Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist

Well, Whatever It Was It Was Vivid

Thing is it's too bloody easy....

I flip through one of the books. Learning hypnosis takes a minute she says.

Oh well, no time like the present.

Imagine you're in a lift.

It's spacious and comfortable. What colour is the interior.

Pink. Now get on with it

Going down.

One floor, two floors...

Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's enough.

Step out. The floor is flagged. It's a cellar. Sort of medieval. there are lots of doors. Choose one.

A cold, wintry blast is coming through the one I head for. I step through. A light dusting of snow. I'm wearing armoured shoes with sliding metal plates that allow for some flexing. Won't walk far in those I think.

There's a bank in front of me, with bushes at the top. A man on a horse comes over the rise.

The man who is me doesn't seem to be armed. He's not a knight, more like a man-at-arms. I think he may have lost his weapon somewhere down the line. Could be he's a bit disorientated. He wishes he had a poleaxe or something but he doesn't. The man on the horse canters up and takes a swing with the heavy sword he's carrying and my man goes down. I don't know where he's been hit, but it's incapacitating. He lies there on his back, like an overturned beetle, with his breastplate weighing him down.

Does the horseman stop to finish him off? No. Why should he? Plenty more out there for him to kill.

My man isn't dead but he might as well be. Odds are he'll freeze to death.

Where are we? My conscious mind says "Towton".

And was that a glimpse of something that really happened or is my mind- which is well stocked with historical trivia- spinning itself a yarn?

I get up. I wasn't watching the clock but the whole exercise seems to have taken about a minute.

Without thinking I go over to my mother and fill her empty tea cup for her.

Ailz says, "That's odd. I was just about to get up and do that myself."

So not only regression but telepathy....
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