Through the Lens of Time: A Hidden Child, Sacred Patterns, and the Call of the Land

L: It was like a hidden life for the Indigenous People too. Even they didn’t want to cross paths with white people because they knew it never ended well. It was always complicated.

Communication wasn’t good enough on the white people’s side. Like, white folks were just… so disconnected in how they communicated. You offer them water, and they think you’re trying to drown them, you know?

...... E: How did that help them?

L: It’s not that it helped them. I think it was like… You know when you have puzzle pieces that are beautiful on their own, and then you realize you can put them side by side and they fit, but… They were already perfectly fine without knowing the geometric patterns and the essence of things. That wasn’t necessary for their inner fulfillment.

They were already beings on a deep path of realization. And now, it’s like—

It’s like an ornamental subject, I was going to say. But the fact that it fits together—it still feels good, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. That’s what feels good. That’s all.

It’s a bonus, you know? A bonus. Like, oh, it’s beautiful, it’s fun, it adds meaning. But when you’re already in peace, you don’t need to know every reason why. And it brings me back to what I was thinking last week about realization, about Moksha. You don’t need to research the Pleiades, the dimensions, and all the types of extraterrestrials to reach realization.

That’s just one path—but once you’ve reached realization, you already know everything. But in the end, all of that becomes less important because the only thing that really matters is realization. That’s it. Lately, I’ve felt a quiet but persistent call to begin gathering stories from past life sessions where individuals access lifetimes as Indigenous People. These stories are close to my heart. I sense that the land I live on—Turtle Island/Canada—is asking for them to be told. As if the land itself remembers. This idea is beautifully echoed in From the Trail to the Star People by Sarah Breskman Cosme, who suggests that these memories are not only personal but planetary. In this book, Sarah shares the stories of lifetimes as First Nations people including those who walked the Trail of Tears. It is a heart wrenching but also heart opening and uplifting book.

So when Lena accessed a lifetime where she eventually joins an Indigenous community—effectively becoming one of them—I was surprised. It felt like a confirmation that these stories are alive and waiting to be shared...sometimes in surprising ways. I hadn’t expected that there would be such relevant stories of white people joining Indigenous communities, but time and again in my work, I’m shown that there has been far more mixing between peoples—culturally, spiritually, even ancestrally—than we’re often led to believe. These stories offer a richer, more nuanced tapestry of history than what we’ve inherited.

What touched me even more was how clearly this past life echoed her current situation. Lena has been struggling with the frustration of wanting to move from Quebec to British Columbia but feeling blocked by external circumstances. During her session, this emotion came through so vividly—it was palpable. And when relief finally arrived, it was just as real. The weight of being stuck in a house for 23 years, isolated and hidden away, made her current waiting feel lighter by comparison. There was a healing in that perspective.

Another powerful thread in her session was the way she saw the geometric essence of things. As a young girl in that lifetime, she used a microscope to study plants and insects—not to use them for any particular purpose, but simply to understand them. To observe their patterns. To marvel. This reminded me of Barbara Hand Clow’s description of the sixth dimension in The Alchemy of Nine Dimensions—a realm of sacred geometry, where the templates of all forms originate before they replicate in our 3D world. Lena’s experience felt like a direct encounter with that dimension. Finally, I had a personal revelation when she described her pure devotion to study for its own sake rather than to seek to help or use knowledge (a typical Virgoan tendency).

I also can’t help but reflect on how much magic came from her boredom and solitude. As a homeschooling mother, I’m often told my children need more stimulation, more social time—usually by people who don’t know anything about the full rhythm of our week. But Lena’s story reminded me that sometimes, when children are left with themselves, magic arises. Boredom becomes a doorway. Vision opens. Of course, her story is an extreme example—but I believe it’s important for humanity to have a wide range of childhoods. This child was well cared for in many ways. And the space she had led to something precious.

