I longed for the familiar, the thousands of breakfast dinners and probably hundreds of lunches I ate in that tiny kitchen alcove facing the street. I pretty much knew that the last time I had lunch at that table would be the last, but I had no idea that the last time I had dinner at that table would have been the last. Some people are destroyed by the perceived big things, but that little kitchen held more memories for me than the dining area. I was kind of crushed. Then, after we wrapped up with dinner, I said a quick goodbye to the house as I was 99% confident I'd be coming back the following day for a proper goodbye, but there was always a chance I wouldn't be able to make it, as shit does happen sometimes. So I gave my mom a big hug, goodbye, and I told her I'd see her in a few weeks, when I had it in my calendar to come out and see her new place.
Speaker 1:As I left, the night firmly set in and I got into my car and again took the long way around the neighborhood. I drove a few of the streets because, well, I have a hard time letting go. I then made my way over to the previously mentioned neighborhood park and decided to get out and walk around a bit. Keep in mind it was cold to get out and walk around a bit. Keep in mind it was cold I mean an LA cold cold, but cold nonetheless and everything at the park was wet and I suppose that was a plus, because that meant no one was there and soon it'd only be me. But before I got out of my car I looked in the rearview mirror and there he was, me, firmly going, gray, the inevitable sign of the passage of time.
Speaker 1:Now, I've never been one to care much about that, but there was something about seeing my graying hair at my old neighborhood park, which really hit me hard. Even though I sometimes still feel like a child. My body was letting me know that I was growing up and, as fate would have it, once I got out of the car I stepped into a pretty deep puddle, which ended up ruining a pair of Nikes that I'd had since March of 2019. But that wouldn't deter me from my trip down memory lane. I seesawed from memory to memory, the good times and the bad. I noticed that the sand had been replaced with wood chips. The seesaw was gone. The newer playground equipment had more muted colors than the original vibrant late 80s colors from when the original equipment was first installed, when the park was first built Again. Where had the time gone?
Speaker 1:I then walked over to the edge of the hill which overlooked my elementary school, the school I attended during my formative years. In the school. I felt called to visit on that hot summer day when I was ready to go to the other side. I looked at the playground in the back of the school and I thought back to the times when I was asked what my favorite subject in school was and of course, I'd respond recess. I looked towards the front of the school and I saw my six-year-old self on that first day of school, of the school, and I saw my six-year-old self on that first day of school not only for me, but for the school as it was newly constructed.
Speaker 1:And then my eyes inched over where I saw the newly constructed 2020s gates at the front of the school and I felt sad for where we are now as a society, but I also felt grateful that I grew up in a simpler time. Just as my parents and grandparents would say when they recounted their childhoods to me Generations change. I thought the passage is inevitable. And here I was, on the cusp of truly saying goodbye to my childhood A 36 year old man crying in the park where I played as a child. Where had the time gone? And then it hit me Time hadn't gone anywhere no-transcript.