“Tell me about that piece of paper – the one with the musical score.”
Rebecca was puzzled.
“What paper? What music?”
Five minutes earlier, she had finished giving me a massage and left the room so I could get dressed.
After putting on my clothes, I had reached for my glasses before putting on my shoes and socks. As I put the glasses on my face, I noticed a paper on Rebecca’s desk. It was a musical score. It opened with octave quarter notes followed by triplets.
Suddenly, my head began to spin and I was in another place and time. I had dreamed this. Someone had given me a saxophone, my primary instrument in college, put the musical score in front me, and told me to play.
When I awoke, I wondered what the dream meant. I hadn’t played a saxophone since the early eighties.
Now, the score from my dream was on Rebecca’s desk, so I went to the door and called for her.
Rebecca explained that the paper was scratch paper, left behind by her boyfriend who led a championship bagpipe group. She said it had no importance.
I knew otherwise.
Then she said something profound.
I looked at her in astonishment.
She realized how ridiculous she must have sounded and began to explain.
“I don’t know where that came from. I just channeled that.”
“I’m not surprised. I was listening to a recorded interview yesterday and I heard someone say the exact same thing – in the exact same words.”
Her eyes went wide with astonishment.
“You heard someone say the exact same thing in the exact same words? I’ve never thought of time like that.”
I briefly explained about an interview that Bill Wood and David Wilcock did with Kerry Cassidy on Project Camelot Radio. The wide-ranging conversation covered a variety of topics. I had a memory of Wood making the statement about time.
We looked at one another. We each knew both of us had a foot in the real world and a foot in the dream world. We both knew there was an important message here. We each strove to grasp it.
Rebecca had another appointment and I did too, so we didn’t pursue the matter any further.
A few weeks later, my son walked into my office.
“If I go back into my memories and relive a situation and respond differently, I heal my emotions over the situation.”
Peter doesn’t talk much, so sometimes his communication is both awkward and profound.
While I processed what he said, he asked the question as I thought it.
“Does that change the past?”
I remembered what I had heard in the interview. I remembered what Rebecca had said to me about my dream.
I thought about Peter’s question.
Is it possible to change the past?
What do you think?
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