Hello all, I figured since I've been around here a while, I'd finally get round to starting a thread of my own and detailing my experiences with an ongoing reincarnation case. It is a long story, and will be detailed in separate posts. I’m tentatively coming forward about this is because I have received specific validation by still living family members, and believe this case may be of interest to others. (A bit of background info: In this life, I was born in the 90's in England. Currently 27 yrs old, married w/ three kids.) ------- My recall details the life of a man who fought in the Vietnam War. This awareness has been with me since the age of 12/13, when I began to open to what I can only describe as a well of pain. Childhood cues have been around since I can remember in severe phobias, and odd traits. One of the triggers to remembering was playing video games. I had been searching around my dad's computer desk (probably a day I was bunking off school), and I found a computer game called Operation Flashpoint. The picture on the front of the game completely mesmerized me. It was of a camouflage face painted soldier looking down the scope of a rifle. I fired up the game in my room, and played. The game was a realistic military shooter set during 1985 on a fictional Soviet island, with Cold War era weapons/vehicles and a US-vs-Russia combat situation. This was not a typical point-click-shoot game, it was an open ended game that required strategic thinking. At the time it was probably the most realistic game you could play that would get close to a combat situation. (In fact it was so realistic that the military developed their own simulators from the same engine to train soldiers.) Every time I played, an overwhelming feeling of familiarity came over me. It was a yearning pain for something that had once been, but no longer was. I particularly enjoyed flying around in the ingame helicopters and shooting away. Since I was little I had always been fascinated with joysticks, but I never plucked up the courage to ask my parents to buy me one. It was weird enough I was playing this game, never mind asking for a joystick. I asked myself why I felt so drawn to this game, I felt that something was definitely 'wrong' with me. Most girls that age in that time didn’t sit at home and play war games for fun, for one. That's when it entered my head. I was a soldier in a previous lifetime. I fought in the Vietnam War. Why Vietnam? I wasn't sure why. The only exposure I'd had to Vietnam had been a brief encounter with another video game called Conflict:Vietnam. I never finished that game. The concept of it made me uncomfortable. Everything about Vietnam made me uncomfortable, and I made sure I avoided knowing about it if I could help it. The other part of that question (the ‘what is wrong with me’ question) was the pain I was opening to at that point of my life. It was a very difficult time. At the lowest point, suicide was not out of question. The sheer pain that engulfed me at that time of my life ultimately led to me developing agoraphobia. It got to the point where I could no longer leave the house to go to school. Severely depressed, I was around 13 and some psychologists came to my house to assess me. I recall them saying that if I did not start leaving the house, or take medication, they would institutionalise me. I refused to do either. Being stubborn as heck, I decided I’d take on the challenge to fix myself. I started meditating. Just sitting with the pain whenever it came. As well as meditating, I experimented with binaural beats and creative writing. All this I’m sure contributed to opening my mind and clearing the fog. I wasn’t happy, but I found some peace. I had no friends. My relationship with my family was strained considering I’d given up my schooling. I was very alone, and spent most of my days in solitude. During this time I received a lot of insights about life. Part of those insights was the knowledge that when we die, we are born again, and we are here to learn through our experiences. I listened to a self-hypnotic regression MP3 I acquired, and had some interesting experiences, but nothing, curiously, about the Vietnam War. Trying to force it left me with less than satisfactory results. Despite this I had a vague image of how he had looked. I was sure he had the same hair colour as me, but had blue eyes, because since I can remember I used to look in the mirror and see my eyes were the wrong colour. Gradually I started to expand my world from my room, to the back garden, to the bottom of the street, to a walk round the block, and eventually signed up at a local college. The college had a program that took on students who didn’t have formal qualifications, and from there moved onto a course that did require qualifications. College meant I had to take the bus everyday into town. It was a real challenge for someone who had spent the better part of two years isolated. Every sight and sound was magnified. Anxiety crippled me. The sensation almost translated as physical pain. I never got over that anxiety, but learnt how to tone it down. It was not long after joining college that I had my first real clue, during one of the most vivid, realistic dreams I’ve had to this date. 2007 - The Shooting Dream I’m a man, I’m driving my car on a bright sunny day, pull up somewhere on a road that looks like it belongs in a typical North American town or city center, I get out my car. I’m vaguely conscious of how I look, I’m an average Caucasian dude, wearing a chequered shirt and jeans, and have light hair/ eyes. The cars around are not modern cars, they look from the 70-80's era. Everything looks familiar, and I know where I am going. I enter a building, a formal looking one. I’m standing in the lobby of the building, when, seemingly out of the blue, two men come up from behind me from the glass doors/entrance to building. They are wearing what appears to be black flak jackets and are armed. One of the men opens fire and shoots me through the abdomen at close range. It’s sudden, and the reason isn’t apparent. I'm on the ground, and I can't move. I woke from that dream and immediately felt where the bullet penetrated me. Sure enough that's where I hold a birthmark. (Attachment details: Left: Photo shows birthmark on lower right portion of abdomen. Right: Enhanced saturation.) I lay in bed a long while after that dream trying to figure it out. I strongly felt that I had witnessed how I had died in a previous life. But there was little consolation in that knowledge. It was confusing. How, what, when? The cogs in my mind whirled and I started to make assumptions. I wanted very much to figure out who I had been, and, having seen that I’d died in a shooting I figured, too, that the info had to be out there somewhere. If I had fought in the Vietnam War, then this incident had to have occurred after the war. So, I was looking for shooting incidents involving Vietnam War Vets. Anywhere from 1966 was fair game, but by the age of the cars I was looking at least for the mid 70’s. The setting of the shooting was formal, so I figured it could have been a bank. Perhaps this had been a bank robbery of some kind, and I had somehow ended up tangled in the middle. Or, perhaps I had been the one who committed the crime. For some reason that didn’t sit well with me. I had not expected to be shot in the moment. But that doesn’t necessarily make me a guilty bystander. I did a couple of Google searches for Vietnam era Vets involved in bank shoot outs, but nothing satisfactory came up. Another theory I thought of is this possibly could have been a life in between the Vietnam War life and my current. If it was I would have had to have been over the legal age to drive. Again, this theory has its holes, but it is a possibility that I have to consider. As the years went on, every so often I’d get an intense feeling to search around for ‘myself’. Again, nothing ever came of it. I did not have enough clues to go by. I tried to access the information via meditation/self-hypnosis, but I could not force the barriers. So I put it out of my mind, and did my best to forget about it. It would be five years before I’d get my next clue.