In last week’s post I mentioned about a man I know in this life who caused me some distress in my first marriage. Also how I came across him in a couple of past lives and still needed to know where we stood as it were. Several bloggers suggested that I should go and have a look. It’s been quite a while since I’ve made the journey and I have to say I was surprised by the content, realism and did I mention the pain? This isn’t always the case though and I wouldn’t let it put you off trying a regression. Actually the pain involved accentuated present day physical problems. About 10 minutes before we started, Lorelle would be taking me back, I became extremely angry. No rhyme or reason for it at all, I settled and laid down on the lounge. After relaxing a little, we went back through my 50th, 40th and 21st birthdays. Then back to when I was 9 and on the ship coming out to Australia, starting school at 5 and finally my birth. This was old hat but it’s necessary to get you in the right frame of mind. I’ll do the usual and tell them like a story, I find it easier this way. Be warned though, my journey is not for the fainthearted as I’m telling it like it happened, the savagery and immorality. Remember these events are long gone and don’t reflect who I am today.
Nothing at first, a darkness, movement and a slow awareness of my location. The rough trail cut into my bare feet and the huge, fur wrapped bundle I carried on my back weighed me down. Light slowly appeared through the gloom and I caught a glimpse of an alpine field across a misty lake. I could see animal heads in front of me, worn as headdresses by the men who enslaved me. A stag went past, the full hide covered the shoulders and back of its wearer. Glancing to my left I saw the bear head worn by my captor. Like him it was huge, savage-looking and it stank. I tripped and my bundle spewed its contents out on the forest floor. Booty from the last village they left burning, dried meats, furs, cook pots and some of his personal belongings. I lay there, too tired to move waiting for the usual kicking. He didn’t disappoint me. Stepping close he drew his robe back and kicked me in the stomach, roaring at me like the beast he was. The leather kilt he wore caught my eye, thick leather straps with metal sewn to them glinted in the light that grew stronger around us. I saw his face and I knew it was him. I’d lost count of the moons that had passed since he’d impregnated me, I’d only begun to bleed when they found my father’s small farm. They killed him, took our meagre stock and what grain we had and then he raped me. When he found out he’d put life into me, he kicked me until it came out. He’d used me many times since and I never fell again. Now I’m his packhorse and the recipient of his foul, evil moods. Darkness again and I’m sat by a fire, cooking. He’s there with a few others who share our fire, they’re playing bones and he loses. Another man wins me for the night. I’m used to this now but this one is cruel. When he finishes he leaves me bleeding. I wait until they’re all asleep and crawl over to my master. His drunken snores makes him sound more like his totem, the bear. Picking up a rock in both hands, I kneel by his shoulders and smash it down onto his head, he grunts and I bring it down again and again. I don’t stop until his thick, black hair is covered in blood and brains and I can’t lift the rock anymore. I didn’t see the others stir and they took hold of me before I could run. There was no preamble, I’d killed one of them. One held my wrists behind my back and stretched my arms out. The pain shot down through my shoulders. I saw a thick leather thong with large knots tied at regular intervals. They put this around my neck, tied it off and then a piece of wood was placed between the back of my neck and the thong. It was turned and turned until I couldn’t breathe and I felt the blood pounding in my brain. My head felt as if it would explode and then I died. Darkness again then I found myself standing in front of an old man who I recognised but couldn’t remember his name. He had thick, white hair, a white beard and was dressed in a white robe. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘welcome back.’ Then it ended.
As you know I don’t follow any religion, and I believe the man to be a guide of some description who would probably have told me where I went wrong, or helped me to determine what lessons needed to be learned. I stayed on the lounge and kept going.
picture courtesy of http://thescarletletter.wikia.com/wiki/Puritan_Life
A grey cloud opened quickly and shut again. I glimpsed a tall man dressed as a puritan. black coat, a high white-collar and a high hat. he’s quite tall, with a grim, lined face set in a constant scowl. It’s me. I have no idea as to where I am, by the style of dress it could have been England or North America. There seems to be an aggravating sense of anger, frustration, lust and self-hatred about me. I’m standing in the doorway of a large barn. The feeling of owning such a thing and the animals it contains takes the edge off my anger, until I catch a glimpse of her in the shadows of a horse stall. Moving over to where she lies on the fresh mown straw, I feel the fight begin inside of me. The desire for this girl far outweighs the repercussions that I know will come to destroy me. She knows that I desire her and takes great pleasure in taunting me. Her eyes, bluer than the sky twinkle with a knowing far beyond her years. Her golden hair cascades over her now bare shoulders as she struggles to remove her shift. She has become more brazen over time and cares not that we may be discovered. Her tinkling laugh breaks through my muttered prayers for strength, then as she touches my breeches I pray for forgiveness for the sin I’m about to commit, again. I can see that it’s him when I stare into her eyes. As always, entering her makes my mind swim with desire. She waits a moment then says, ‘I’m with child and mother says there is something different about me.’ Removing myself from her I stand, reeling with the thought of what she has said. The scene flicks forward and we stand in front of our church, they won’t let us in. They stand like a wall against us. Panicking, frightened I turn on her and yell. ‘It is her, she’s a witch, evil. She used her whiles to enslave me, satan is in her.’ I take some delight in seeing her face as it turns even whiter, ‘Look at her, anything so beautiful must belong to him. I tell you she enslaved me with magic. What else can she be?’ My wife steps forward and says, ‘She’s your daughter that’s what she is and you can both burn in hell.’ My daughter flees and I follow. She stops by the bank of a creek not far from town. I throw her to the ground, sit astride her and place my hands around her tender throat. Enraged, eaten by guilt and fear I slowly choke her. I watch as her eyes bulge and cloud over. The scene shifts and I’m back in my barn, I see my body hanging from a beam over the horse stall.
