Part 23|| Sigils in the Soil: Soul Memory Recovery

Phantom Knowing From Beyond

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Part 1|| Stardust|| When You Remember Your Celestial Origins

Part 2|| Stardust|| When Stars Collide

Part 3|| Stardust|| Snuffalupugus, Planetary Parades, & A Truck Baby

Part 4|| Stardust|| Tristan As A Mouse & The Vertex

Part 5 StarDust|| A Kiss of Life, Guitar Plucks & Magical Kings

Part 6 || StarDust|| Four-Leaf Clovers, Fireflies, & Harlequin Novels

Part 7|| Stardust || The Deception of Appearances

Part 8 || Revised Contracts & Interference

Part 9 || Soul Merge & Love Making

Part 10 || Enter The Twilight Zone

Part 11 || Trump Near-Assassination, Timeline Jumps & Tracks

Part 12 || When Voltage Regulators Go Haywire

Part 13 || Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Part 14 || Would You Die For Him?

Part 15 || Is Snuffy Your True Twin?

Part 16|| Characteristics Of A Twin Flame Connection

Part 17|| More Characteristics Of A True Twin Flame Connection

Part 18|| Two Ships In The Night

Part 19|| Guns, Candlesticks & The Clock That Knows

Part 20 || Crypto, Soul Bubble & Pop

Part 21 || The Lion, The Gate, & The Toad To Remembrance

Part 22 || I AM The 1,2,3,4 & The 5

“That which is remembered is not always learned in this life; it is recovered.” ~~ Corpus Hermeticum,” ancient Hermetic teachings (c. 2nd–3rd century CE)

“Did you still want to go to Saint Augustine?” Snuffy asked. “I would think more energy and focus would be spent on finding a new place to live rather than going, but I didn't want to assume.”

He was right. I had no idea where I would be moving to. There were many times in our unspoken whatevership that, in retrospect, we both knew things.

However, I wanted to “get away” with Snuffy. I wanted to shoot the shit about metaphysics and hang out with a cool dude who wanted to reciprocate my gesture, and liked me too, and I wanted to get the fuck out of town and get my ebike. I felt caged. I wanted the open road.

St. Augustine was 282 miles (that’s a 3) away from him, he explained, and the truck baby was having other issues, and gas would be at least $400.

I suggested we go to Jupiter instead. I had never been, but Snuffy said that wasn’t much of a getaway.

I told him I would pay the gas to St. Augustine. I deserved a break. I’d been working nonstop and had physically moved eight times since 2019.

Through my friend’s account, I found a home located on the beach, yet still close to the Bridge of Lions. I didn’t book it right away. (BTW, I am banned from Airbnb for being “a racist” after asking to speak to someone in America vs the Philippines).

Memories Gurgling Up

Following the Bufo ceremony, a flood of seemingly rando memories of my teenage years emerged. I saw myself making mud pies in the days of early spring, when the snow was finally melting. I could even smell the thaw. I also saw myself at the top of the steps in my uncle’s house. My cousin was playing the piano. It was dank, and I could see a dartboard in a corner.

The darkness seeped into my life slowly as I learned the truth about the secrets in my home. There was also physical and verbal abuse. I was 13 when I discovered my dad had hired a private investigator and learned my mom was having an affair. I was told to keep it a secret until I couldn’t live a lie anymore.

This family scandal forged my investigative skills. To escape the pain, I read books and developed a vivid imagination. I was a nerd—the Ugly Duckling. I played with worms and had a toy car collection, but I also had a sticker book, and my Barbies had sex.

I had a memory of looking for four-leaf clovers and leprechauns in the grass. The next day, while leafing through a journal from 2019, I came across an entry that I could have written about Snuffy, but it was actually about a man named Joe.

He wasn’t your average Joe. He was a grip (like Rye and my second husband) and was a recovering addict. I met him on top of a hill, which is funny because his last name is Hill. He was with two young girls. I figured he was a yuppie dad, but they were his nieces.

He smiled as he introduced himself, and when he did, he dropped his glasses so I could see his eyes. I’ve often told him how much I appreciated that gesture. He’d been a hardcore fiend for 20 years but was now sobering up for good.

