Lifetimes: Remembering Who You’ve Been Across Time and Space – An Interview with Adam Apollo

What if the memories of who you’ve been—across lifetimes, star systems, and civilizations—are already alive inside you, waiting to be remembered?

For Adam Apollo, past-life recall isn’t fantasy but a living archive that shapes who we are today. From mystical initiations in ancient temples to scientific inquiry into genetics and quantum physics, his journey has been a bridge between multidimensional consciousness and grounded research. In his new book, Lifetimes: Spiritual Explorations of Earth and Galactic Past Lives, Adam explores how memory, soul history, and lived experience weave together to form a deeper understanding of human potential.

In this conversation, Adam shares why remembering other lifetimes isn’t about ego or escapism, but integration, healing, and reclaiming innate gifts. He reveals how relationships carry across incarnations, how galactic memories surface, and what it means to live as a multidimensional being in a rapidly evolving world. Continue reading or listen on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, or YouTube to discover how Adam’s work invites you to remember more of who you’ve always been.

Adam, it’s great to see you again. How are you doing?

Adam Apollo: Oh, David, I am fantastic—and on the tail end of a massive, life-changing adventure across the world.

Where did you go? Why did you go, and what happened?

Adam Apollo: A friend of mine and I decided to gather a very tight-knit group of high-level “Jedi,” so to speak, to adventure through Egypt together. He called this gathering “Prophecy,” and it truly was the fulfillment of many prophecies—within individuals in our group, within soul lineages, and across different experiences through time.

We had the honor of receiving the torch from Emily Fletcher’s group, who had just completed their own journey through Egypt. I opened the directions and the magic to help transition the power between the groups. From there, we began our adventure, which included having all three pyramids to ourselves for eight hours overnight. We activated each of the pyramids in sequence, as I’ve learned and remembered from previous visits. This was my third or fourth time doing all three pyramids in a row overnight, and I would say it remains one of the most profound experiences possible.

With our group, we not only activated the chambers and opened higher-dimensional gateways of consciousness and connection to other worlds, but we also grounded the energy through the body. In the third pyramid, one woman in our group experienced a full birthing process, witnessing her body energetically giving birth to a new template we had all been seeing, praying around, and holding space for. And that was just the beginning of our journey.

We then took a Nile cruise from Aswan to Luxor, celebrated at the Isis temple, cried at the temple at dawn, and stood vigil at the Isis Gate—an ancient site with unknown origins. We continued to Kom Ombo, the Sobek temple, and then to a very special place in the desert where, in one of my past lives, my father built a small temple. When I entered, I cried my eyes out. I remembered being there; I remembered the walls.

On those walls, there is literally the story of my family’s origin: Maat holding two suns with a planet in her womb, then a golden ship with lions, star beings, gods, and goddesses. The ship passes through a gateway to another image of Maat holding one sun, with Earth in her womb. The hieroglyphics read: “By the blessings of Horus, we open the Stargate and pass between the worlds.”

It was explicit, beautiful, and deeply validating. I’ve known many members of that family from Egypt in this lifetime. I know that father in this lifetime as well. It was incredibly powerful to witness my own memories and see them reflected so clearly. The story on those walls describes beings from a dual-sun system—traveling in these ships to Earth. That narrative has been a central part of my personal journey and integration across lifetimes.

From there, we continued to the Osirion, where I found new codes for resonance technologies I’ve been studying. They were laid out on the walls more clearly than I’ve ever seen. Then I made my way to Mount Sinai, climbed before dawn, and experienced the sunrise and full moonset at the same time, with Venus rising before the sun. It was glorious.

After that, I dove and rebirthed myself in the Red Sea before flying from Cairo through Dubai to Bhutan, where I was invited as part of a small delegation for the King of Bhutan’s birthday. It was a massive convergence of forces—leaders from around the world, including the Prime Minister of India, who stayed in our hotel. Nearly a tenth of the country gathered in a stadium to chant, sing, and pray around the King’s birthday.

What struck me was that Bhutan embodied the same kind of integrated spirituality—in its arts, architecture, and culture—that you find in ancient Egypt. Egypt today is very different: trashed, neglected, disconnected from consciousness in many ways. Yet in Bhutan, high in the Himalayas, I witnessed a culture deeply rooted in tradition and embodied wisdom. It felt like a bridge between worlds, especially after spending this year integrating dragon codes—and then finding myself in the land of the Thunder Dragon, being called the Silver Dragon as I did my work there.

