Last week’s post certainly attracted plenty of views and comments and I certainly appreciate the feedback and support. So it has spurred me on to dedicate another post to the subject. I could probably waffle on forever about past lives, reasons for being, interactions between family members who reincarnate to work old problems out. The list goes on. We can’t fully discuss karma without bringing reincarnation into the mix, for what is one without the other? There would be no need to reincarnate if everything turned out in one life, no matter how long it lasted.
I was a serious little boy and if I wasn’t out exploring the world or reading, I would hide behind my wardrobe. There I would explore inner worlds, the world of active imagination. I would take my toy cars, squeeze between the wall and the wardrobe and play happily for hours. Here I was safe and could happily exist and travel to what I thought were hidden realms. I told no one about them, they were mine. When one is subjected to prolonged abuse the mind splinters. You have your normal, every day mind, and then the one that takes you away and keeps you safe. There it distances you from the reality and muffles the screams and pain. If these things are too much, then it creates another mind. It’s like sectioning a computer hard drive. This mind can become a whole new you, with its own personality. I lived as long as I could in the space between reality and my world until I escaped from home at 17. It took nearly two decades before I began to question the world and an afterlife, which is where the Medium series begins. Once I began studying these concepts it all made sense to me and I feel that’s why I have found it so easy to slip in and out of different planes of existence, time, future and past. Especially past lives.
Some explanation is needed here to differentiate between a dream, meditation and a past life experience. With everyday early night dreams there is often a disjointed, making it up as we go along feel. Outside influences, noises, full bladder, or someone touching you can intrude and set the dream off in different directions. Meditation is directed by your own mind or if it’s guided by a convener. You can wander off and it does feel real at times. With a past life viewing, it’s surround sound, in your face, taste, smell, feel, movement, emotion and all in technicolour. On first entering it you can observe or find yourself fully immersed. I have guided many people through this experience and found myself right there with them, becoming part of the experience. Let’s take a look at the lady who couldn’t get pregnant, she came to see me back in the nineties and the information came to me while doing a tarot reading. Everything she needed to know as to why she couldn’t fall pregnant came through. A few years ago a neighbour’s friend wanted me to find out why she couldn’t fall pregnant. Once we pushed through to a time before this life she relaxed and the images began. I must say that I’m just as surprised when I see where we go. I have no prior knowledge and no idea as to where or when we’ll end up. So when I saw her dressed in a thin leather tunic and laying in a pig pen, her distended abdomen flayed open and a dead baby next to her, it came as a shock. I could only assume by her hair colour that we were in northern Europe. Looking around I could see other bodies, men, women and children all suffering from long, deep gashes. Sword strokes. Smoke billowed nearby and the sound of pigs squealing as they were being slaughtered came to me. Men’s loud voices floated on the morning air and the sound of women screaming soon overtook the pigs. I watched as she took her last breath then saw her spirit rise. I followed and she came to a place where she was met by what I can only describe as a light being. Everything vanished and we came forward, once again it was her dying time and she passed with a baby in breach. It’s little legs were sticking out from between hers. The same thing again then we moved on. This went on for two more lives and I said, ‘Can you see the theme? It’s a fear of you and your child dying that’s stopping you from getting pregnant now.’ We went to the kitchen and had a coffee, talked about the experiences and she went home. Three months later she fell pregnant and gave birth to a healthy boy, the following year she had twins. I believe that getting in touch with that particular life or lives heals the present self. It’s also why forgiving the people who have hurt you in this, and previous lives goes a long way to healing the self.
I’ve written about objects in people’s auras from everyday items, to monkeys. I haven’t told you about the ghost and also the Roman spear. I’ll call her Rosemary, a single woman in her 30’s she came to see me for a general reading. She didn’t look well and complained about feeling drained and out of sorts. ‘So how long has this been going on?’ – ‘It feels like forever.’ Sitting back I took a look at her aura, definitely depleted, hazy and wait, what was that? I looked again and saw a face peer out from behind her head, then it vanished. Hmm, get a grip Laurie. ‘Tell me, do you always feel uncomfortable, a little paranoid like someone is following you?’ – ‘As far back as I can remember, I’ve never felt well.’ This began to make sense now. ‘Don’t mind me for a little while I need to take a look at something.’ Thankfully she sat quietly and I tuned in. It seemed that for some reason, which I could never quite understand Rosemary came into this life with the spirit of someone else firmly attached to her. Was it waiting for her to be born? Did it come along for the ride? I honestly don’t know. All I could do was talk to it, or try to. Nothing, except imagery of Rosemary dressed in a black dress, ruffled up around her waist. She squatted in a huge barn over a patch of straw and birthed a baby girl onto it. Once the afterbirth came out she staggered away. End of scene. I didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to understand what had happened. That Rosemary, for whatever reason abandoned her newborn child. Obviously the guilt stayed with her throughout that life and into this one. Her child, well its spirit must have attached itself to her and followed. I said, ‘Do you feel burdened at all?’ – ‘I’m not sure but nothing seems to go right for me.’ Taking a deep breath I told her what I’d seen both in her aura and about the child. I won’t tell you what she called me as she left the house. Not every story has a happy ending and all she needed to do was forgive herself. A simple, ‘I forgive me’ would have ended all of her discomfort. Perhaps it was her karma to go on feeling this way.
