Even so, all crises come with certain inner commotion, and if you are attentive, it is in the moments of crisis when you can find a stronger connection with your past lives. I already talked about the physical and mental exhaustion I brought after the holidays and how it made me connect with Katrina. Now I have also felt a little like she did, it usually happens to me when I see everything falling apart around me, either in the literal sense like when we painted the house, or in the figurative sense as has occurred with the forum. But above all, I have connected with Roderic, curiously when I least was thinking about him. In the face of adversity, my fighting streak comes to light, the one that says “I can’t stop fighting”. The warrior’s spirit... the one that makes me live in a constant state of alert, the one that won’t let me surrender. That is how I died in my life as Roderic, and little by little I am identifying the reason of my anxiety. But, as every other warrior, Roderic also has his moments of weakness, even when he can’t acknowledge it to anyone, with all that entails. It is like that saying that goes:
So far, it was very clear to me that Roderic was behind this other character, totally different (a captain of the guard in medieval times with his own personal demons) that I created for my other novel. But I had never noticed such clear and solid parallelisms that exist in my space story.
Part of the dialogue for an upcoming scene was drawn in my mind this way:
Gareth and I are going to or coming from (or both) the "city”, that is, I would say from the market that is in the outskirts of what would be Galway. We are walking on some kind of road, of a grayish stone, cobblestoned, but this is the only thing that is built beside the castle we see on the background. I would say only part of this road is cobblestoned, the part used by carts, and on the other side there is only earth. There is a small stone wall on the left, not too high, maybe up to the waist of an adult or even less. Near this wall our cart goes, pulled by a horse or a mule, and I would say without a davit or anything, all very rudimentary. It is likely our father guides the animal from below. The cart is small, we use it to carry the provisions, and it goes a bit inclined, that is why I think it is hooked directly to the animal and it only has two wheels. But I don’t get to see that. I only see we are walking on that road, sometimes trotting along, we go up and down the cart, as playing, joyful. I see Gareth very clearly. He must be ten at most, I see his child face with tousled locks of black hair and somewhat red cheeks. I must be a bit younger, maybe seven. And as we advance, seated on the cart looking backwards, I see fog coming up from the left side. That is why I think perhaps it is a bridge we are crossing, and the river is on that side.
The surroundings are gray, but we are not in winter, because our clothes are light, including the shoes. At some point I feel I have stepped on something, something has stuck in my left foot, I feel the stabbing pain near the heel, and how the blood flows out and starts to moisten the cloth. I moan, I start to limp, Gareth is concerned about me and sees what has happened. He praises me because I haven’t moaned too much and I haven’t cried. The next thing I see is that we are home and our mother cures my foot. She removes the nail or whatever and dresses my foot up. I closely see the boots: the sole is not too thick, I don’t know what is made of, but I do know the rest is leather (similar to suede), and we ourselves sew it with the same laces I use in my wristbands when I am grown. The boots are very cool.
(Regression 28-4-2012).