Before we continue with the most serious and sad events from this life, I am going to finish the description of my family. The only thing I knew about my mum until then was that she had died early. One day I remembered her funeral, along with more pleasant scenes from my childhood.
«This regression was of life 1, in different moments, without much order, as usual. Where did it begin? Uff, I don’t remember… I think simply in the back part of the ranch, doing something, I guess. I think here I am a bit younger, I must be sixteen or seventeen years old, and I see my brother Robert riding a horse with a lasso, trying to catch a cow. He’s good doing it and I let him do those things. I think Alice encourages me to imitate him, but I prefer to take charge of the stable work: I give hay to the animals, I clean, I may take care of the hooves, with help, of course. My brother Jamie doesn’t help us because he goes to school. I ask myself if I went too, and of course I did. As not much more came to me, I asked myself about Becky, if there was something with her. I smile to myself with a somewhat naughty expression and I say nothing… like these boys that are a bit presumptuous but the reality is there is nothing at all, though it is is hard for them to acknowledge it. And then I see myself with her in class, some years before, perhaps being eleven or twelve. The classroom is small, I don’t think there are more than twenty pupils, and the ages are diverse. The aspect and the furniture in general is wooden. I am sitting at the right back. Becky is always with another girl shorter than her, at about the middle left, near the window. At the fore I also see a black child. And the teacher is wearing a long black jacket and a bow tie, and he has a wooden pointer. I’d say we use slates and chalks to write. I have some beautiful blonde curls and I consider myself a handsome boy, I am sure Becky likes me, and I like her… but it’s like I play indifference and I don’t tell her anything. She usually wears her hair braided, it is between brown and red, and a hat.
«I suddenly see there is a music band in the town, and I am a member of it, I guess like all other kids at school, it’s nothing special. And I play… have a guess… cymbals! Yes, that’s the only thing I’m good at… I think among the instruments there is a banjo, but I don’t have any future in music, though I don’t stop toying with them and I like banging them near people’s ears when I’m at home.
Afterwards I try to remember something about my mum, as I barely see her and the only thing I know is she died early. In effect, I see myself coming to a wake holding my father’s hand: a small room with chairs around my mother’s coffin in the center, open and I’d say of rhomboidal shape (not rectangular). I have to stand on tip toes to see her well. I bring a flower and leave it on her chest, then I sit down with my brother Robert and my sister Alice that are keeping me the seat. I guess my brother Jamie is still too small and he’s been left under someone’s care. I must be seven or eight years old. My mum has black, long and straight hair, very thin, and what I remember the most is her hands, fine and always smelling of soap. I don’t feel much pain at that point, I think I’m not totally conscious of the meaning of her death.
It might be that my father is quite older than her, or at least, he’s quite aged. I know he doesn’t spend too much time with us, but the war is over, and I feel he must have some war injury that left him with sequelas, it’s as if his health is weak and he doesn’t work fully as a soldier. It’s possible he limps or walking is hard for him. Now that my mother is not here anymore, I wonder who takes care of us, and I immediately see a bulky and overweight black woman who works as a cook, baby-sitter and everything she can. I guess she already helped our mother, but now she will have more work, and I know that for the ranch we have employees, until the day Robert can start doing something. I don’t know why, but it seems to me these employees are not as trustworthy as they should be when my father is away.
When I ask myself if I remember anything else about my mum, surprisingly more images come to me from when I was even younger. It seems the kitchen or some other larger room, there is some kind of wooden bathtub and she’s bathing me, I don’t think I’m older than three or four, she takes me in her arms and takes me out to dry me. I also see myself playing with the sand in the back part while she hangs up the clothes. She usually ties back her hair in a bun and sometimes this bun is wrapped in a white clothe. But unfortunately I didn’t get to know her a lot. I don’t know the cause of her death either.
So tough times are coming. Robert and Alice have to mature quickly to take charge of the ranch… and the situation gets worse when my father dies too. I see myself again in the room the day of his death, and out in the night gazing at the stars, feeling things are going to change. I see Robert talking seriously to me, both sitting at the kitchen’s table, saying we have to pull our socks up. The ranch is the only thing we have to make a living. I think I ask him if he’ll ask Johnson to give us a hand. He accepts.
But in reality I am not passionate about working in the ranch. And when Robert dies too I have no other option that assuming more responsibility… I think it is then that the world starts to fall apart for me, and I start doing things I shouldn’t do with Johnson. At some point I see myself alone in the church, sitting on one of the benches at the front, at the left side, I think I blame God for carrying my beloved ones away so early… I don’t think there is a God, and I tell the priest so when he comes to ask me what’s up with me (he calls me “son”). I’ve lost the faith in him. I don’t feel anything very intense in this regression, but I think all that together is what makes me lose hope in the future and not care about what my sister says, and so I prefer working as a escort with Johnson and hang out there with him getting in trouble instead of being in the ranch with the cows.
(Regression 27-4-2012.)
First, with the appearance of Becky it was clear for me why I always liked the books of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn that I already used to read in my current life’s childhood. In fact, I believe there is a certain Becky in the books and it is possible that’s why I called her that way.
On the other hand, my father’s personality gets well reflected in the memories I describe next, which I especially appreciate. Curiously, my current ideas about gun ownership are quite closer to his’.
