Past Life Recollections
THE YOUNG GIRL DURING THE DAYS OF WITCHCRAFT
In this lifetime I lived in the 1600s…
It is a short, but numbing recollection.
I was a young girl about seven years old and lived with my mother, father, older and younger brother in what would be described now as a log cabin. We ate in a large room near the fireplace. There were no big lakes, only small bodies of water, like rivers or streams, near our small town. Everyone knew everyone, and we were all considered puritans.
During dinners, at the picnic type table, my parents would talk about the “ungodly” people who practiced “witchcraft.” At my young age, I didn’t realize they were speaking of people as “witches.”
One night during our family dinner when the pot of stew was hanging over the fire and we heard a commotion outside. Then there was a loud knock on the door. One of the neighbor men had come to tell us they were going to kill a witch woman at the stake. So young, I really didn’t understand what they were talking about.
It was snowing, probably in January, and definitely in the Americas. Our parents made us put on our coats and go with them to the area of the town where the witch would be burned.
I recall crying in protest that I didn’t want to go. They insisted that we all had to go witness so that we would learn not to go against the rules.
My mother was not a sweet woman, barely nice as I recall, and my father was more of the submissive type of man. My mother always wore long, dark clothing. She was very unhappy and drab and demeaning in her tone and manners.
I remember I knew I should stop protesting to go watch the witch burn, or I would get a good beating from her.
The next thing I recall was my parents were pushing their way towards the front with us in tow. It was mayhem! Screaming! Yelling! Chanting! It was dark outside other than the blazes from the men holding up their flamed of fires all around.
Then I saw the woman’s face as they set her ablaze with fire. She began to scream in and writhe in pain. I closed my eyes and covered my ears with my hands. I knew the woman.
My older brother and I would speak to her from time to time when she was outside her countryside home. She was very knowledgeable about medicine healings. She had long hair and didn’t wear a hat. She was no longer married and was in her late twenties or early thirties.
During this particular regression, I was prompted to look at her face to see if I recognize her from my current lifetime. I did. She is still a very positive and prominent person in my life. She is very knowledgeable about the soul, the past, the future and healings.
That is all I recall from that lifetime.
THE INDIAN GIRL
In this lifetime I lived in the late 1700’s…
I was an Indian girl living in the Midwest somewhere. There were lots of lakes nearby and plenty of trees. There were many animals to hunt. I am unsure of the particular tribe I belonged to, but I was rebellious. I was not romantically interested in any of the men in our tribe, in spite of the fact that I was betrothed.
One day while gathering berries far away from our tribe’s area, I met man and it was love at first sight, but he was from another tribe. And the biggest problem was that our two tribes were not friendly with the other. They were always fighting over hunting territory, and we were all trading pelts with the French.
The times we spent together were always stolen moments. We were always far away from our prospective tribes. We were absolutely in love and often talked about running away so that we could be together.
I became pregnant. Although I was not showing the elder women in my tribe noticed the difference in my aura and became suspicious. They shared their thoughts with the elder men of my tribe and I believe they followed us one day.
I believe it was the man I was betrothed to followed me one afternoon. While I was making love with my lover, he shot both of us with arrows and I recall being stabbed in my stomach as well. I bled profusely and died.
That was the end of that lifetime with the man I loved. I don’t recall who he was or what the Master Spirits wanted me to learn from that lifetime.
THE GIRL WITH THE BERRIES / THE WOMAN WITH THE FRENCHMAN
In this lifetime I was born just before the turn of the century in the 1790’s and lived well into the 1800’s…
There are two significant recollections in this past life regression. The reason I initially sought out regression therapy was because I had received traditional medical treatment for psoriasis but it never healed.
My large family was quite poor. We were farmers. My father sold his vegetables and pigs to the richer families in the town.
The first poignant recollection of this lifetime is when I was around ten years old. It was a hot summer day and I was gathering blackberries to be sold. I remember wearing a long sundress and large sunhat and I carried a handmade rustic-type basket for the berries.
An older boy I had never met before approached me. I was immediately scared. The next thing I knew was he was dragging me through the berry patch. He pulled me by my hair while I fought him fiercely. My body was scratched badly causing my upper and inner thighs and buttocks, as well as under my arms to bleed. He then proceeded to rape me.
At this time of the regression, I was prompted to look at his face to see if I recognized him from my present life. To my astonishment, I did recognize him. I was told by my regression therapist that the only way I could heal from the psoriasis I was suffering from was to forgive this person who attacked me.
Is it really possible to forgive someone who violated you so devastatingly on a physical and emotional level?
Then I was instructed to walk through a door into a room. Inside the room would be two chairs, and I was to sit in one chair. I did. Once I was seated, I was instructed to invite the offender’s spirit into the room.
As soon as I saw him I was no longer afraid, but seething with anger, breathing hatred like fire from a dragon. I was now facing the spirit of the boy in my past life, the man in my present life who did such horrific things to me.
Following instructions again, I was told to tell him everything that I felt; that if I told him how he made me feel, it would begin the process of healing and forgiving. I recall ranting and raving and screaming and yelling and crying hysterically recounting everything that he did to me, how I didn’t deserve it; how I didn’t ask for such abuse; how I’ve somehow carried the pain with me into this life; how much I hated him…
The offender’s spirit acknowledged his disgusting act, and apologized, then asked me for forgiveness.