This session was between myself (as the practitioner) and my friend Lena who is also a QHHT practitioner. We have completed a number of sessions together and they have all been so different (see this podcast episode where we talk about her accessing a lifetime as a ‘woman of pleasure’). In this session Lena, who is used to something more clear and exciting, was having a hard time with the slooowww storyline. It was a little amusing for me to watch her experience this…an experience curated perfectly for her by her higher self!

You’ll notice that at first, Lena has difficulty focusing and accessing a coherent story—this occurs in most sessions (it's also better not to have any people making noise in your space during a session but not necessary as you will see!). Confusion, resistance, and scattered impressions often arise in the early moments of sessions either in person or online. With time and trust, the story begins to clarify and unfold with surprising depth and insight. You will feel her palpable boredom and frustration..it can be hard to read! I believe this tension adds to the beauty of the climax at the end of the session.

The text that follows is a direct translation from the session which was originally performed in French. I’ve chosen to keep the translation as close to the original as possible, without altering the flow or tone. This past-life regression session was performed online. Enjoy!

THE SESSION E: Do you see anything?

L: Yes. A bug? It’s like in a… how do I say it? I’m trying to really close my eyes to see well, but—I’m getting there. I think I was dozing off and almost dreaming a little about work.I’m anxious about next week…My legs are so relaxed. In the beginning, I always tell myself I don’t see anything, that it’s not working...Now, I see—

I see colors shifting, it’s like when—you close your eyes and see black speckles and circles that close in.There’s definitely a bug, I don’t know if it’s some kind of cockroach or a big… beetle.

E: What kind of bug is it, and what color?

L: At first, it was like I saw it in a… in a— microscope. It’s like, not a big bug, like this—it was more like I was looking at it through a microscope. It looked like a big cockroach or beetle, but it’s not that—because it’s like being in a microscope.

E: Is it dead?

L: I think so. But I’m not sure. There’s just one.It’s weird. I was saying earlier, normally there are lots of things, but now there’s really just one.Something else is coming to mind. Like I’m doing research or something.And then the second thing that came to mind is like—what would my house look like?

And then I thought it would look like… kind of like the house from Outlander.

E: Okay, like a colonial-style house from the 1800s, or something like that?

L: Colonial, how do we say it? Yes. I’m trying to see…

E: Are you in a male or female body?

L: I would say female. Yes, but at first, I must have been in a room where… Ah, it’s hard because I hear my friend talking loudly on the phone. I’m really looking through a microscope, but I don’t think the bug was alive. It might have been dead. I feel like it’s connected to a disease. Like a microbe. Yeah, really a microbe. I’m thinking of scabies or a skin disease. Like something—

Ah yeah, by the way I just remembered I’ve got some skin stuff, I wonder if it’s from the cold. One of my questions for later is about my eyes and the dark circles on my eyelids. But for now, it’s like I’m doing research with that bug.

Im switching my headphones because I can hear everything upstairs from the conversation. I put on my other headphones. Oops! Going into low battery mode. We’ll still keep going… Like that.

E: Okay. Can you hear me?

L: Okay. Can I just redo the end of the induction, just to get that calm back, because now I really woke up a bit. Like just on a cloud. I’m not even sure what induction you were doing.

E: Repeats induction

L: It’s in the window, actually, because I see outside, I see the big beautiful house, and I see the white sheet, and the…well, a beetle again, and the garden, the vegetable plots, the sheets drying, the place where I am, at home—I see a woman dressed really like from the 1700s with her microscope.

I think I’m a child, and I think I’m looking out the window at the life of the house, and I play outside sometimes, but I spend a lot of time watching the woman doing research, looking through her microscope.

E: Is the woman your mother?

L: I think so, or my aunt. I feel like there’s some distance with her. Maybe she’s my mother, but not very…I don’t know, actually, I’m not sure. It’s blurry.

E: Are you playing by yourself?

L: No, I’m all alone. I’ve always played alone. Like we’re very rich, but we’re very alone.

