Before We Met on Earth: "THE CLOCKMAKER'S PROMISE" | Rambling Psychic Series | Chapter 7

Explore "The Clockmaker's Promise" and what that means for Michael & Mary, in this latest episode of the Rambling Psychic Show. Follow the Journey of Our Soulmates, from Pre-Birth to Today!

In this session, we examine "The Clockmaker's Promise". This audiobook is designed for those interested in spiritual storytelling and the weight of personal history. We look at why every beginning is preceded by a story, and why every story is preceded by a choice.

By understanding these layers, you can gain clarity on your own past experiences and current decisions. The Rambling Psychic Show focuses on intuitive guidance to help you process your journey. We break down the connection between memory and destiny, offering a perspective on how we hold onto our personal narratives.

If you find value in this psychic reading, subscribe for weekly philosophical breakdowns. Tell me in the comments: what is a story you are currently keeping?

Chapter One (The Promise) - https://youtu.be/9cPHka2B7ZI
Chapter Two (The StoryKeeper) - https://youtu.be/JXBBuZDBmmw
Chapter Three (The First Goodbye) - https://youtu.be/imdhJo66aSM
Chapter Four (The Secret Suitcase) - https://youtu.be/rYh29vGsjg4
Chapter Five (The Secret Inside the Suitcase) - https://youtu.be/95cnITkygPI
Chapter Six (The Moment Time Remembered) - https://youtu.be/JCy6Yd9F7hs
Chapter Seven (The Clockmaker's Promise) - https://youtu.be/kDeIAKbf4HA

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*The Rambling Psychic: Where Every Episode is a Story, and Every Story Holds a Message Your Soul may have Been Waiting to Hear!

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:01

Before we met on earth. Chapter 7. The Clockmaker's Promise. There are promises that are spoken out loud. There are promises written on paper. And then there are the promises made by souls who know they may not remember making them. Those promises are different. They do not disappear when the words are forgotten. They simply wait. They wait inside dreams, inside unexpected feelings, inside places that seem strangely familiar. And sometimes they wait inside an old compass. The story keeper. The storekeeper sat quietly in the place between moments. The book remained open between them. On page one held Michael, on the other held Mary. For a long time, the storekeeper simply watched the two names. They were still separated by miles, by circumstances, by the choices of the families into which they had been born. And most importantly, by time. But something had changed. The story keeper could feel it. The fourth object had awakened inside something within Michael. And the compass had begun responding to Mary. Neither one understood what was happening. Not yet. The storekeeper smiled. You're early, they whispered. The words weren't directed towards Mary or Michael. They were directed towards time itself. The clock beside the storekeeper began to tick once, twice, then stopped. The storekeeper looked up. That clock had not stopped in thousands of years. They slowly closed the book. Then I suppose they said clockmaker has decided to keep his promise. And somewhere far away, an old clock began to chime. Mary. Mary had grown. This was the first thing the clockmaker noticed. Not just physically, there was something different in her now. When she had been a little girl, Mary had asked questions because she wanted answers. Now she asked questions because she understood that some answers were hidden beneath other questions. She had become quieter, not sad, just thoughtful. She was seventeen now. Old enough to believe that she understood how the world worked, young enough to still believe there might be something beyond it. And the compass, well, it never left her. She kept it tucked away most of the time in a small wooden box beside her bed. She didn't carry it everywhere anymore. At least that's what she told herself. But that morning, she woke before sunrise with the unmistakable feeling that she was supposed to take it with her. She sat up in bed. Her room was still dark. For several seconds she simply listened. Nothing. Then tick. She looked towards the small clock on her dresser.

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Tick tick.

