I had never been to Europe. Peter was charged with planning our honeymoon since I planned our extravagant wedding of 400 guests, consisting mostly of my parents' friends.
We landed in England. After a few days in London, we traveled to York and stayed in a Bed and Breakfast. It would be the first B&B, I'd have stayed in and something about staying in someone else's home made me feel funny, like I was intruding. After leaving our bags, we immediately left to look around the walled ancient city. We found out there was a ghost walk and made it a point to get in line. As was the case most of the time we'd been in England, there was a heavy rain but nowhere to keep dry, except for the pub. How convenient! So we left the cue to get warm and grab a pint before the tour began.
Standing at the bar, a gentleman started talking to us. "Where are you from?" He asked. "We're from New York." I told him. "Oh! So how do you like Olde Yorke?" he asked. We had not thought of it that way. We enjoyed his company, but I didn't want to miss the ghost walk.
"Why do you keep looking outside?" He finally asked. "Oh, we are here for the walk." I said. "Well, you won't miss it. I'll be sure to tell you when it's time to go out there." he said with a twinkle in his eye. "You see, I'm the guide." And with that, we laughed some more and raised our pints to him.
I remember that night so clearly. I can tell you just about every ghost and haunting he pointed out; the house boarded shut to keep the family infected with the Black Plague inside, only to find a small child who was not infected banging on the attic window, crying to be let out. There's the castle, that was the hunting lodge of one of the Kings. Every day, a cleaning woman saw the ghost of the King walk down the stairs, and as he brushed by her, she felt the cold chill of the dead. He said, he believed this cleaning woman, because after all, everyone should believe their own mother. But the story that still sends chills up my spine is the one where a maintenance worker fixing the boiler of what today is the Mint. As he worked in the basement, all of a sudden, he heard the shuffle of feet, the whinny of horses and when he looked up, he saw a troop of soldiers clad in armor, walking in front of him. He noticed a few things that made his rendition believable. He could not see below their shins; as it turned out, the basement of the Mint was poured concrete which was why he couldn't see their feet. He also noticed the shape of their shields and how they carried them. Because he was not an educated man, he would not have known that a lost Roman Legion, one that carried the shield in their right hand had been buried in York hundreds of years before.
As the ghost walk ended, we headed back to our B&B.
I had trouble sleeping, but no sooner had I finally dozed off, when I had a dream. I dreamt that I was standing in the kitchen of a home, my home? When soldiers, hurt, tired, dragging their armor, shield and swords, appeared in the fields. I pumped some water into a wooden bucket and grabbed a ladle. I walked up to a soldier with a horse and offered him a drink. As he took my hand, bringing the ladle to his lips, he tilted his head and I saw he was Peter.
I woke up just then and was so scared that I pushed myself away from Peter as he tried to comfort me. He questioned what was wrong. "Are you OK?" As he moved closer, I became even more frightened. I finally let him hold me and I sobbed as I told him about my dream. He stroked my hair and let me rest my head on his shoulder until I fell back to sleep.
It would only be in the morning, as we ate our breakfast that he told me he had the same dream. We had the same dream, at the same time.
It would only be in the morning, as we ate our breakfast that he told me he had the same dream. We had the same dream, at the same time.
At first, we chalked it up to a weird coincidence, but after 32 years of marriage and nearly 35 years together, I have to say, we know better.
That was the first of many times we would confirm that we've been together for lifetimes. He has a very old soul and I have lived multiple lives, that's for certain.
After the attachment we both felt for the San Bushman, there is no denying we must have been together way back then. After all, it resonated with us both, the San way of life and our own nomadic lifestyle.
There are undeniable traits that we possess that harken back to Bushman ways. The hunter/gatherer in us as a pair, the matriarchal system where my family has taken him in, and the fact that we follow the food source, which in this day-and-age are his jobs, most recently relocating us to St. Croix.
My theory is that people return to this world to work out some issues. A little Buddism, a little Christianity, and a whole lot of English Lit. that helps me to flesh out the meanings behind coincidences. In other words, my theorized theology goes like this...we have to accomplish something while on this planet. It's more a mission, than a purpose, although I think some people's purpose is the mission. But in my case and for most people I know, we are here to work through an issue, that when acknowledged, will help us to move on. Move to better and better lives.
I was told by a reiki master that this could quite possibly be my last incarnation. That I will reach my "goal" so to speak. Peter, who has had many more lives than me, was told and believes he's here for a long time coming. That, as an astrological ox, he's pulling that plow, unable to lessen his burden.
I don't know.