Finally, from this regression it could also be deduced that being a first hand witness of the work with the cattle left in me a deep mark that finally took me to veganism in this life. I can see that my sensitivity towards animals was already present when I was Tommy.
«I am in the back part of the ranch, sitting on a fence. I must be around thirteen years old, and I am observing how my brother Robert (he must be around eighteen or even more) and other cowboys on horses use the lasso to catch one of the calves, they take it down and put it on one side to do something with it, I guess. I am still a bit young to do the same. It is a sunny day and I’m having fun seeing how they do it, raising a lot of dust. Then I realize Becky is also there, a bit at the left, with her long hair in two braids and the straw hat. I’d say she is a bit older than me. She points to the boys with her head. “So, don’t you dare doing that?” “Oh no, I’m still young”. A bit later I say, “We could go and bathe in the river”, but she says no way, her father wouldn’t let her go alone with me.
Then I see myself sitting in some kind of wooden bench in the porch, also in the back part. I rest. Robert comes and sits by my side, proud of himself, with his cowboy hat, smiling, and puts his elbows on the back side of the bench. He asks me if I was successful with Becky. I tell him no. He says I’ll be some day, I don’t have to worry. Then I ask him if he… you know, if he has “known” some girl already. With a naughty smile he says, “Of course”. “Where?”, I ask him. “What do you mean, where? In the saloon…” All the conversations in this regression were in fluent English. And he tells me her name is Rita. I know her too. She’s a tall and thin prostitute, with red and curly hair, great boobs. I know her not because I have been in the saloon (I have the impression they don’t allow children in), but because I usually see her in town and I guess I must have heard of it. I smile to my brother, as saying “You’re lucky”… and he confesses me he was only fifteen the first time, but they let him in because he was with Johnson. I also see Johnson in my mind, with his long and blonde hair and his rain coat down to his feet. Robert says everyone goes quiet when he enters the saloon and they turn to him… because, as he is the judge’s son, everybody respects or fears him, he could tell his father anything afterwards. I pity him a bit. Being the judge’s son has its advantages but on the other side it is a nuisance. I tell Robert, “When I’m old enough, I may try it with Rita too”, I ask him how much she charges and I think I’ll save until I have the money. Then I add, laughing: “But I think I might like Becky more”… We are like this when our sister turns up, she must have heard us through the window, and she says, “Becky might like a bull more than you, kid”. And we all three laugh.
Then our father turns up, he comes walking by the right side of the porch, he limps and his appearance is quite deteriorated. He must have come from an errand in town or something like that. He asks us what we are doing loafing around and we assure him we’ve been working hard all morning (though probably there is not much truth in this). He sits on a rocking chair by our side, and I don’t know how the conversation starts (I think it’s Robert who encourages him to talk), but he starts telling us about his tales of the war. He tells us he was in the battle of Gettysburg (if I’m not mistaken this was one of the greatest battles in the Civil War… I think around 1860). His eyes get clouded remembering it. He saw the death of many of his friends there, and he tells us we must never kill anyone without a good reason. “But… you had a reason”, says Robert. “No, I thought I had a reason, that’s what they make you believe, but there’s no reason good enough…” (I didn’t recall this exactly, but more or less this is what he meant). He says there are Indians loitering not too far from the town. He won’t let them get near our property, it is the only thing we have, and what sustains us, but he says we should never use a gun carelessly.
I don’t know if it’s because of his advice or I am already like this, but afterwards I see myself in the ranch, thinking “Life is much more exciting than death”. I like seeing how cows give birth to their calves, I like seeing the joy shining in my sister’s or Becky’s eyes when we give them the milk. But I have a very bad time when we have to kill an animal. I don’t even want to think how they kill calves when we sell them in the market… though I can guess, by a shot to their forehead. And then I see the day when the elders decided an old cow had to be killed, and I didn’t want to. I tried to convince them not to do it, we tell them we should sell it, but they say they won’t give us anything for it. I tell him to take care of it until she dies of old age, but they say that’s not possible, because we lose money… Then one the cowboys kneels down in front of me. He’s older than Robert. Maybe I’m younger than before, eight or nine years old. This cowboy is very likeable, and very nice to me. I think there’s some kind of blood relation with him, he might be my cousin, and I know he’s lodged in a cabin very near our ranch, with his wife and children. I know he sometimes takes me to the school in his cart, so that I don’t have to walk so much, especially in winter. His name is Randall. He tells me that if I don’t want to see how they do it, “go away and hide”, but death is part of life. At the end I think I stay, but I don’t see the complete sequence.
(Regression 2-8-2012.)
Research.
The saloons of the Wild West conjure up images of gunfights, heavy drinking and dangerous outlaws.
And these astonishing photographs prove that the Old West watering holes really did live up to their notorious historical reputation.
The pictures, taken in the late 19th and early 20th centuries in states from Montana to Texas, show what life was like inside the bars and taverns.
The saloons, which were were particular to the Wild West, were often the first establishments to open in frontier towns. Cowboys, miners, fur trappers and gamblers would all flock to them.
They quickly gained a reputation as dens of vice, often housing brothels and opium dens, and brawls would frequently spill out into the street. Women who weren't parlor girls or dancers were barred from entry.
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4642942/19th-century-photos-reveal-world-Wild-West-saloons.html
In a future entry I will vouch for the matter of brawls.
In similar articles there is also reference to «the upstairs girls». I can also vouch for this fact, but I think I will keep this for me 🤫.