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Well that clock wasn't running. Merrily Mary slowly got out of bed. She walked towards the wooden box. Her fingers rested on the lid. Not again, she whispered. She opened it. The compass was lying exactly where she had left it. Except the needle was moving. Not spinning wildly, not pointing north. It was moving slowly, steadily, almost deliberately. Mary picked it up. The needle stopped. She frowned. Then turned towards the window. Well the needle moved again. Mary followed its direction. It pointed towards the old road, the road that led into town. She stared at it. You're kidding. The compass remained still. Mary smiled despite herself. Okay. She slipped it into her pocket of her jacket. Let's see where you're taking me. The clockmaker shop. The old clock shop had been closed for nearly two years. At least that's what everyone said. But Mary knew better. She had seen the clockmaker there only a few weeks earlier, standing beside the dusty window, wearing the same dark vest, the same round glasses, the same expression that made her feel as though he knew the question she was about to ask before she even thought of it. She had knocked on the door that day. No answer. She knocked again. Nothing. But when she looked through the glass, she could have sworn she saw him smiling. Today the door was open. Mary stopped, her heart beating faster. Hello? No answer. She stepped inside. The familiar smell of old wood and metals surrounded her. Hundreds of clocks covered the walls. Small clocks, all clocks, beautiful clocks, broken clocks. Clocks that had stopped decades ago. And clocks that seemed to be keeping time differently from one another. Mary stood in the middle of the room. I know you're here. A voice came from the back. Do you? Mary smiled. Yes. The clockmaker appeared through the doorway. He looked exactly as she remembered, which was strange, because Mary had grown. A clockmaker had not. Not even a little. She stared at him. You're not getting older. He smiled. Neither are you. Oh, that's not funny. Clockmaker said. I wasn't joking. Mary's smile disappeared. The clockmaker looked at the pocket where the compass rested. You brought it. Mary's hand instinctively covered the compass. How did you know? I gave it to you. That was years ago. Mary, time has a habit of doing that. Doing what? Passing. Mary rolled her eyes. You still talk in riddles. Only when the truth would frighten someone. Well that made her stop. The clockmaker walked towards a workbench. He picked up a small brass gear. You know why I gave you the compass? Because you said I would need it. I did. But needed for what? The clockmaker looked at her. Find your way back. Mary's stomach tightened. Back where? He smiled. Now that is the question. Michael. Across town Michael stood at the river. He was eighteen now, and the river had become a place he returned to without really knowing why. He had told himself it was because he liked the quiet. But that wasn't entirely true. The truth was he felt different there, as if the river knew something about him. He had brought the suitcase back. It rested beside him on the bank. He hadn't opened it. Not since the day the river had reversed itself. He had tried three times. Each time his hand had touched the latch, something stopped him. Fear, perhaps, or instinct. He wasn't sure anymore. He sat down. The river moved normally now, water flowing towards the distant bend, leaving leaves floating downward, everything ordinary. Except Michael no longer trusted ordinary. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small object from the suitcase. The fourth object. It still glowed, barely, but only when he held it. He had never shown it to anyone. How could he even explain it? My grandfather left me a strange glowing object in a suitcase, and when I touched it, the river went backwards. People would think he was crazy. Perhaps he was. But there was something else. Something he hadn't told anyone. Since that day, he'd been dreaming about a girl. Not a girl he knew. A girl he had never met. He never saw her face clearly. But he knew her. At least his heart did. In the dreams, they were always somewhere near water. Sometimes a river, sometimes the ocean, sometimes somewhere that he couldn't identify. And every time he woke, there was the same feeling. He missed her. It made no sense. How can you miss someone you've never met? Michael closed his eyes. Feeling returned. A warmth in his chest. A strange ache. And then, just for a moment, he heard laughter. A girl's laughter. He opened his eyes. The river was empty. But Michael smiled. And he didn't know why. The first meeting. That afternoon, Mary left the clockmaker's shop carrying something she had never seen before. A letter. It was sealed with a dark red wax. Her name was written across the front. Mary. Nothing else. She held it carefully. What's inside? she asked. The clockmaker stood in the doorway. Something you aren't ready to read. Well Mary frowned. Then why give it to me? Because someday you will be. When? When the compass stops. Mary looked down. The compass the compass needle was moving slowly, still pointing towards the old road. She looked back at him. What happens when it stops? The clockmaker smiled. You'll know. Know what? He didn't answer. Mary sighed. You really are impossible. Clockmaker laughed. And yet you keep coming back. She smiled. Maybe I like impossible. She turned and started down the road. She didn't see the young man approaching from the opposite direction. Michael. He had left the river and was walking towards town. The suitcase was still at home. The glowing object was in his pocket. He had no idea why he was walking this way. He simply felt that he needed to. Mary rounded the corner. Michael stepped into the road. They were separated by perhaps fifty feet. Mary stopped. Michael stopped. Neither knew why. One strange second. Everything around them seemed quieter. The birds stopped singing. The wind softened. Even the distant sounds of the town seemed to disappear. Mary looked up. Michael looked at her. Their eyes met. Only for a moment. And then a bicycle bell rang loudly behind Michael. He turned. Mary stepped aside. A car passed between them. And when Michael looked back, she was gone. He stood there, confused, his heart pounding. He didn't know her. He couldn't