pieces of me
Memoirs of a Past Life Tourist
It’s Only Life, Afterall
Photo by: My American Husband, Walt Babinski
“How long till my soul gets it right? Can any human being ever reach the highest light?” Galileo by the Indigo Girls
Time travel is real. I know because I have done it many, many times. I need neither fancy DeLorean, nor circle of standing stones to take me. All I need is the will, a bit of time and a gentle voice to guide me.
I am talking about Past Life Regression, or PLR. The process of PLR encompasses travels in all direction of time including past lives, future lives and even current parallel lives. Each trip I have taken through time has enriched me in ways I never would have imagined possible. I honestly believe that if every person had a chance to visit their past lives the world would find peace almost immediately.
Some seek out PLR as a therapeutic or healing modality. Since Dr. Brian Weiss brought PLR into the mainstream back in the 1980s with his bestselling book Many Lives Many Masters it has gained huge respect within the scientific and wellness communities as a very effective healing tool. But for me, my time travels began simply out of curiosity. I was looking to have an adventure and perhaps discover hidden realms to myself and to the human experience along the way. And so I packed light and headed out, a willing and eager Past Life Tourist.
I have been born and died many times along the way, each life a Technicolor feature of epic proportions. Throughout my travels I have learned many lessons and found healing in areas I never knew were damaged. What started as a lark has become a life-changing pilgrimage. As a vacation that will expand how you view yourself and the universe, I highly recommend it. With no clear destination in mind I set off with no expectations. What I have found are lessons in survival, love, forgiveness, tolerance, compassion, kindness and peace. What I have found are miracles.
1. I was instantly cured of a crippling phobia. Shyness, stage fright and social phobia were so intense for me I could bared speak up in a small gathering, let alone speak in public. Panic attacks and anxiety were a constant struggle and I often turned to pharmaceutical intervention to make it through challenging times. This lifetime, as the girl with no name, brought understanding to me and with the understanding came healing. These fears that I’d had were based in another lifetime and realizing that allowed me to let them go, easily and without any further help. It was the first of many miracles I have experienced and witnessed as a result of PLR.
2. Mark Twain said: “Travel is fatal to prejudice.” While Mr. Twain may not have intended this to cover journeys to other lifetimes, it seemed appropriate somehow. Travelling to other lives and experiencing myself as all creeds, religions, mental and physical capacities makes it impossible to hold judgment based on those things. When we realize that we have all lived lives as both persecuted and persecutor, victim and villain, saint and sinner and everything in between we are finally able to find the compassion to understand and accept each other. We have been every spectrum of the rainbow, and once we see those hues within ourselves we can truly begin to shine.
3. Peace and understanding finally comes to our most difficult human relationships when we visit other lifetimes that show the origins of our strife. My lifetime in India perfectly reflected a dysfunctional relationship I was currently experiencing in my current life. Once I saw the roots of the discord, I was easily able to shift my behaviour enough to break the patterns. Easy peasy.
4. I no longer have any fear of dying. None whatsoever. Because I have experienced my death over and over and over, I know that dying feels like taking off an old tight shoe. We are finally free! We are going home. In death we are healed from our lifetime traumas. In death we are reunited with our loved ones. In death we are waking up from this dream called life.
PLR brings about the awareness that we are so much more than these small lives we are living. We experience the traumas and lessons from a safe distance and are able to take those lessons into this life, and grow because of them. Our lives are forever enriched by assimilating the experiences that are the sum parts of our soul. We put the pieces back together and can finally see the full picture.
PLR is not a religion though some religions do incorporate it into their dogma. To me, knowing that I have had other lifetimes is simply an awareness that I am enrolled in this earth school, where our souls return time after time to learn and to teach and to experience the wonder of being human. Some days I feel close to graduation. Other days I think I may be repeating the 4th grade for the 17th time. Always I am thankful for the growing awareness that PLR brings of other times and other versions of me.
Life is the schoolyard. Where and who we are is a mere blink in our eternity. Knowing this frees us to take things less seriously. Because, as the Indigo Goddesses… I mean ‘Girls’ so eloquently put it: “It’s only life, afterall”.