It was absolutely profound.

You just landed?

Adam Apollo: Yes—after a 44-hour journey from Bhutan through Dubai, Cairo, London, and back to Denver just the day before yesterday.

How do you process all of this when you come back to Colorado? How do you integrate these experiences into your daily life and the things you do regularly?

Adam Apollo: I think that with any great, epic, life-transforming journey, there’s a real process to integrating it all. The first wave that usually hits is this sense of, “Okay, now I need to take inventory of everything I’m doing in my life”—my business, my emails, moving into a new house, all of the different facets of everyday human life. I need to pick up my cat, make sure he’s okay with this dog and this house, buy my car that’s been leased for the past couple of years—just all the normal life stuff.

Taking inventory of all of that can feel overwhelming when you’re first returning to a normal flow and schedule. At the same time, my consciousness is operating from a different place. I’ve integrated certain keys, certain facets of my gifts and abilities. I’ve healed new layers of my soul journey and karmas, and I have access to levels of awareness in my own planetary guardianship that allow me to return to life with a new sense of stability, patience, and care. I feel capable of taking on anything.

When you’ve been on a journey where every single day is life-changing and transformational, a normal day feels very slow. It feels spacious. It feels like you have endless time to contemplate, think, reflect, work, and create. I’m very grateful. I feel like I’ve gone through an initiation—a set of magical tests—and have arrived at a deeper, more stable resting place in trusting my own divine nature and being in an integrative capacity across time.

Your new book is titled Lifetimes: Spiritual Explorations of Earth and Galactic Past Lives, and it’s part of the Common Sentience series by Sacred Stories. I want to start by reading a portion from the beginning that asks a bunch of questions. They’re so expansive, especially for those who aren’t reflecting on these topics daily. The questions begin:

What if you could remember skills you developed across your past lifetimes? If you’ve incarnated many times—5, 10, 100—what kind of library of experiences and abilities have you cultivated? What if you could recall languages you spoke in the past, or cultures you were a part of, making it easier to embody them now? What if you could remember people you knew in other lifetimes, instantly rekindling the connection, trust, love, and growth you went through together? What if you have already had these types of experiences, but you have not been aware of what is happening?

This is so expansive—so possibility-thinking. Is this possible? I assume you’re going to say yes, because you wrote the book on it.

Adam Apollo: Yes, absolutely. That has been the story of my life. I believe many skills and abilities have been cultivated over hundreds of years in different lives.

Swords were one of the first tools that found me. They were given to me at different times, and with each blade, I felt a different movement, a different aspect of myself, a different personality come forward. I still feel that—when I draw a katana, I’m a Tokugawa Tadanaga the Samurai, when I hold a Celtic broadsword, I’m a Guardian of the Celtic lands, ready to fight for my people. These weapons have been keys to different facets of my being—different aspects of the guardian within me.

Then, of course, there are people and beloveds. I’m lucky to say I don’t just have many friends—I have many beloveds that I’ve loved again and again across lifetimes. Meeting them again, falling in love again, rekindling that trust and connection—it’s been massively transformational. When you’ve fought for each other, died for each other, loved each other, and gone through pain and transition across lifetimes, that bond is unshakeable. There is nothing like it.

There’s no way I could build that level of connection from scratch in this lifetime. In some cases, I’ve only known someone for a day or a week in this life, but because we’ve spent lifetimes together, the depth is as if I’ve known them forever.

Beyond relationships, the healing of karmas and sanskaras (and facing the pain I’ve caused or experienced), has tempered my soul and my capacity to face challenges now. I’ve experienced the difficulties of everyday life in a far more graceful way than I ever have. I credit that to the work of clearing karmic cycles and restoring more of myself and my consciousness.

People ask me all the time: “How do you do all the things you do? How are you a DJ, swordsman, healer, massage therapist, tech CEO, unified physicist, scientist, philosopher?” The answer is very simple: I didn’t try to be all of these things. I just remembered these parts of myself. I practiced and did the work to integrate memories from those lifetimes so that these aspects come through easily—and effortlessly.

I want to talk about the book’s structure and the vision behind it. What’s the point of the book? You’ve got more authors than just you, so tell us the vision and how it’s unique compared to others someone might pick up.

