Certain situations can cause tension to arise. An impulse from the sixth sense plays out in a subtle chill across the consciousness. What happened? The catch on my bracelet became tangled and too tight. For a few moments, it was stuck on my wrist. The instinct to tear it off rose up. Mindfulness calmed the moment enough to get the clasp loose and free. Whenever clothes become too tight or difficult to remove, the same slight panic occurs. Get it off! What’s that all about?
Are you fascinated by a certain place? Does a name make you pause without reason? Do you read books about a time in history? A connection to a past life can happen if the psyche is open to receive it. It’s a subtle expression of memories past down through the bodies of many corporeal forms on earth. The impression could be overwhelming at moments, however, accepting past lives and existences, can be done naturally. A visit to a place that is compelling can help awareness resurface.
If you believe yourself to be a sensitive soul, the haunting in this lifetime of things that have passed can be continuous. Perhaps it’s just a feeling. Or, a reaction every time a particular sequence of events happens, like the sensation created by the tangled bracelet. I was manacled before, the vision of where and how has yet to come clear.
A connection to some details of a previous existence came without drama while braiding lavender flowers seated in the courtyard at the Castle Donnafugata outside Ragusa, Sicily. Bees droning and the scent of rosemary set the scene for the slip behind the veil of the present to what had been. A few days before, I’d been at the Wellspring of the nymph Arethusa on the islet Ortygia. Legend has it, Artemis changed Arethusa into a freshwater stream to get her away from a harassing river god. A little way up the road, a large water fountain honoring the myth stands in Archimedes Square. In my glimpse of past life. I lived at the fount a few thousand years ago. I had a name, an image, and a glimpse into my old life. I was Talygta from Cyprus. A basket weaver brought there to serve the goddess.
The second trip to Italy validated awareness of past lives and my ability to be clairvoyant. In Lucca, I walked into the Chiesa di San Ponziano and saw clearly where two workmen had fallen off a scaffold in the nave when it was being refurbished 300 years ago. Italy, blessed Italy gave me the space to reach the old knowledge and let it out.
When I was 19, I became fascinated by the events of WWI. Films, books and poets were watched with rapt attention. The soldiers, what happened to the soldiers? The old sensation of sorrow and melancholy rises every time. Why? I’m buried there in Flanders Field. In a past life, I served and died in the trenches.
In 2004, I traveled to a The Gathering of Nations, a corn planting festival, in Albuquerque NM. Inspiration for the trip came the summer before while in attendance at Schemitzun, a three-day Native American festival celebrating the corn harvest in Connecticut. A woman from Albuquerque invited us to attend the planting festival in April. Without hesitation, plans were made to attend. Long fascinated by Native American spirituality, something said at one of the pueblos sounded too familiar. When the Spanish entered this part of the southwest, the Natives were persecuted for their spiritual practices. A kiva is a sacred place where natives commune with mother earth. It’s a subterranean room entered by a ladder, built to connect a person to the source of life. One manner of “persuasion” to accept the new faith was to destroy the Natives’ sacred spaces. People who resisted their rule could find themselves buried in the kiva, I was one of them. To this day, I cannot stay in a stone structure below the ground, or in a low ceiling cave. I was buried alive in one.
During a past life recession, I saw myself as one of the few remaining Arawak’s living on one of the islands during the time of Columbus. I saw myself in the water throwing out a net, fishing just offshore. The Spanish took me before the image of a cross and were forcing me to choose between their religion or my life. They cut off my breasts first, then stabbed me in the heart. The last thing I saw was their symbol of god. No wonder I grew up conflicted about faith and evolved into believing something is out there but it is beyond comprehension. Nobody knows, so much belief is based on a myth.
The exploration of past lives is possible with experts in hypnosis. It’s best to work with trained facilitators who gently provide a safe place to reach back and view events without trauma. Kathryn McGlynn, CH is a practitioner in Massachusetts. I’ve had the opportunity to attend a few sessions and came away enlightened each time.
In all lives, there is so much unseen. Tell your story in a comment. What do you know or vaguely remember?
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