And if you ever feel like giving it a go: pastlifetourist@gmail.com… I’d love to be your tour guide.
By and By, Lord
In honor of International Women’s day…. a reblog 🙂
By Nasenovinky
My Grandma was a cool old bird. She told stories, laughed easily and heartily, was a terrible cook but a gifted quilter. She played piano by ear and all we would have to do was hum a few bars and she would pick it up right away. We would sing along for hours and she never seemed to get tired. She took us camping and taught us to play cribbage. She was a terrible gossip but mixed names up so much that it was a harmless pursuit, as nobody knew who had done what to whom after she’d mixed things up so badly. She was joyful and full of life. She devoured Harlequin Romances, sometimes reading 2 or 3 in a day, and would tell me all of the juicy bits, whispering with scandalized glee.
I had the privilege, in my early 20s to look after Grandma while…
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Past Life Tourist: Remembering Love
I coax no fish today. There will be a hollow in my stomach as I have run out of brown food and the winter months continue long past the time that spring is meant to appear. It is chance and good favor that I still have the keg of strong rice wine half full. The comforting haze helps to hide the pain of hunger and it takes me far away from this barren waste of my life. No wife to warm my ger, no daughter to cook and sing for me. Both gone, one in death, one to warm the furs of her husband’s ger. She is Least wife of five but still sheltered by the wealth of the warrior husband who chose her. Who took her from me.
She will eat well tonight, and each night. She will never know the pain of being alone, for she is now part of a clan that is full of women who call her sister, and their children who set upon her lap and play with her hair. Her brown eyes are soft and there is no crease upon her brow. At night as I collapse in my stupor beside the dying embers I sometimes hear her voice among the others as it is carried by the wind to my ears. Happy. She is happy.
Nohai came to my dream world again last night. Dancing for me by the light of a fire, she enticed me with her nearness, and left me gutted as she abandoned me once more. How many times has she taken me as I sleep, only to discard me at the light of day? My body longs to join her in the spirit world, but each day I awake alone, again to face a cruel day.
Cold breath clouds around me. I feel the stiff frozen hair on my face and wipe it clear with my bare hand. Taking my stick I break the thin skiff of ice that has formed over my fishing hole. I see others standing on the field of ice, watching holes, some with tell tale splashes of red in the snow. They will eat tonight. As I stare into the blackness of the water I see no fish, no movement. I will not.
My body craves the burn of wine and I decide to give this day to the fish. I stretch my eyes across the frozen sea and watch as the sun wanes low in the sky. Far in the distance there is movement, as if a person walks from the open sea toward me. My eyes squint and I try to focus. It is impossible. Yet she is there.
She walks toward me, the colorful embroidery of her boqtaq unmistakable. It is Nohai! I begin to walk to her, arms outstretched. She smiles and I see the familiar red glow of her cheeks, looking so vibrant and alive, not the grey sunken woman I laid in the ground. The ice thins beneath my feet but I am without fear. I reach to her and begin to shuffle faster. Ice crackles and moans and water begins to rise into my steps.
“Batu-dai! Batu-dai!” My name circles my ears like a black fly. I swat it away, running toward Nohai.
“Stop Batu-dai!” Many shouts slow my feet and I finally turn toward the sound. They have gathered at the shore, men and women of the village and they all call to me. I see Nokaijin, my daughter among them. She waves her arms at me.
I turn back to Nohai.
She is gone.
I slow my feet to a stop. I sink within the ice and feel the frigid waters seep. There is a moan and crack. The sea intends to claim me. I turn and slowly walk through the crumbling ice, sinking and soaking so that my skin is numbed with the cold. I walk faster as the cold brings the return of my senses and begin to stumble and run, ice smashing open behind me to the blackness of the winter sea.
I fall and slip into the sea. My body sinks below the surface. I am swallowed by the depths.
I do not rage and fight but simply allow the weight of my wet furs to pull me downward. I look above me, following the last bubbles as they escape my nose and mouth and see the far distant light of the sinking winter sun. I expel my air and wait for Nohai.