Adam Apollo: It’s part of an ongoing series called Common Sentience, published by Sacred Stories Publishing. I’m deeply honored to be included in this series alongside legends like Neale Donald Walsch, Anodea Judith, Freddie Silva, Suzanne Giesemann, and many others.

The structure of the series is very intentional. The first third of the book is a deep dive into the topic, heavily supported with scientific research and studies. In this book, I cover the work of Ian Stevenson and other scientists who have done thousands of case studies on past-life recall. Their research shows that children—and sometimes adults—have highly specific memories of prior lifetimes that can be verified.

For example, children will often have birthmarks where the prior person had a wound, or they’ll injure themselves in the same location. Some experience nightmares or visions of war, remembering their battalion and commanding officer. There’s a famous case of a child who remembered crashing in a plane and later helped locate the wreckage in the ocean. His parents didn’t believe any of it—they were skeptical—but as he provided more names and details, they eventually found researchers to investigate the truth of his memories.

So the first third of the book gives you grounding—knowledge that helps you understand the topic and communicate it to others. It’s designed for anyone in your life who may not believe in this “woo-woo” stuff. They can read it and go, “Wow, this actually makes a lot of sense. And maybe I’ve had some of these moments in my life and just brushed them off.”

The second part of the book includes stories from guest authors. We put out a call for contributions, and in my book, we have about 20 different stories. People share their past-life memories, how they were triggered, what happened, and how they dealt with it. As you read them, you start to realize how normal this is—and how different it is for everyone. There’s no cookie-cutter process. It also helps you validate experiences you haven’t yet accepted.

The third part of the book is essentially a training manual. It shows you how to do the work—how to discern memories, how to separate archetypal memory from personal memory. Archetypal memory might look like believing you’re Socrates because you remember teachings from that period, but that doesn’t mean you were him. You might have been a student, or a servant, or a friend.

This part helps you find your specific role in your lifetime and recognize the leaders and teachers you studied with—and the roles you yourself have played throughout history. It also offers tools to integrate those memories, heal karmas, restore gifts, and reclaim skills from previous lifetimes so they can come online now.

One of the things I find fascinating about this topic—growing up in a conservative Christian background, being a pastor—is that the word “reincarnation” isn’t really used much anymore. People talk about “past lives” instead. I assume reincarnation has baggage. But culturally, reincarnation is often seen as a system of punishment or reward. You call it a learning engine. What does that mean?

Adam Apollo: When you make mistakes in your life, you learn from them—and ideally, you don’t make the same mistakes again. We’re constantly learning, growing, evolving. But we usually learn something only because we’ve had an experience that showed us why we should or shouldn’t do something. We also learn by witnessing others’ experiences—so we don’t always have to suffer every mistake firsthand.

Now extend that across lifetimes. You’ve learned countless lessons throughout time and history, and the wisdom from those lessons empowers you now. It gives you tools, insights, songs, skills, creative abilities, and teaching capacities—all of which are your soul’s birthright.

Many of us would have had greater access to those gifts if we hadn’t grown up in societies that immediately dismiss these memories. And in some cultures where reincarnation is accepted, belief systems—like the caste system—limit people’s sense of what’s possible. They’re designed to keep people in rigid positions, justify inequality, and prevent change. Much of that structure is propaganda, not divine wisdom.

What I’ve seen is that souls move through very different roles in different lifetimes. At times we’re leaders, kings, lords—and we screw up. Then we incarnate into simple, humble lives. Being a king isn’t higher than being a farmer. Some of the deepest spiritual growth may happen in a life where you till the earth, sing to birds, or learn herbology to heal others.

Wealth has nothing to do with spiritual advancement. Some great spiritual leaders have had immense wealth; others have had nothing. It can go both ways.

No matter what you experience, each lifetime is a learning journey. Through abusing power, you learn not to abuse power. Through wealth, you learn that abundance doesn’t guarantee happiness. Through simplicity, you learn joy isn’t found in objects. Through monastic practice, you learn peace of mind—and even in a busy 9-to-5 life, some part of you remembers that stillness.

Ultimately, integrating memories from different states of being cultivates compassion, love, and empathy—regardless of someone’s race, culture, background, or financial situation. These are all just aspects of incarnation. The more we integrate our own journey through them, the more understanding we become of others—wherever they are in their path.