E: Can you go to a moment where you are eating a meal and you can see who else lives in the house with you?

L: It’s really… I see a man who looks like a professor and the woman to my left—he’s reading the newspaper and she…she’s very serious. She’s not mean or harsh, she’s just serious, like she does really important things. She’s really busy. She’s kind to me and all, but she’s doing really important work, so she doesn’t have much time to pay attention to me. And to the right, there’s the housemaid who sits down a bit, eats a little, then gets up, picking up things.

E: And does she take care of you a bit more?

L: A bit more, but not really. You know, she takes care of me in the sense that she does the laundry and the cleaning, and makes food, but, you know, I’m very much left to myself. I would love a hug, but I don’t really get one.

I feel like I had an older sister, but she left the house.

E: So you know what’s missing. That you’re still craving something…

L: The professor and the woman…are they my parents? They don’t show me any love, any attention. And it’s like I was adopted, you know? They’re cold with everyone, it’s not just because I was adopted. They’re very kind, but just cold. They’re busy, but we can’t blame them.

E: Let’s leave this scene and move forward in time to another important moment, where something is happening, where you’ve arrived somewhere. What do you see?

L: Just before we leave the scene, I saw a candy wrapper, like plastic, in the corner of a wall. I find that strange because it doesn’t fit the time period. It’s like it puts me in a mystery game, trying to understand what it’s doing there. Ah, I’m hot, I’m tired, it’s hard to talk, whew!

Okay, so now we’re changing scenes, let’s see…

I saw myself with a ball, trying to play with it and throw it toward the house to break a window. I think I just wanted some attention. And even when I broke the window, they didn’t scold me. I thought, okay, maybe attention will come… but I wasn’t even scolded, so it didn’t work. I didn’t get the attention I wanted. I must be around 12 years old.

It’s really boring, really. There’s nobody… Sometimes they have parties, like balls, right? 

E: Aren’t there lessons?

L: Yes, I think a teacher comes sometimes to give lessons. Like two or three days a week, max. Sometimes they organize balls or go to balls, and that’s fun. I do all that with the other kids.… I see someone lying on the floor behind a stool in an apartment, like a New York-style apartment from the 90s, 80s, 70s. Lying between a stool and a couch, like on the floor, as if drunk.

E: Let’s return to the previous story. (This lifetime was getting boring and tedious for her and I felt she might be trying to avoid it. I thought it was important to see it through, at least stay with it until something happened. As a practitioner it can be tedious to sit with a client through a ‘boring’ and ‘slow’ experience like this. But I personally get a thrill out of the surprise and treasures that can be found after an hour like this!)

L: Yeah, it’s really boring and long and boring and long. I don’t know what to do in my free time. It’s not like I go to the river alone to have fun. I really just watch the sheets drying outside. I wait. Sometimes in my free time, I go look through the microscope.

E: That’s interesting.

L: Yes, I like it, but I don’t have many things to look at. I spit and look at my spit. And then I think that might cause a problem because it’s going to dirty my mother-aunt’s, my adoptive mother’s tools. It’s going to dirty her instruments, and I think that’s going to cause bad things—like a disease or something. It’ll spread microbes.

It’s really not good. She says, “I told you not to touch my things, not to play with my stuff. But I’m a child, and I’m bored. That thing is so interesting—you can see everything in it, in the microscope.

I want to take insects and crush them between the two glass plates. Then I see them explode—it’s a bit gross—and then I look at them in the microscope. It grosses me out a bit, the fact that I’m doing that.

It grosses me out in the way that my hands feel gross and sticky—not so much the girl doing it. But it’s really boring and long life.

E: We can leave this scene and move forward again.

L: There’s a tutor who comes often—or her tutor, I feel  impatience and irritation—it’s like, right now I feel it so strongly. It’s like I’m outside sulking. Everything’s going too slowly, I’m fed up. I want to move on and do something else—but it’s affecting me, it’s affecting Lena in hypnosis, the mental space of Lena. But I think it’s coming from the hypnosis, you know?