Our banter was witty and light. He was a Fruitarian at the time and consumed 16 bananas daily. He was also an avid biker. He would cycle 3 miles to my house so we could hike, and often changed shirts upon arrival because he was so sweaty.

I was dealing with mold at the time in Beachwood Canyon, and he found it amusing that I was sleeping in a tent in my own living room, near my French Doors for air circulation. Little did he know that one time, when he forgot to pack his deadbeater, I slept with it in the tent so I could sniff his fruity scent.

Like Snuffy, he was also handy and played the guitar.

We kissed once. And although I knew sex would be feisty and fun, I never slept with him. When he stopped calling me, I didn’t call him back. I didn’t chase. We didn’t have a truck baby together. Instead, I prayed to the honeybees to send him a message.

Three days later, he called me to ask for help. A wild hive had taken residence in the apartment building he was managing in West Hollywood.

Wow. Thanks, sister bees.

But it became a whole thing of me trying to save them. The woman I hooked him up with to rescue them was also a recovering drug addict. They fought. So the ‘beekeeper’ he hired was an exterminator. I intuitively drove over one day to the building while Joe was on set and caught the dude killing them. My timing was impressive, but I was too late.

I was pissed.

Years later, he would tell me that one honeybee flew into his apartment and hovered at eye level to stare at him in a seeming showdown.

In my journal entry, I lamented his lack of pursuit. I wrote that I wanted to attract a man who liked me as much as I liked him. It would be reciprocal and reciprocated. In my past, they either liked me more or vice versa. It was never quite right except for the relationship I had when I got hit by an SUV and became a broken bird for four years, which changed the dynamics of our relationship.

After reading the entry, I wondered if Joe was also a dismissive avoidant, like I suspected Snuffy of being. During the Plandemic, he’d blocked me after I wrote an article on the emerging caste system in Hollywood. We became friends again when he finally came across Klaus Schwab and The Great Reset. By that time he was eating creatures again.

By then, I’d left California. When I called him, he admitted that yes, he was a bit of an avoidant, and that he had just gotten sober when we met. He reminded me that nothing ever happened between us because I was the one who left the state.

Touché.

If I had stayed, perhaps we would have dated as he anchored into sobriety. And while he was soulful, he was not spiritual, and our connection was not otherworldly. I had identified Snuffy in Joe.

At the end of the entry, I wrote: “I used to look for four-leaf clovers when I was young.”

That’s it. Nothing else. Odd. The sentiment was totally out of place. Why?

Past-Life Glyph In The Shape of a Four-leafed Clover

Following my spiritual awakening at the age of 13, I became enthralled with things that nourished the soul. At 16, I was into the British music collective Soul II Soul, led by Jazzie B. In 1989, at the age of 17, I read the book The Bridge Across Forever: A Love Story by Richard Bach, which describes a profound sense of knowing that a woman named Leslie is his true counterpart across lifetimes. This recognition defies logic or circumstance. He writes of dreams and visions where she appears before they even meet, suggesting a pre-incarnational contract or soul agreement. It turns out the book came out in 1984, the year Snuffy was born.

It seems that even back then, I was ahead of my time. I didn’t know it yet.

Then I got a flash of a movie I saw in 1987. It was about love and reincarnation. I couldn't recall the name until I searched for it on YouTube: 'Made in Heaven.' As I fast-forwarded through the film, I began bawling uncontrollably as if something deep inside of me had just been dislodged. It made no sense.

But then it did.

The movie begins with Mike Shea, a kindhearted man who dies tragically in a selfless act, saving a family from a car accident. He wakes up in an afterlife realm that resembles a dreamy, ethereal version of Earth. There, he meets Annie, a soul who has never been incarnated on Earth.

Mike and Annie rise in love in the heavenly plane. Their connection is sweet, pure, timeless, and untouched by ego or pain. It feels destined—soul-deep and eternal. However, as I mentioned in one of my previous Snuffy Series, she is sent to Earth. Mike, desperate to find her again, strikes a deal with the celestial overseers: He can be reborn too, but he’ll have no memory of her, and only 30 years to find her again.

Before she leaves, she tells him, “You know one thing we’ve never done. We’ve never danced.”

One day, when I sent Snuffy one of my dance videos …