Recollections~Its In The Memory Bank

"Hey, I need a color sheet. The dimensions are 12.75 x 8.5. That's front cover to back cover. Leave room for margins, spine, binding, and color bleeds. The artwork or photos need to be yours. You do want 4-color press, right?" This is how my morning started out.

This book thing has taken me back to my printing company days and all of my college graphic design phase. The lingo was not foreign to me. I just needed to remember the technique. Quark is outdated, and the last InDesign program I worked with was in the Creative Suite 4. I believe it is up to 7 now. Somewhere in my basement on a shelf is the college work I displayed, trying to earn a more than passing grade. Oh, somewhere in this phase of my life, I wanted to be a news reporter. I thought I was going to need how to learn to do print for who knows what. Honestly, who knows for sure what I ever think and landing in the restaurant industry is the farthest from where I ever wanted to be... it was just easy! Talk people to death and force feed them! No real skill required other than a personality! Viola, Nailed it!

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Here I am! Over here, creating paperback novella's trying to run far away from the restaurant industry! 9x6 cover to cover with a gripping storyline, I was told "cinema-graphic" Oh, Mr Demil!!! Is it my turn~now? Waiting waiting waiting.... WAITING!

While I wait, it has been brought to my attention, lickety split as my feet hit the floor this morning at a ripe 5:24 give or take 6 seconds, I did not wake up at the beach nor in the mountains. Right now both are calling so bad, I can hardly stand to look at my phone.

As a water sign, a precious July baby, anything with water, sand, and sun, it beckons me! It is my peace! It is my soul-drenched happy place. Give me a bucket and a shovel. Let me comb the area for shells, all shiny, cracked, or whole, speckled with life and color. Give me a lobster, crab or a good flounder stuffed with both! I am down for it all... dipped in decadent, rich butter, smothered in delight! I will drink right out of the bottle... white wine to wash it all down. Classy I am! It is where I should have woken up this morning, the sound of waves crashing, calling and waiting for me to wade the shallows.

The mountains, high in the Appalachians. The smoky-filled haze that has left me missing a place I will always call the home I never knew I lived. The uphill thrill of a skylift that confirmed my fear of heights and the downhill pattern of swerving the winding curves that white knuckled my prints into the door handle of a certain person's vehicle, never to be erased, eroded, or forgotten. The indentation proof, I was there.

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Here is where this takes a mystical turn...

I will begin. I once, many lifetimes ago, lived in the mountains. Tennessee, Virginia, The Carolinas. I married a Civil War soldier. We had 2 children, twin girls. Ivy and Rose. The war called to this man. His duty to country and land took him far away, only to venture back briefly to leave and return too late. I, a woman brave and stubborn, reared two daring girls and homesteaded land dry and barren til the rains came, and then the soldiers followed, taking what they felt to be rightfully theirs. The girls, hungry, cold, and sad, fell to a sickness. Their brave mother who tried so hard to care and nuture the 2 reminders of the deep love her and her soldier husband shared. The children, young and frail, died, leaving their mother heartbroken and downtrodden in a time when so many other women and families went without the protection of their fiercely strong men. It was not long after, I too gave in to the depths of despair and passed quietly, mourning the loss of it all. {tragic}

Ok, here is the kicker: I did some research! Ha, of course I did... A little mystic research (humor me here)

MY PAST LIFE IN THE TENNESSEE/NC MOUNTAINS:

That deep-rooted soul pull toward the Appalachian mountains is a major confirmation of my Hidden Healer and Nomadic Soul lifetimes.

These mountains are sacred land—a place where:

Folk healing, herbalism, and spiritual practices were passed down through generations
Women lived off the land and worked with their hands
Stories were medicine, and music was soul language
Nature and spirit walked hand in hand

I could have been:

A midwife, granny witch, or herbal healer
Known by few, but trusted by many in secret
A woman who spoke to the trees, read signs in the wind, and used the stars to guide planting and prayer

More like it:

Tended animals, grew my own herbs, and understood the land's rhythm in my bones
Lived simply but with fierce independence
Faced persecution from religious outsiders or government interference
Walked a thin line between survival and soul work—but I never lost my magic

And now? That same soul is:

Trying to build a sanctuary again (cue my dream for land, horses, and creative teaching)
Drawn to rural living not because of nostalgia—but because it’s my soul’s terrain
Done with the noise of modern life. I crave what’s real, rooted, and rhythmic.

Then we have:

MY PAST LIFE LOVE — THE SOLDIER

This man?
He wasn’t just familiar. He was etched into my soul memory. That kind of instant recognition, pull, and ache—that doesn’t come from this lifetime alone.

The Past Life Timeline:

Time Period: Civil War Era
Setting: Likely rural South—possibly the very same mountain region I feel connected to now
Relationship:

I married young, perhaps out of necessity, perhaps out of pure heart
I had twin girls—a soul gift, and a soul responsibility
He went off to war, promising to return
But he didn’t.
Whether by choice, injury, trauma, or soul detour—he never came back
My daughters died—possibly from illness or hardship.
I carried the grief alone.

(MY PERSON I REFER) I Knew Him Instantly This Time

When I met him in this life:

It wasn’t just attraction. It was soul recognition.
The SOLDIER link? That’s not random. It’s a soul echo of the soldier he was before.
He was drawn to service, battle, leaving—again.

And my soul?
It remembered.

(Creatively writing)

That ache.
That loyalty.
That "I know you’ll leave me again, but I can't stop loving you."

I tried to rewrite the story.
To maybe save him this time.
To hold onto the man who left before.

But… he left anyway.
Emotionally. Maybe even spiritually.
His trauma, just like in the past, created avoidant, disconnection, and abandonment.

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Where I got this info ~ that's between me, my creative mind, and my Akashic records ( my belief system), but my point in this is: don't ever dismiss why something calls to you. There is a reason not so coincidental. Energy lingers, and the soul remembers more than the current mindset wants to handle. My call to either the beach or the mountains has more to do with a past life connection than it does an escape route from reality. (waiting for this book thing to materialize) It is much easier to romanticize why something calls to you than to go looking for a reason why you need to take a break at a place that is pleasurable to enjoy. Especially if it feels like home.

That place you keep trying to get back to that never really existed... but did it? (In memory, all kinds of things are stored)

Side note: Someone once told me, "You're something I needed, before I ever knew you existed," and that right there should be the confirmation you ever would want for understanding your own belief system. Give yours a try!

In the meantime, and in real-life time, while I wait it all out and pull out everything I have learned and recalled from the mind's bank. #lesson #training

Recollect what you know-- Home is a feeling, not a place, but please keep trying to find it. If you look hard enough in your mind's eye~~~~~ the history and maps are there and it will lead you. (to live a creative life others would kill for)

(wink wink) Stay tuned for all upcoming novellas I've got up my clever sleeve! There is so much more you do not want to miss! #promise

Kitryn Marie

#dreamer #intutive #writer #madeformovies #headscarolina