I can feel enormous pain in the back of my neck now, as if my whole weight is supported by one vertebrae. My left shoulder and arm has gone numb and I struggle to breathe. Lorelle asks me if I want to come out of it. No, I’ve come this far I need to see the next one.
Picture courtesy of wikipedia.
I’m drawn instantly into this scene. What can only be an English Inn appears. As an observer I stand back and watch. Dark, heavy oak beams crisscross the low ceiling of the taproom. Men of all shapes and sizes crowd around small tables, drinking, laughing, arguing, playing cards. A huge log burns warmly in the stone fireplace, set against the back wall. Whale oil lamps flicker and their smoke adds to the haze of tobacco smoke hanging above the heads of the men. I see him first, in his late forties with a heavy black beard, streaked with grey. He’s wearing a thick woollen shirt with a leather jerkin over it. A thick, leather baldric crosses his chest, supporting a heavy cutlass, he has this over his lap. Then I see ‘me’ coming from the bar. I’m carrying a tray laden with pewter tankards. My black hair is up in a bun and the weight of the tray forces my breasts up, so they bounce above my corset. The fact that my skirt drags through the sawdust on the floor doesn’t bother me. I stop for a moment and tease the men seated at a table, encouraging them to drink up. I have food and drink to sell and a business to run, I do almost anything to make a profit. I stop at his table, something is wrong. One of the men he plays cards with is angry, he’s been losing his money all night and now he shouts cheat. I know he only comes here to see me. When the last drunk goes home to his wife, I close the inn and take him up to my room. I watch in horror as the angry man pulls out a pistol, I can hear the click as he cocks the hammer, terrified I drop the tray and it lands on my man’s arm. He lurches to his feet and can’t pull out his pistol in time. There’s a fizz, a flash and boom. A large, black hole appears in his forehead and as he topples backward his eyes stare accusingly at me. Inside I scream, ‘No, it wasn’t my fault, no I didn’t do it.’
I try to sit up off the lounge, I can’t I hurt so much. My head throbs, it feels like all of my blood is trapped there. Disoriented, feeling a little nauseated I manage to stand. Boy don’t I need a coffee. We talked about what I’d seen and felt, and I gain a greater understanding as to why he acted like he did in this life. I wasn’t the hapless victim of someone’s dislike for me, instead I turned out to be on the receiving end of karma. I found it difficult to get to sleep later, so I went into a quick meditation and connected with him on a soul level. I apologized and asked if that was it, is there anything else to watch out for? My dreams were hectic, disorganised and filled with flickering images. Some of it was what I’d experienced in the regression, other parts consisted of shadowy events that I can’t recall. I woke the next morning with terrible pain in the C7 vertebrae. Needless to say it was a leftover from the night before and as the day wore on it vanished and I began to feel, well, terribly good. To the extent that for four days running I’ve been outside working in the yard. I can now rotate my head without any pain at all. So we have this thread of pain, callous disregard and brutality running through the first two lives. Then a common bond and love in the third one only to have a complex ending, based on a misunderstanding. I can only imagine in that life, that I lived on until my time was up. As an aside, when I came into this world the umbilical cord was wrapped firmly around my neck. For all intents and purposes I was dead. Apparently the midwife called the doctor in to attend and after a couple of minutes of resusicitation he told her to put me in the bucket. This was kept under the delivery table for the afterbirth, other waste and stillborns. Once he left she began resus again and I breathed on my own after 6 minutes. Sometimes I guess we’re meant to be here. Although if you’ve been reading my posts over the last couple of years you’ll realise that I’ve experienced more than my fair share of close calls. Hmm, I may have pissed off more people over time than I can recall.
There we have it, reasons for ongoing lives. To learn lessons, experience life, find out what it’s like to hurt and be hurt and to have your very existence pulled out from under you. The main lesson I think though is one of forgiveness, without it the lesson has to be learned until you get it right. In this life you don’t have to front up to the person and ask for or send out forgiveness. You can do it within and let the act go. The world at large needs to forgive, we have ongoing conflicts whose seeds were sown hundreds of years ago, yet people are willing to kill over it now. I’ve been watching the news in regards to the vote for Scotland to secede, people were in the streets brawling over everything from football, religion to the battle of Culloden in 1746. I’m not singling Scotland out here, it happens everywhere and makes me wonder when does it stop. Have people reincarnated into these countries today to seek retribution for past wrongs and deaths? Are whole countries involved in the karma from past events? It’s something to think about and all I can say is like most things, forgiveness starts at home.
Next week: I’m sure to think about something before then.