My regression therapist asked me to forgive him his transgression.
At that moment, I recall I had nothing negative left to say or feel towards the offender’s spirit, or the person whom I recognized in my current life. I had released everything in my manic state. Suddenly I felt a sense of peace and the offender’s spirit was gone.
The overwhelming peace I felt was my forgiveness of the offender’s actions in that lifetime. I believe I truly did forgive him. Within weeks after the regression, I no longer suffered from the intense psoriasis.
The next significant recall of the same lifetime is when I was sixteen years old and still worked with my father selling our food, and my life changed again.
One day a wealthy and influential man in his early forties was there. He offered to pay my father handsomely for my hand in marriage to cancel my father’s debt. My father agreed. I recall being horrified and scared.
The man was a widower and his son had died. He was heavy-set and balding, not very attractive. And I’m not certain how, but at some point I learned that he was the father of the boy who had raped me when I was ten years old.
I recall hating to be intimate with him. He would use my body over and over for his pleasure, and my disgust for him grew with each passing day, yet I never displayed my negative feelings for him. Although he was unhappy that I never bore children for him, we lived in somewhat of a harmonious relationship.
He was involved with the government and connected with the port of commerce. We lived in luxury compared to most of the townspeople. Our house was a two-story elegant home with lots of windows. I had a lady’s maid who lived in a room off of the kitchen. She would wait on me and cook for me. I had a horse and carriage at my disposal. A black man tended to the horses, but did not live on the property.
The family I had spent my first sixteen years with, I never saw again.
I do not recall how or at what age, but by a chance meeting I was introduced to a Frenchman. He became my lover.
My lady’s maid knew everything about me, except this secret until one day, or at least I thought. I had just walked down the grand stairs that ended near the front door. I remember that I was dressed up in a long, dark green dress with a matching feminine suit top. My boots laced up to my calf. I was looking at my reflection in the mirror that was on the wall near the door, putting on a matching green hat that was small and tilted on my head.
My lady’s maid was surprised that I dressed without her help and that I even put my long hair up in a twist of sorts. She asked me where I was going. I snapped at her that it was none of her business. She looked at me and said that she was only worried that I would not return home before my husband for our usual dinnertime. She kissed me on the cheek and without words being exchanged, she knew what I was up to. I blurted out to her that she need not worry, and that I was off to meet my lover.
I left in the carriage and met him in another town at a hotel. He was handsome. He had dark black hair, brown eyes and not very tall, but we fit perfectly together. He wanted to take me back to France with him. I agreed that I would leave as soon as he could take me.
Unfortunately he was killed in some sort of a rebellion and I was devastated. The rest of my life I was very unhappy. My husband eventually died and he had titled everything to me because although I did not love him, I was kind to him throughout the years, even as he aged.
The only person who loved me throughout this lifetime was my maid. She never left me. She loved me as possibly a mother or an older sister, and I cared deeply for her. She was with me and held my hand as I died at a very old age.
While in spirit I had a meeting with the Master Spirits. It was a quick conversation.
Q: Did you accomplish what you wanted to accomplish in this lifetime?
A: No.
Q: Do you know what you need to learn?
A: No.
Q: Then you are not finished and you must go back.
(If I were to answer the second question asked by the Masters now, I would answer it differently. Yes, I know what I need to learn. I need to learn to love myself and allow my spirit to be happy at last, and everything else will fall into place.)
My regression therapist asked me if I recognized my husband, my lover or my lady’s maid, but to my dismay I did not.
THE NURSE IN ENGLAND
In this lifetime I lived during the mid 1900’s…
I was an American nurse in England during WWII. I had no family or relatives nearby that I recall. And although I worked in the local hospital I was not attached to the military, but had volunteered with a nurse’s unit from my hospital in the States.
I don’t recall how long I had been there, but I met a wonderful man and I adored him. He was handsome and tall, light skinned with blue eyes that sparkled whenever he looked at me. We were deeply in love. And he loved my short, dark wavy hair and brown eyes. His accent was one of the things I loved about him – I loved the way his voice sounded and the way his lips formed words – he always sounded so smart. We became engaged and our plans were to wed after the war.
I loved my job working in a hospital in one of the largest towns on the outskirts of London. I remember caring for many of the wounded from all the bombings. They were mainly civilians, more men than women and of course some were wounded soldiers. I was very busy with the rehabbing the wounded, and at times I assisted with surgeries. This helped me to pass the time until the war would end and my fiancé and I could get married and start our new life together.
It was a dreary cool late afternoon in the latter part of fall or early winter when I was working when an orderly walked up with a telegram. The news broke me. My fiancé had been killed in battle.
I was despondent and felt there was no reason left for me to live.
I recall just leaving the hospital. It was sleeting outside, so I wore my long dark brown coat over my white nurse’s uniform. I walked for a while and found myself on a bridge. It was a two lane bridge over a river. The bridge was modern for the time with ornate posts. It was there at the bridge that I stopped mindlessly walking. I sobbed deeply the whole time and heard the sirens, but didn’t seek shelter. The bombs were hitting closer and closer and smoke and fire was everywhere I looked. I welcomed my death as I longed to be with him. I died on the bridge while it was being bombed.
My life was short lived as I died in my twenties, heartbroken. I did not recognize anyone from that lifetime in my current life.
