The Skeleton Key


When I was thirteen I did a mind exercise that my teacher recommended. I was told to close my eyes and envision a scenario where a key would materialize in the palm of our hand. When we opened our eyes we were to describe that key in full detail and draw it out.

Mine was an old, brass skeleton key with carvings of flowers etched into it.  It was painted golden, but somehow I knew it wasn’t, maybe because it seemed that I could feel the weight of it in my palm. it wasn’t any precious metal.

Anyway, the key was supposed to be something to interpret who we were in our past lives. I think I was the only one in the class with a key so antique that upon looking at it, the teacher told me I must’ve been a princess in my past life. I gave her a flat look. She was a frilly type, and she probably believed I was going to buy in on her romanticized interpretation of my past life. She caught on to the look and amended: I must’ve been royalty.

I wondered about that. A key that could tell you your past. How would that help anyone today though? Were we not completely different people in our past lives? What benefit would I get from knowing who I was then, today?

I thought about it some more. My tastes today. Not accustomed to royalty per say, but rather tradition. I owned the traditional things. I adored the regal things and class. Books, poetry, music, art…all in classical tastes.

Perhaps she wasn’t so far off the mark.

A key to see into your past life. Maybe we’re all the same person in every generation.

It would only take a skeleton key to know for me.
Golden Key


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