But yeah, it’s really bothering me, I feel a lot of irritation and nervousness, like I’m eager to move on and be done with this life.

E: Where do you feel it in your body?

L: I feel it in my shoulders. In my shoulders—I want to move them, rotate them like a helicopter, push them back on my back.  My legs too—I feel a kind of fatigue. Oh, my whole being, I think.

It’s really in my shoulders where I feel irritated. It’s weird. It’s unpleasant. It’s really energetic because I don’t feel it physically, but I feel like if I were to feel it, it would be a restless energy in the shoulders, like a tingling— a pricking sensation—but it’s like… I don’t feel it for real, but that’s what it would be.

Yeah, it’s really annoying. Like, I can see there’s a tutor who comes often to homeschool me, but it pisses me off to have to do school at home. I feel like I’m a hidden child, like a child who was put aside for like 20 years while I grow up—to be hidden, because, like, I’m some kind of royalty or something, and they would’ve killed me, so they took me and placed me somewhere else so I wouldn’t die.

No one knows I’m alive, basically. They took me… it’s like my guardians. They’re really good guardians, they’re very kind, but it’s like secret-agent-type guardians, who do what they have to do, and they play the role of being my tutors—because they’re my legal guardians right now—but it’s like I feel this impatience and this desire to exist, and I can’t handle being locked up there anymore, in this big house in the field, in the middle of the forest, you know?

There's a field, and there’s forest all around, and we’re far from everything.

Time moves slowly, and I just want to leave and run away, but… But you know, I mean, in the forest it’s going to be— I can’t run away because I’m not… I don’t know why I can’t run away. I don’t want to run away because I know it would be dangerous for me if I did. I know I have to wait, like, until I’m 20 or 25 years old to reclaim my role.

Yeah, it’s not easy.

I’m really impatient, irritated, and nervous, and sick of being there. I want to smash everything.

It’s like spending your whole life in a field watching sheets dry in the wind. And winter too, you know?

E: Yeah.That sounds very slow and boring. Let’s leave this scene and move forward in time to see what happens. Let’s move ahead until something changes in your life.

L: Now I’m on, like, a… I’m on a sort of carriage, and I’m heading into town. To buy things. No one recognizes me, so it’s fine. You know, I can go get stuff,  you know, do the groceries, that kind of thing.

E: Are you older now?

L: Yeah, I’m maybe around 20. I try to stay away from bars where there are only men because it’s dangerous, but…

What did I just say?

E: That bars are dangerous.

L: Yeah. Why did I just see a bird coming out of a package? Ah, the dragons again, jeez! (I laugh because she's all over the place today!)

Yeah, I see myself going to get herbs, you know, going to get herbs, mother tinctures. I go to some kind of apo…, what’s the word?

E: Apothecary.

L: At the apothecary, yeah. Yeah, lots of little vials, lots of little bottles.  I have money, you know, I take everything I need.

E: Do you get that for your home?

L: Yeah, for me, for the house, for the people I live with—my aunt, my uncle, the maid.

E: So you’re still in the same place?

L: Yeah. Now I see an old woman. Oh, sorry, I’m going on so long, this is so boring...ughh I see an old woman.

E: What’s happening?

L: I’m gathering things, plants, and now I’m going back to my house. I know it’ll soon be time to leave. I’m starting to get older.  People have forgotten about me, so I can start leaving soon.

The woman who takes care of me—I think she’s sick. Like, the maid, the housekeeper, yeah.

I went to get things, I think, to take care of her. You know, I have a lot of knowledge—I spent my life doing nothing and never playing. All I have is knowledge.

E: Like in medicine?

L: Yeah, in plants—plants, resins, mother tinctures, venoms. You know, when I used to crush… when I crushed the bugs, it was to extract medicinal juices from their intestines, kind of.