Fierce hands grab me and I am dragged up and out of the water. I am pulled to shore and surrounded by villagers, all speaking at once, shouting orders and instructions. My son in law carries me to Nokaijin’s ger and my wet clothes are stripped. Wrapped in fresh furs and set by a warm fire I am joined by the elders who sit with me and smoke. They do not speak of what has happened. They speak of great hunts we have led, great battles we have won. Wisps of smoke curl to the ceiling and escape to the dark night that has fallen. Warmth returns. Rich salmon is placed before me and I eat.
Many springs come to follow many winters. I am beloved Ovog: Grandfather and have a place of honor at my son in law’s fire. Many fat sons have been delivered of Nokaijin and I teach them the ways of the hunter, of the fisherman. I wait now, on the ice for Tabudai and Jirghadai to join me. The sun is warm today and already the fish are coaxed to my hole. I see their shining silver sparkle and dance as they rise to the light. We will eat well tonight.
My eye is caught by a flash of movement out across the open sea. I shade against the low winter sun and my eyes find her at long last. The red of her boqtaq bobs up and down with her steps. Waiting always, within the happy years I have spent in my daughter’s ger. Waiting always for her to find me once more. She has alluded me since that fateful day in the sea, but here she is at last. She walks to me over open water and waves. I smile, enchanted to see the rosy fat curve of her smiling cheeks once more. My breath is filled with light. Nohai.
My heart shudders once, a thick thud within my chest. I drop to my knees, reaching toward Nohai. She is at last in front of me. Our hands clasp, eyes lock and we are joined , warm and bright as the winter sun.
I quickly shed the tattered coat of this life and rise with Nohai.
An Ode to the Western Women
Beautiful painting by artbylindy.com
“The world will be saved by the western women.” The Dalai Lama
People of a certain age might remember a commercial from the 1980’s for some sort of perfume. This sexy woman comes strutting into view, singing sassily, “I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan, and never never let you forget your a man, cause I’m a woman.” If you want to refresh your memory go have a look-see here.
As an impressionable teenager I watched this, and things like this, with excitement and enthusiasm. Yes! I can have it all. I can have a fulfilling career, a marriage, a family, and, happy days are here again, bacon! And it was with this attitude that I, and so many like me forged ahead to create this utopian world for ourselves.
Fast forward 15 years. I can bring home the bacon, but really, you expect me to…
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Music Monday – Music to Start Your Week by
Clumsygrace.com …. go check this out!
If you’re feeling a little sluggish on this rainy Monday morning, you’re not alone. Check out this playlist to start your week off right.
Hidden Gifts
“There is no such thing as a problem with out a gift for you in its hands. You seek problems because you need their gifts.” Richard Bach, Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah
Mantra Monday: Light
See the light in others…. I love me some Dr. Wayne ❤
A Guided Meditation: Quiet
This is a wonderful guided meditation, posted by James Fielden. Give it a try, then pop over to James’ page and tell him what you think.
Whispers
Bridging the gap between who you are and who you are meant to be is as simple and terrifying as walking your authentic path. Step by step you find your way, getting ever closer to the YOU who has been hiding behind the masks of this mundane world. Always remember, underneath the guise you wear this time around there is the perfect, Divine being, whispering words of encouragement, begging you to follow, follow…. follow.
Listen closely.
Photo by my American Husband
Love’s Thread
My dear friend, who is featured in Ode to the Western Woman, wrote this beautiful blog one year ago today. Her story is one that should be shared. Beautifully written account of a magical, loving experience with her sister. I encourage everyone to read this.
~ HELD TOGETHER BY LOVE ~
An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle but will never break. – Chinese Proverb
Our lives are invisibly tied to those whose destinies touch our own. These threads continue to connect us when our physical bodies die because our souls are eternal. My sister spent the day with me in June of 1973. That wouldn’t be out of the ordinary save the fact that she had died the previous April on the 27th day at 1:35 in the afternoon. My grief was given respite that June day as seeds of hope, faith and love were planted in my heart. Heaven’s breath provided bountiful nourishment for the seeds to take root and grow. In staying true to my experience, it seems a deception to call…
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