He woke in a pit house with a hard-packed dirt floor and circular stone walls. The air was stifling, smothering, fetid with centuries of smoldering fi...es and sweating bodies, mingled with scents of herbs and pollens, scorched grains, barks and oils and feathers.His mind reeled. He was a dancer, head low, chest heaving with gasping exertion, his knees thrusting high as his moccasin-clad feet pounded into the hard-packed clay floor, the throbbing, hypnotic booming drums sending his head forward. " Don't ever call me that Angela. I am not your master."She was puzzled, "Then who... ?" You are going to be free. But we need to work together to make that happen."Her hope soared and the brightness of her smile fleetingly returned. I asked her to let me know what her story had been. She seemed frightened and was unable to put the experience in words. I needed to dip into her head once more to find out for myself.Generally, the common model for viewing a person's life is to feel it like a. More

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