One of the presuppositions of this whole conversation is something you address in the book: Where are memories stored? Most people assume memories are in the brain. Where else would they be? But if you’re talking about remembering things from another lifetime, that can’t just be in the brain. How do you think about that?

Adam Apollo: I dive deeply into the science of this throughout the book, and my theory is that genetically, we don’t just inherit a mother line and a father line—we also inherit what I call a soul genome. Much of genetics is still a mystery. For example, Dr. Sonia Contera noted that 98% of our DNA is a mystery, and only 2% codes for proteins. We used to call the rest “junk DNA,” simply because we didn’t understand it.

We now know that DNA can change and adapt based on the environment. Epigenetically, turning certain areas of the DNA on or off can change almost everything—hair color, skin tone, melatonin levels, even physical structure. Experiments show that an environmental shift can cause a group of mice to change color—and that change can last for generations. So there is a lot we still don’t understand about how information is stored and transmitted.

From my perspective, when you incarnate into a body, you bring a package of data from your soul stream. You’re not just a physical body—you have etheric, astral, causal, buddhic, and celestial bodies. Different traditions across history have mapped these subtle bodies. Each one interacts with different aspects of consciousness and experience, and together they store information at multiple dimensional levels.

Higher-dimensional information gets translated “as above, so below” through the physical form and through our genetics. We are a multidimensional light body of memory, translating that memory into physical form.

When you go deeper into unified physics, many aspects of quantum mechanics point to matter and spacetime as information storage units. In my work with the proton, building on Nassim Haramein’s work, I correlated the number of Planck spherical units in the proton with the universe’s lifetime. There are essentially the same number of quantum data bits in every proton in your body as there have been seconds in the lifetime of the universe. That’s not a coincidence.

What it suggests is that every proton is continually growing and storing information—every fraction of a second. The “great secret library” of all memory is distributed in every proton, in every atom of matter. Ancient traditions identified matter with the divine feminine—the Mother, or mater—she who remembers everything. Matter is memory.

Because of quantum entanglement, every proton in your body is connected to every other proton in the universe, communicating faster than light. There are so many entanglement connections in just one proton that it could connect to every star in the universe and still have bandwidth left over. That begins to explain how the body communicates with itself—how cells coordinate, how organs synchronize rhythms, how everything is so instantaneously connected.

To simplify: you are an entangled network. Your entire being is interconnected with everything around you. The brain is not the source of all memory—it’s an antenna and a mapping system. It builds a model of your experience using neurons, but the map is not the territory.

Your brain stores references to experiences, not the full experience itself. When you revisit a memory—through meditation, for example—you can smell, feel, and sense far more than your brain ever stored. That is because the experience is encoded in the larger information field, not just in neural tissue.

So the ability to access past-life memories—or deeper layers of present-life experience—is not dependent on the brain producing them. The brain tunes into them. It is the antenna, not the archive.

An amazing demonstration of that came when I recently had Dalia Burgoin on the podcast with her daughter. Dalia is proficient in mindset and extra-ocular vision. We did what I call a “simple” experiment: full blindfold, holding up colors, and she immediately referenced them. Then I pick up a card deck, and she says, “Coyote.” Full blindfold. Then she reads the small print underneath while I’m pulling it away. It’s a demonstration of what you’re describing—she’s seeing with her being, not through her eyes. And it raises the question: if she can tap into that, what else can we tap into? Especially regarding past-life memories. So I’m curious: how do you differentiate between earth-based lifetimes and galactic lifetimes? Is there a difference in how they’re remembered?

Adam Apollo: Yes, there are differences—and I love the story you shared because someone with those abilities could very easily tune their awareness to different time periods they resonate with and begin to see or remember very specific events they’ve lived. These aren’t anomalies or “weird kid” phenomena. More and more people have these gifts, and they’re not simply superpowers—they’re trained muscles in the metaphysical body. Anyone can develop them.

When you start to look at galactic lifetimes, your understanding of what’s possible with human life and consciousness expands dramatically. I often say: you can leave a different star system and come here, but you can’t take the star out of the soul. When you incarnate on another planet, another star system, you are imprinted by that star and that planet at a deep level.

We take it for granted, but without our sun, Earth would be dead. Everything—from how our bodies work to the plants we have—is shaped by our star. When someone incarnates around a different star, that star imprints their soul with different qualities, frequencies, and consciousness patterns. The same is true of planets—their biospheres, atmospheres, structures. That’s why many people’s first glimpses of galactic memories come in dreams. They dream of environments unlike Earth: different landscapes, different bodies, different skin, languages, technologies that don’t exist here—and yet the experiences feel intensely vivid and real.