It’s something kind of gross. It was completely intuitive, it was just like—you have to crush them to extract stuff. And I have lots of little vials, you know, I have lots of things. And the woman, my guardian,I think we share a space together. I don’t feel like she… she’s the one who kind of plays the role of a mother. I don’t feel like she…that she teaches me much, but I feel like—

L: So, we have a big room with the microscope,and half of it is mine, the other half is hers, so she encouraged me to manage my things— do my own work, organize my vials, organize the origins of the remedies, the medicines, the poisons, whatever.

E: Did you have your own microscope, or did you share one?

L: No, we share it. It was still expensive. It’s really a luxury tool, a rare one.

And that’s really all we did. I’d go collect plants, crush them, look at their patterns—their geometric shape, I’m hearing that too. Like I’d turn everything into water, into liquid form to see its energetic geometric shape.

E: Kind of like homeopathic medicine?

L: Yeah, probably a bit like that. Yeah, it’s funny, right? Homeopathy was invented in the 1800s, but anyway…It’s like, yeah—it was like getting to the essence of each thing and understanding its pattern, you know, and from there, understanding its medicinal power.

And that’s why I also used my spit—to see what mine was. What my own medicine was, you know?

And then the plants—I see myself picking, you know, plants. I think it was very chaotic.

I think it really reflected my inner chaos—trying to understand why I’m here and not understanding it at the same time. I’m like a prisoner of  war, you know? Not a prisoner of war, but like, I’m the child of  a succession of—I don’t know what.

Some kind of general—not general, more like a queen or king—not the Queen of England, but something like that. And I’m the only descendant they had to protect.

Yeah, anyway, that’s how I spend my time.

E: Do you test your products on people who have health problems?

L: I hear that no, it’s really all preparation. It’s really a learning phase, a big preparation before testing—because it’s very risky.

E: So when the maid is sick?

L: I still feel the impatience inside....When the maid is sick, I go buy ready-made tinctures in the village.

I also just observe. It’s more than just going to get medicine—it’s really to understand the geometric essence. I’m really hearing the geometry of the plants and— It’s like their language, understanding their language. Not just the properties they heal with. It’s— understanding how they speak. The plants, the animals.

E: And all of that—it’s to communicate with them?

L: Yeah

.

E: Do you do that by putting pieces in water and then analyzing the water?

L: No, it’s really like I reduce them to water—in the sense that I put them in a mortar, kind of. Or I eat them, and then I spit them back out.

E: You eat them all?

L: Yeah. It’s gross, right? Then I spit them out, I look at them under the telescope—it looks kind of funny. And then I store them in a little vial. I don’t write anything down, but I store them in my drawer jars, in my little pharmacy.

E: Does their taste give you information too?

L: Their taste gives me information. Probably. But it’s really the geometric pattern, actually. That’s really it. Because the taste, the texture—it’s just like camouflage.

I don’t know why I do this. I’m so tired, and impatient. It’s such a strange feeling. But it’s here for an infinite reason, and I welcome it. I really want to move my arms—I really want to ride a bike right now.

E: Is there a material, a product, an insect that attracts you the most?

L: I’d say—I heard the word clover. Like I see myself taking a lot of clover, chewing it, putting it in glass plates, and observing it. Because the pattern was even more beautiful in the clover.

Yeah. It’s like I was so bored in the environment I lived in, I wanted to see what the geometric pattern of every plant and everything around me was—so I could look at the world differently. And instead of seeing grass, I’d see it in its geometric essence, kind of.

You know? It’s kind of special.

E: Yea, very special..

L: Yeah. And I’m trying to see the world—it’s like to be able to observe the world in its true nature, and not just its appearance. It’s really a practice I do just because I… well, not just—but because I learned to do it from being so bored in the environment I’m in, that it was like, okay, I’m so limited here, I have to start observing it differently.