Picture from Wikipedia.
Let’s call her Alice, she turned up for a reading with an aura of great expanse. When she sat down I found myself looking at a spear point sticking out from between her breasts. A Pilum, a javelin used by the Roman army. I opened my eyes and closed them, still there. ‘Alice, do you have a lot of trouble with heartburn, or funny feelings in your chest?’ – ‘Sometimes and they can’t find anything that’s causing it.’ By the amount of objects in her aura, I deduced that Alice was not only a hoarder in this life but she couldn’t let go of old hurts. As the reading progressed it became obvious that she didn’t do well in affairs of the heart. Not wanting to incur another round of humiliation I didn’t tell her about the spear, instead I told her that I could do a quick healing. She was okay with that and I worked through the aura, withdrawing the spear. It fell away and I glimpsed old rivalries and a fight over a woman. Yes our Alice was indeed a Roman soldier who died for the love of a woman, betrayed and stabbed in the back by a rival. We worked out that she needed to be wary of the interference of others in her present relationship, simple.
What can you learn from past lives? Lots of things, I found out why I was terrified of walking over a bridge when I was a boy. Looking down into the dark water terrified me. It seems I was washed over the side of a sailing ship in the Atlantic ocean. Cut down by machine gun fire in WWI, 10 years after the regression the wounds there manifested as nerve damage to the heart and damage to the left lung. That one was complicated, present day family members were involved. Too emotional to write about. I’ve experienced death twice at the hands of a man I know in this life, both in single combat in the 12th and 13th century. I’ve yet to go back and see what I did to piss him off so badly. In this life he basically destroyed my first marriage and saved me from drowning, go figure.
One of the greatest events in my life was meeting George, my psychiatrist. After a few years of going through my Vietnam service and police work, we started on my childhood. This took another few years and during this time I told him about working as a psychic. One would expect a referral to an asylum, no we explored it and used various techniques to aid me. Towards the end of our time together he began to take me back and explore past lives. Sitting back in the recliner I closed my eyes and George asked, ‘Now you have all of this free time Laurie what do you want to do with it?’
Hunted, it’s never a great feeling to be stalked through the streets of a city that you once felt safe in. Wanted, not for your writing talent but for your need to expose the truth. I’ve long since stopped caring about the filth that congregates in the drains of the winding streets. Darkness hides a multitude of sins amongst the hovels and the palaces. The wind blows up off the cold waters of the Thames and finds its way through my cloak. I check the parchment tucked in the inside pocket and bow my head against the rain. Only a few windows show signs of other souls awake on this foul night, candles flicker casting dancing shadows on bare walls. Stopping suddenly I move into an alley and listen, the wind subsides and I can hear the sound of heavy boots on cobblestones. A loud clang shatters the night, one of them has dropped his halberd, muttered oaths follow and I run. Well, a semblance of a run, I’d barely healed from my last stay in prison. I reach the inn where I’ve been staying and enter by the back door, there is much to do and far more to write about and prepare for the printer. Sedition is a crime and punishable by death but I have much to write. I have the attic room and the chimney breast runs through it, the warmth is comforting and I set out my ink and parchment. The aroma of Ox fat lingers in the room, I can’t afford wax candles. The steady rhythm of quill tip against clean parchment lulls me, along with the words that appear on the page. I don’t hear the small door being opened. All I see are bearded faces, polished breastplates and a halberd, its spear point coming towards me. The broad head is hooked onto my thigh and I’m dragged out of my warm eyrie. A man stands above me, imperious, stiff holding a roll of parchment in white, feminine hands. I only hear one word, sedition as blood pumps out of a wound in my thigh. I’ve cheated the executioner yet have still died for my beliefs.
Shaking my head to clear the vision I stare blankly at George and he asks again, ‘Well, what do you want to do?’ – ‘I want to be a writer.’
Next week: Something interesting.