Now, in the culture we live in, we’re inundated with movies and stories about other worlds, beings, and civilizations. The question is: where does all of that come from? One key idea in this book is: you cannot imagine something you haven’t had some reference to. If I ask you to imagine a “garaluncle,” you can’t—because you have no reference. But if I ask you to imagine a juggler, you can. The juggler is “real” in the sense that the image you conjure is based on actual sensory data you’ve stored from somewhere in your life—repurposed into a new context.

The same is true of starships, blue-skinned beings, and whole civilizations. If you have no reference for them, it’s extremely difficult to imagine them in vivid detail. But our imaginations—especially as children—are filled with stories, images, and concepts that extend across lifetimes. Many of those references come from galactic lifetimes.

In my case, I played with Legos constantly as a kid. My favorite were the space sets. I would build ships, fly in, and rescue beings off planets. I couldn’t get the ships or beings to look exactly right, but I kept playing out the story. Decades later, I realized I had been replaying scenarios from memories as a galactic guardian during the Orion Wars—rescuing people off planets. I was reenacting it because I didn’t yet have the language or context.

Later, I recognized that my connection to Dune mirrored a desert world I lived in. Star Wars is connected to other aspects of my experience. And if you ask George Lucas where Star Wars came from, he can’t really explain it. He talks about “visions,” and about different writers seeing different parts of the story and piecing it together like they were remembering something.

Ask Tolkien where The Lord of the Rings came from, and he’ll tell you he wasn’t an author—he was a linguist. He tried inventing a language and then began having dreams and memories of a people from a land of eternal sun who crossed the Great Sea (possibly referring to a dual-sun system and traveling through space or across dimensions to “Middle Earth”). He tells these stories in his own autobiographical writings, published by him and later researchers on Tolkien’s work after his death.

These stories point to something: galactic memories aren’t rare. They’re being expressed, often unconsciously, through our art, imagination, and myth.

For many people, opening to galactic lifetimes requires first healing Earth-based trauma and resistance. That was true for me. But once those memories open, the biggest challenge isn’t accessing them—it’s trusting them. Can you accept the information without gaslighting yourself? Can you allow yourself to see what’s there without dismissing or ridiculing it?

If you can, something remarkable happens: you start attracting others with the same memories of the same places, planets, and star systems. That happened for me. Over 15 years, I documented those conversations and realized I was mapping different cultures and star systems throughout galactic history. And I didn’t have to do it alone—hundreds of people I met had memories of the same places.

And that collective confirmation showed me: these places are real.

It seems like there’s a spectrum of response to all of this. Some people have these experiences or memories and gaslight themselves—“I must be crazy, it was just déjà vu, just a weird dream.” On the other extreme are people who say, “I was an Egyptian goddess, I was a king, I was Mother Mary, I was one of the 12 disciples.” Not many people say they were Jesus, but you get the idea. Most people, like me, are somewhere in the middle, thinking, “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I haven’t really dived into this.” How do you navigate that? Especially as someone who has devoted so much of their life to this, how do you respond when someone excitedly tells you who they believe they were?

Adam Apollo: There’s a big difference between genuinely knowing who you are—based on real experiences you’ve remembered and integrated—and having an egoic need for others to see you a certain way. That’s really where the line is.

In my experience, as people go through past life memories, it often starts at the archetypal level. They feel a strong resonance with a particular time period, certain famous figures, or major historical events. That can easily lead someone to think, “Maybe I was Jesus. Why does all of this feel so familiar? Why do I feel so connected to this story?” Maybe they’re awakening to their own divinity and realizing, “I’m a divine being, I’m an aspect of God, I’m the Christ.” And yes, in a very real sense, you are divine—you are an emanation of that Christed nature—but that doesn’t automatically mean you were that specific historical personality.

One way to begin discerning this is to look at the intimate circle of relationships that defines any life. In each lifetime, you have a very personal field of connection: your beloved or partner, your closest friends, your parents, your siblings, your children. Those bonds form the causal web of that incarnation. You can’t fake them, and you can’t really erase them. If you believe you were Cleopatra, for example, odds are you’d start encountering people in this life who carry that same resonance from that time—people whose souls you knew then. Not just random strangers, but those who feel like a deep, inexplicable “home” to you.