L: And it’s funny because it kind of makes me draw a parallel with Quebec right now—feeling so stuck in Quebec, you know? That I have to look at it in a different way. But now I think it’s bothering me because I’m like, I just want to get out of here. But this girl, you know, the one we’re observing right now, she really—she doesn’t have a choice to be there, because she’s like…

Because otherwise she would die, you know? She has too important a status for people to know she’s alive.

E: Okay, let’s leave this scene and move forward to another important moment in this life we’re observing. Something happens.

L: So, what I saw is that she takes a horse and she goes to visit the Indigenous people in the area. She just wants to escape, like, and stay with them. It’s not necessarily a good idea—it’s not within the guidelines...What was I saying? 

E: That it’s not safe.

L: She just wants to leave where she grew up. She managed to see the forest in its true language, in its true nature. And now it’s like, okay, that’s enough—I need to leave. But I think she must be around 25. And she has a path to walk, a decision to make. Does she stay and live with the Indigenous people she met, the ones she loves, who make her feel good? Or does she continue on to announce to the world that she’s alive, fight for her title, her…

Yeah, it’s a core conflict.

E: What does she decide in the end?

L: It’s not easy. I think she spends some time with the Indigenous people to see if they have things to teach her. Yeah, I think she falls in love with one of the guys there. I think she left with her microscope—she lives in a tiny, simple cabin. And she has her microscope, so she can continue to observe nature in its true language.

L: I see her child—a little boy. There are good things in that community.

E: Did she keep in touch with the other parents?

L: No, she just left. That was enough. It wasn’t fulfilling anyway. They were just there to fill a function, to play the role of parents, but they didn’t really take care of her emotionally or…They were there, they were kind, but they weren’t involved at all. It was just… monotone, you know, they never argued, they always ate the same thing—it was like… “We’re here, we do what we have to do, and that’s it.”

When she was 23, 24, 25, she just decided, “I’m leaving.”I lose it sometimes—I drift off…

E: Where are we now?

L: She’s living with the Indigenous people. She has a little boy. I think there are lots of connections being made with the Indigenous people, like they’re able to connect on a…

She’s interested in everything’s essence. It’s like essential oils, almost. She goes to find the essence of every single thing to understand what’s around her, really. And the Indigenous people are able to tell her, “This plant does this,” medicinally, energetically. But she’s able to say what it looks like, what it really is.

But they’re clear on how it acts. You know? And they piece the puzzle together that way. And now I think— she gave up her role. I think she was some kind of noblewoman of I-don’t-know-what. Her parents had died, and she had to be hidden, or else she would have been killed too.

Politically speaking, it would’ve been a mess if, at age 25, she showed up and said “I’m alive,” and then shifted the politics of the region, you know?

But by leaving—like when she left the house in that “Okay, I’m 25, I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I just need to leave because I can’t stay here anymore” state— without knowing whether she’d return to the city to reclaim her political role or not—she stumbled on that community, that tribe, I’d say, that family of maybe fifty people—and she just stayed there.

L: So that detached her from politics, in a way… She had all the capacity, and she had been trained from a very young age to be ready for her role when the time came.

But in the end, she was like, “No, I don’t need that. I don’t want that in my life,” and she just lives simply with the local people. They tried to avoid crossing paths with white people as much as possible.

It was like a hidden life for the Indigenous people too. Even they didn’t want to cross paths with white people because they knew it never ended well. It was always complicated.

Communication wasn’t good enough on the white people’s side. Like, white folks were just… so disconnected in how they communicated. You offer them water, and they think you’re trying to drown them, you know?

So that’s it. I think… I feel like I stayed there, and I brought together all my scientific knowledge—about the essence of things—with the art, the spiritual energy, and we put it all together.

E: How did that help them?

L: It’s not that it helped them. I think it was like… You know when you have puzzle pieces that are beautiful on their own, and then you realize you can put them side by side and they fit, but… They were already perfectly fine without knowing the geometric patterns and the essence of things. That wasn’t necessary for their inner fulfillment.

