photograph of the musician contained
within the cassette, I couldn't say that I held
any memory at all of him. Telling me that
this man was looking for me, the 'guide' told
me that I was this man's true wife. But
nothing he said resonated within me, and I
began to suspect foul play. "I have
absolutely no memory of this soul," I said,
"and besides, my name is spelled with two
N's." Looking down, he noticed that I was
correct about the spelling. But then he asked
me to look inside the jacket, wherein my
own handwriting supposedly lay. Looking
inside, the words were a plea to eternity to
help this 'Marilyn' find her true spouse.
However, my name was again spelled
incorrectly and it didn't appear at all to be
my own handwriting. So I looked upon his
face and said, "I have absolutely no memory
of writing this, or of this man, or of anything
connected to this cassette." The 'guide' was
now smiling.
Saying nothing more, he walked
quietly to the next person. Before he began
to work with this other person, he said to
me, "Okay, now allow yourself to resonate to
the real reason you are here." Intrigued, it
seemed to me that this subtle temptation had
brent
(Brent)
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