We are coming up on our 32 wedding anniversary. I insisted on a trip to Scotland. It just kept ringing true to me, that we needed to go there and it had to be this year. So, in a few days, we'll go off to Scotland. Like our honeymoon, he's mapped out our journey, made reservations, and any arrangements. This time, we'll be driving all around the country/countryside. And as before, I'm really just going along for the ride.
That's how I've seen the past 32 years we've had together. He dictates what we are doing, where we are living, how we will live. Sure, there are things I've insisted on, having children, for instance; and places we've lived, Hoboken, Manhattan, Garrison to name a few; and things we've done, gotten married, moved to Ghanzi, a remote village in Botswana, and opened a store. But for the most part, we've followed the food source/his jobs, where I set up our homestead, gather our community, and am ready to pick up and move again if we are all to thrive/survive.
And that's the question I face yet again. Just like my birthday, Peter says, I question our marriage every year around our anniversary. In my mind, I have to. Do I want another year of this? We fight about the same things, year after year. Sure, recently, we fight less, he seems to have gotten over one very crucial trait that drove me crazy. But he still needs ultimate control - if I start making plans or settling in, he rears up and puts his fist down about dumb things, nothing, unsettling everything. He still pulls away when things are too good, causing me to mistrust him, this, us. And then there are the spans of nothing, of coasting, of isolation.
Why?
We're working on that. We've come to see that the bushman wants to provide for his family, willing to relocate and driven to follow the meat/the water source. Then, there's the Roman soldier who was always embattled. When I met him in that dream, he was so tired of fighting, but all he knew was to fight. I think of our disagreements, no matter how small, they would turn into a full out war. I would see that soldier, swinging blindly, trying to stay alive, trying to make the attacks stop. Only, I wasn't the enemy. I was on his side all along. He and I are trying to grasp that for both of our sanity, for both of our piece of mind. I don't think he fully accepted what I had to offer in that dream. I was from the "other side" yet I offered him water, I gave him aid. I allowed him to finally put his sword down, let his guard down. I gave him peace.
As another year goes by, do I follow my hunter to St. Croix and set up our home there, which is what I've done for many of our lives together? And do I give him peace, a place to rest? Is my bucket half-empty or half-full? I don't think he knows. I know I do not.
There are undeniable traits that we possess that harken back to Bushman ways. The hunter/gatherer in us as a pair, the matriarchal system where my family has taken him in, and the fact that we follow the food source, which in this day-and-age are his jobs, most recently relocating us to St. Croix.
I was told by a reiki master that this could quite possibly be my last incarnation. That I will reach my "goal" so to speak. Peter, who has had many more lives than me, was told and believes he's here for a long time coming. That, as an astrological ox, he's pulling that plow, unable to lessen his burden.
I don't know.
That's how I've seen the past 32 years we've had together. He dictates what we are doing, where we are living, how we will live. Sure, there are things I've insisted on, having children, for instance; and places we've lived, Hoboken, Manhattan, Garrison to name a few; and things we've done, gotten married, moved to Ghanzi, a remote village in Botswana, and opened a store. But for the most part, we've followed the food source/his jobs, where I set up our homestead, gather our community, and am ready to pick up and move again if we are all to thrive/survive.
And that's the question I face yet again. Just like my birthday, Peter says, I question our marriage every year around our anniversary. In my mind, I have to. Do I want another year of this? We fight about the same things, year after year. Sure, recently, we fight less, he seems to have gotten over one very crucial trait that drove me crazy. But he still needs ultimate control - if I start making plans or settling in, he rears up and puts his fist down about dumb things, nothing, unsettling everything. He still pulls away when things are too good, causing me to mistrust him, this, us. And then there are the spans of nothing, of coasting, of isolation.
Why?
We're working on that. We've come to see that the bushman wants to provide for his family, willing to relocate and driven to follow the meat/the water source. Then, there's the Roman soldier who was always embattled. When I met him in that dream, he was so tired of fighting, but all he knew was to fight. I think of our disagreements, no matter how small, they would turn into a full out war. I would see that soldier, swinging blindly, trying to stay alive, trying to make the attacks stop. Only, I wasn't the enemy. I was on his side all along. He and I are trying to grasp that for both of our sanity, for both of our piece of mind. I don't think he fully accepted what I had to offer in that dream. I was from the "other side" yet I offered him water, I gave him aid. I allowed him to finally put his sword down, let his guard down. I gave him peace.
As another year goes by, do I follow my hunter to St. Croix and set up our home there, which is what I've done for many of our lives together? And do I give him peace, a place to rest? Is my bucket half-empty or half-full? I don't think he knows. I know I do not.