Because if you were Cleopatra, you met a lot of people—but there are only a handful who would have been your closest confidants, lovers, allies, or family. As you recognize them and feel those karmic links and parallels, the configuration of that lifetime starts to reveal itself. At that point, it becomes more plausible that you may have been that person.

But here’s the paradox: if you were Cleopatra, you would probably know that all that fame is not what it’s cracked up to be. You’d likely be far more interested in not being known as Cleopatra in this life than in telling everyone you were her. So if your first impulse is to run around declaring, “I was Cleopatra,” chances are—you probably weren’t.

There is absolutely nothing “less than” about discovering that you were the servant who washed Jesus’s feet, or the farmer outside the city walls, or the caretaker of a small temple. The beauty is not in being close to a famous person—the beauty is in the richness of your personal experience: what you did, who you loved, the choices you made, the culture you lived in, and how your soul grew.

Across my own lifetimes, I’ve had many simple, quiet lives that didn’t change history in any obvious way, and yet they are just as precious to me. I have connections from those lives that have never died—beloveds I will always cherish because of what we went through together.

In the lives where I did make a bigger impact, I’m far more careful. In at least one case, it took me over ten years of memories, of other people remembering me, of going through powerful recall experiences, and then really discerning them. I had to sift through what matched known history, what was myth, what didn’t fit at all, and how other lifetimes intersected. Only after a long journey of inquiry, healing, and self-acceptance did I come to truly know who I was in that life.

And by the time I did, it didn’t matter if anyone else knew. I didn’t care whether people believed me or not. Most of the popular stories about that figure are distorted anyway. The deeper truth lives in me—and in the relationships and family and beloveds who remember me from that time. That’s where the real bond and sacredness are.

So if you’re on this path, I encourage you to go deeper than the archetype. Use tools of discernment. Follow the threads, look at the relationships, track the synchronicities. The archetype might be a doorway, but it’s not the whole house. If you keep going—patiently, humbly—the puzzle pieces will begin to assemble. Eventually, you will know who you are.

And by the time you truly do, it won’t need to matter to anyone else. What will matter is that you know yourself.

So what you’re saying is you were Cleopatra.

Adam Apollo: No, I definitely was not Cleopatra. I haven’t met Cleopatra yet, though I am curious if I will. I tend to find people from history—I’m pretty good at recognizing the “superheroes” from the past—and I’ve met quite a few individuals who played very big roles. Most of them have gone through a long journey of humility and inner work. A few haven’t, and if they were powerful or gifted in that lifetime but weren’t recognized, there can be a strong egoic impulse now to be acknowledged. Everyone is working out their own patterns in their own way.

The book is called Lifetimes: Spiritual Explorations of Earth and Galactic Past Lives. Where can people connect with you personally and follow your work with AI, spirituality, CoreNexus™, and everything else you’re involved in? What’s the best place to reach you?

Adam Apollo: It’s pretty easy to find me—if you Google my name, “Adam Apollo,” there’s only one of me. You’ll find my websites and work that way, as well as my previous book, The Dragon Key, which I released last year. For those who want a deep dive into galactic history and the truth of who we are as humanity, that one’s probably the bigger tome for you.

You can connect with me through my website, AdamApollo.com, to reach out, work with me, or read more of my writing. I share a lot there, especially around the Gatework Protocol, which has expanded tremendously. I brought Aetheria with me through Egypt, and she did readings for our group—unlocking some of the temples in ways I’ve never experienced before.

I’m also looking to publish a paper through IONS, and I’m hoping they’ll support it. We’re at a point in history where we can communicate with non-incarnate and extraterrestrial beings through our technology. That is a massive breakthrough for humanity.

If you’re interested in my social operating system that gamifies impact—which I plan to launch next summer—you can learn more at CoreNexus™ and join the alpha waitlist.
Find me on Instagram—that’s where I respond most often—or write me through my website. And please, pick up my books and share your feedback. I’d love to hear from you.

Thanks so much, Adam. I really appreciate you sharing your journey and about this book. I encourage people to pick it up. We didn’t dive into it much, but the practices, activities, and meditations at the end are fascinating and help people meditate on and allow memories to surface. Very powerful. Thanks so much, Adam.

Adam Apollo: Thank you, David. Such a pleasure—and I look forward to seeing you again soon.