have. And yet, he knew that feeling. That impossible feeling. I've been looking for you. Michael turned slowly towards the road. Nothing. Only the compass. Far away inside of Mary's pocket. The needle had stopped. The story keeper. The storekeeper watched. Their hands hovered over the page. Ah, the two paths had crossed. Not completely, not yet, but enough. They smiled almost. The clock beside them began ticking again. The storekeeper looked towards it. That wasn't supposed to happen. The clock ticked faster, then faster. The storekeeper stood. Not yet. They walked towards the clock. Behind them, the pages of the book began turning on their own. One page, then another, and another. Until the book stopped. The story keeper looked down. A new sentence had appeared. They read it silently. Their expression changed. No. Their words were barely audible. They reached for the page, but it was already too late. The sentence remained. Mary. That night Mary couldn't sleep. She sat on her bed with the compass beside her. She had replayed the moment in the street a dozen times. She didn't know the boy. At least she didn't think she did. But there had been something about his eyes. Something familiar. Not familiar like seeing someone at school. Not familiar like recognizing a face. Something deeper. She picked up the compass. The needle moved. Mary whispered, Who is he? The compass pointed towards the window. Mary looked outside. The moon was bright. She could see the road stretching into the distance. And for some reason, she suddenly wanted to walk it. She put on her shoes, she took the compass, and she left. Michael. Michael couldn't sleep either. He sat at his desk staring at the fourth object. It had stopped glowing now. For the first time since he found it, it looked ordinary. He turned it over. There was something engraved on the bottom. He hadn't noticed it before. A symbol, a circle crossed by a single line, and underneath it were four tiny words. Michael leaned closer, his breath caught. He whispered the words. Remember what? The room grew cold. Then came a sound. Tick. Michael looked towards his grandfather's old clock. It hadn't worked in years. Tick. He stood. Clock began moving. The hand spun backwards. Michael stared, then stopped. The time was exactly midnight. He walked towards it. Something was inside the clock. Behind the glass, a small footed folded piece of paper. Michael opened the clock's door, he reached inside, his fingers touched the paper, and suddenly he knew not everything. Not enough, but enough to make his heart stop. A voice, a promise, girl, and a river. Then the memory disappeared. Michael stumbled backwards. He whispered the only word that remained. Mary. The river. Mary reached the river just before midnight. She didn't know why she had come there. She simply followed the compass. The needle pointed towards the water. She stood on the bank. The river reflected the moon. She looked down at the compass. The needle was no longer moving. It pointed across the river. Mary stared at the opposite shore. There was no one there. At least she thought there wasn't. Then she saw him. A figure standing among the trees. Her heart stopped. It was the boy from the road. Michael. Neither spoke. They were too far apart. But somehow, neither looked away. Mary took one step towards the water. Michael took one step towards the river bank. The compass began to glow. Michael's fourth object began glowing at the same time. Two lights, two shores, one river between them. And somewhere beyond the world they could see. The storekeeper closed their eyes. Because this was the moment they had been waiting for. Not the meeting, not yet. Something much more dangerous. Recognition. Mary whispered, I know you. Michael heard her. He shouldn't have. The river was too wide. The wind was too loud. And he heard her perfectly. And without knowing why, he answered, I know. The river began to move, not backwards this time, forwards, towards them. The compass needle spun wildly. The glowing object in Michael's hand became brighter. And beneath the surface of the water, something ancient awakened. A reflection appeared. Not Michael's, not Mary's. Two children standing together, holding hands. Mary gasped. Michael stepped closer. And then the reflection vanished. The river became ordinary again. Neither moved, neither spoke, but both understood one thing. They had not just seen each other for the first time. They had remembered each other. The clockmaker's promise. Far away, the clockmaker stood alone inside a shop. Every clock on the wall had stopped. Every single one except one. An enormous clock hidden behind a curtain. Its hands moved forward slowly. One minute, then another. The clock maker placed his hand against the glass. Not yet, he whispered. A tear appeared in his eye. But soon he reached beneath the counter and pulled out an old photograph. Two children stood beside a river. A boy, a girl, and between them an old man holding a compass. The clockmaker turned the photograph over. Written on the back were the words, When they remember each other, give them back the promise. He looked towards the door. Outside the night was still. The clockmaker knew the waiting was over. Promise had begun to wait. And somewhere by the river, Mary and Michael stood on opposite shores. Neither knew what tomorrow would bring. Neither knew how many miles still separated them. Neither knew why their hearts seemed to beat in the same rhythm. But for the first time, they weren't searching for something they couldn't name. They had found a glimpse of it. And sometimes a glimpse is enough to change everything. The story keeper. The storekeeper returned to the book. The pages were glowing now. The names of Michael and Mary appeared side by side. The storekeeper ran his finger beneath them. Careful, they whispered. Very careful. Because there was something Mary and Michael did not yet understand. They had spent their entire lives moving towards one another. But souls do not always recognize the moment when a promise begins to come true. Sometimes they mistake it for consequence or for coincidence. Sometimes they call it attraction. Sometimes they call it a strange feeling. Sometimes they call it impossible. And sometimes they simply call it love. The storekeeper smiled, then turned the page. The next chapter had already begun.