They were already beings on a deep path of realization. And now, it’s like—

It’s like an ornamental subject, I was going to say. But the fact that it fits together—it still feels good, like a puzzle piece snapping into place. That’s what feels good. That’s all.

It’s a bonus, you know? A bonus. Like, oh, it’s beautiful, it’s fun, it adds meaning. But when you’re already in peace, you don’t need to know every reason why. And it brings me back to what I was thinking last week about realization, about Moksha. You don’t need to research the Pleiades, the dimensions, and all the types of extraterrestrials to reach realization.

That’s just one path—but once you’ve reached realization, you already know everything. But in the end, all of that becomes less important because the only thing that really matters is realization. That’s it.

L: It’s kind of the same thing with what the Indigenous people had. She, on the other hand, needed to meet those people to find some peace and harmony—because she knew all the scientific side of essence. The geometric patterns were a language, but if you don’t know how to use it, it’s pointless. The Indigenous people, they knew how to use it, even without knowing it was geometric patterns. But she didn’t know how to use it, you see?

She had seen the language without knowing how to speak it.

E: What was that?

L: Yeah, that’s beautiful—she knew the language without knowing how to speak it, that’s really beautiful. But she learned how to use it deeply, energetically, spiritually, the way they did. And maybe it was even deeper than what she could’ve found at the apothecary or with the doctors she had access to, you know?

Yeah, it’s really like—she knew all the patterns by heart, but didn’t know how to put them together to create the language. Whereas they, they feel the language, they know how to speak it, even if they don’t necessarily write it down, but they know how to use it.

You get it?

E: So did she feel less impatient?

L: Yeah. Yeah, the impatience ended there. I swear, I wanted to get up and leave. It was so intense in my body. I can still feel it a little now, when we talk about it—I can remember it. And I think my mind—it’s been so long since I’ve been in this space of quantum hypnosis and spirituality—my mind is freaking out right now.

E: And how does her life end?

L: Ah, she becomes like an Indigenous woman—living with them, in the forest, completely like a priestess of the forest, with them.

E: Are there healers, shamans?

L: They all are.That’s the thing—they all are. Yes, some are more warriors, some are more teachers, some more with the children.But it’s like—they all do telepathy, and they live on another plane, you know?

Like, completely. With such deeply rooted knowledge that everyone has access to it—it’s like knowing how to read, how to write, how to eat, how to swim. They all know how to live in harmony with nature, so they don’t even need to process the plants—they can just brush against them, touch them, be close to the plant, meditate with it, and the plant communicates with them and transmits its medicine through presence alone. And she really becomes one of them. She has children, and her children have children. She has her partner, the one she spends her life with. This happens when she’s around 23 or 24.

E: Are there things from that community that could be useful for people today?

L: Yes. I think… It’s strange because I feel things and I want to say things, but I don’t really have the words for them. It’s really weird—like my vocabulary isn’t right for sharing their knowledge and wisdom.

Can you repeat the question again? Let’s see if we can find the words.

E: Are there things right now that could be shared, that would be useful for our culture today—or even for families, for how we raise our children, how we live with nature. Are there things that come to mind that could be shared now, in a broader way?

L: It’s really…that nature is us, actually. You know? We are nature. There is no difference. There’s no separation. We are nature.We’re just too stuck in separation right now, but that separation doesn’t actually exist.

You know, people say, “Ah, I feel so good in nature when I walk in the forest”—but for them, it’s not even a question, because they are the forest. You get it?

There’s no separation—they don’t even know what that is…They are the roots, they are the tree, they are the plant, they are their child, they are their mother, they are their father. It’s really a constant union.

It’s so special. It’s like…

It also makes me think of the Ramayana. I’ve been watching the Ramayana lately on YouTube.It’s Bollywood, it’s ‘’kitsch’’, but the messages that come through— like, there’s no emotion of sadness, no feeling of separation, because everyone is everyone, and everyone is everything. You know what I mean?

