It has been more difficult for me to reconstruct. Who knows why but some important details came to me years after the first regressions, already in 2015. I have picked fragments of several of them to give the story a coherent order. Besides, I have detected a small contradiction regarding the date of death of my brother Robert. My father was supposed to die after him, but in one of the latest regressions I say my father was still with us and feared my reaction. It is fine, our memory is not perfect (not even in out present lives), we can be wrong when we remember and also when we interpret the memories. Here is when it can be useful the rating I used to do of my memories, based on their quality (depth of the trance, if strong emotions were present, if the information came easily or not). To be honest, I am not certain who died before. It could have been Robert indeed, and then in the scene of my father’s death maybe it was Randall or another relative who was standing with us around the bed.
«I started seeing myself training with the Colt pistol I buy in the armoury. When I take it and get familiar with it, I soon realize the shopkeeper was right, it is not the same as a rifle. It’s harder to aim and you have to use more force to hold back the recoil, as you don’t have the shoulder to help. I have put something some meters away from me (I’d say a can). I load the pistol with its six bullets, close it, aim and shoot, no hitting at all. A bit later Johnson turns up and says he will teach me. I have the impression my father is not with us anymore, but I perfectly remember his words, and I know I have to make a good use of weapons.
Afterwards Johnson and I get ready for a day of escort work. We mount our horses and go to the encounter with the stagecoach, the departure point is in the town. It is ready to go, and the one sitting on the coachman’s seat, a middle-age man, says we are late. Johnson smiles with his usual snooty air: “Only five minutes”. We travel through a desert-like area, I think it’s more or less an hour of journey. As I still don’t have too much practice with the pistol, Johnson tells me he will take charge for now if something happens. He really did me a favour talking to the sheriff and recommending me for the job.
Then we arrive to the town of destination. We have to wait, though I don’t know how long, for the time of return. I do know we should go before it gets dark. And suddenly the name Maxwell comes to me, I think it is the town’s name. The three of us are sitting at a table, in a building, it could be a canteen or maybe the stagecoach office. We ask the boss what he does apart from driving the stagecoach. I don’t know if he specifies. He asks us the same. I say I have my father’s ranch. “Oh, yeah, your father”, apparently he knew him. And Johnson smiles mischieviously and says, “I also work for my father the judge”. We both know he rarely works… I don’t know if the boss knows too. The name McKenzie suddenly comes to me, and I realize that’s how our family is known in the town: the McKenzies. A bit later he says, “Well, it is time we move”. I get up stretching and yawning, I hear the boss joking with Johnson behind my back, he asks him in a whisper, “Are you sure this one can shoot?” I smile and say I have heard them. Johnson assures him of course I can, we are the best gunfighters in town.
Finally, a brief flash in the ranch, inside the house, it is late. Robert and I are sitting at the kitchen’s table with our sister, she’s doing the accounting with a notebook and a pencil, with the light of a candle. Robert complains and tells her to leave it, it’s getting dark, but she wants to continue, even when we are tired. She asks me how many calves we sold the last time, I think it was the weekend. I tell her two. And I left it there.»
(Regression 3-8-2012.)
«Then I ask myself why we have such a close relationship, why it is so hard to break our friendship… and the answer quickly comes: we grew up virtually together. Johnson, Robert and I. They both of a same age more or less, I a bit younger and shorter, but always following them everywhere. I think Johnson had a special esteem for me. He used to tease me a lot, but I used to make him laugh often with my ideas, as I am more intelligent than him. And I see flashes of some other mischief: he playing sheriff, with a waistcoat and a star on his chest, he always wanted to be the sheriff, and when I complained he would say he was the judge’s son, so he had the right to choose freely. I see a woman that plays the piano in the church on Sundays, I think she’s also our teacher, and one day we plot something so that she can’t play or she plays wrong or something like that. We are outside of the church, white walls, plotting something, right in the spot where we know is the piano, but I didn’t get to see it clearly. Or maybe we just want to lift her skirt. In class, Johnson sits several desks behind me, and he’s always throwing things at me or teasing me. But the best part was when we used to lay down on the prairie in summer nights and just stayed there gazing at the sky above us for hours, with a blade of grass in the mouth and chatting about trifles. The sky of Colorado is a wonder.
Another scene came to me in which all the children were sitting at the table laughing, and we suddenly heard our father coming in, limping, and we all get quiet, fearful. And he said, “Come on, I want to hear what you’re saying, I want to laugh too”.
(Regression 6-8-2012.)
In another occasion I only got some flashes about Tommy. In my past life journal I wondered why. I blamed it on a certain couldn’t-give-a-damn attitude I had all day, with desires of complaining about everything. Let’s not forget our past lives are still with us, not in vain we are the same spirit having different human experiences.
«First we are around a fire in our land, near the fence, it is dark and we are eating something that looks like over-toasted sausages, carved in very long sticks. I must be fourteen or fifteen, we ask our father about the Indians and he says they can not be trusted, that we should stay away from them if we ever cross path with them. I also recall my mum’s meat pie, and that makes me smile. Then, a flash in which I am kneeling on the ground, possibly bleeding from the nose, with my cowboy hat half crooked. It seems another fight, but I don’t see anymore. The next thing is a quick trial, nothing serious, they set me free and that’s all, but then, when I am outside, in a street in the town, the judge stops me with something pointy (maybe a walking stick or something like that). It’s another judge, not Johnson’s father, he has a grey little beard and he tells me “that boy” will end up badly and he says I should stop mingling with him. It comes to me his name is Judge Daighton. I doubt if that’s how is written but the pronunciation is very clear. Or perhaps it’s the name of the town. Images of the gallows come to me, that could be our dreadful end, but I don’t think I take it seriously. At least, not in regards to me.
In another flash I’m talking to Johnson, I think I suggest him we go, to find a living somewhere else, the town and the ranch wear me out, but he is even more apathetic than me and tells where I think we could go, to see if we find a gold mine or something like that? Obviously, we won’t achieve anything with that...
(Regression 13-8-2013.)