E: So, do they believe in reincarnation? Do they talk about it?

L: Yes, of course. Because when one plant dies, another one grows. So of course.Like… Oh my god, how to explain? It’s like…

There’s no attachment because there’s no separation.You can’t be attached to something that is you. Exactly—because it is you. So you don’t care, you know?

You’re not afraid of losing yourself or of… You know, it’s like saying, “Oh, my fingernail—I’m so afraid of losing you if you break. ”But we know that if our nail breaks, another one will grow back, right?

Or if we cut our hair, we’re not like, “Oh no, I miss my split ends so much! ”We’re not nostalgic for our split ends because we have new ones, and we don’t care about the old ones.

It’s the same thing. Of course,I forgot to add this to my questions—but I’ve had a lot of anxiety in the past few months about the fear of having a psychotic break, of going crazy, of losing my mind, you know?

Here I am talking about the idea of losing your fingernail and not being sad—but it’s true, we can be afraid of losing our minds, of losing our… But that, it’s so… Oh my god, it’s so hard to explain.

The mind of a new personality is like a nail, or like a hair, really.

E: Yeah.

L: So why be afraid of losing the old parts if that’s what gives us our children, our grandchildren, our great-grandchildren? We have to make space for the cycle of life to continue, you know?

A tree has to fall for a new one to grow. We can’t keep being attached to what’s no longer meant to be.

It’s like—she, with her ability to look at the landscape and instead of seeing grass and trees, she saw all the geometric shapes of nature and life. And then, when she came to be with the Indigenous people, with her tribe, her new family, she brought her reality, and more than that—their reality, truly from the heart, allowed her to see beyond the shapes and what things really are.

But in its wholeness— I feel it, but I have such a hard time expressing it.

E: How does it feel in your body to sense that knowledge, that wisdom?

L: It feels like peace—and at the same time, a kind of detachment from being attached to things. You absolutely have to let go of things for new ones to come. And we know that—we say it: “you have to let go to make space,” whether in friendships or whatever. But it’s so much deeper than just words or just a concept—it’s like a law of life, you know? You have to cut your split ends to have something new grow.

It’s necessary, it’s crucial, and it goes against the mind, which is always attached to everything—it clings to… But like, we don’t cry when we cut our nails, we’re not nostalgic. So why should we be nostalgic about people, situations, old friendships that no longer work?

It’s just about appreciating, saying goodbye, and saying hello to what’s coming. That’s all.

You don’t have to always go back, be attached, like “but he did this to me, he did that to me…” What did the situation bring you? What did it teach you so that today you can be who you’re meant to be?

Then again, I find it really messed up, the connection with the scarab beetle gut juice. That part’s interesting. I’m having a hard time grasping it. My mind’s having a hard time stepping aside to really go deep into what that means.

E: I’m curious—did the Indigenous people cut their hair? Because I’ve heard it’s very sacred to them and that they almost never cut it.

L: No, yeah—I’ve heard that too, a lot. I was mostly giving an example. I don’t think they cut it regularly. I see people with long hair, but when they go through rites of passage, life transitions—like if a young man goes through a really difficult event, and then he’s transforming into his new self.

Then yes, it’s important to cut, to let go. At least, that’s what I see. I have no idea how accurate this is historically or whatever, but it’s what I see, you know?

Same thing for a woman. I see—like, when a woman has a child, she cuts her hair.Not shaved, but cut—maybe just the ends, maybe a lot, maybe to shoulder length.

It’s like letting go of the young maiden, letting go of… And it doesn’t have to be all the hair—it could be just a strand or—You say, “This is the girl in me.” You cut it and say goodbye to that. And, you know, it doesn’t have to be your whole head, because—

Now, I don’t know if my mind is blending with facts I already know, but like, they believed their ancestors were in their hair, you know?

So you can’t necessarily cut off all your ancestors. But yeah.

The session then moves on to the subconscious portion of the session relating to personal matters in Lena’s life