Greetings to all here who happen to read this! I'm new to this forum. And actually to forums in general. But this place sounded like a good place to be open to others about what I believe to be past life experiences and connections which I have struggled with for nearly two years now. If you had asked me if I believed in such things two years ago, I would have told you I had never given it much thought but would be open to the idea. I have never been and never will be someone to judge others on their beliefs. Then, after my grandmother passed away on Halloween two years ago, everything began to change. I am not sure if the grief of losing her unlocked these past life dreams and connections, but I am starting to believe it might have. I am an artist. And that is important to know about me. I am not professional, but I have been drawing and writing stories my entire life. I even now have an Instagram account that I enjoy sharing my stories on (and even my icon is one of the pictures I have drawn). This is important because it was soon after my grandmother's death that I started making a medieval arc to my stories. I was oddly interested in the Black Death. But I thought nothing of it. However, one night I had a dream. The dream was a first person view. And everything was incredibly real. (At this point in time I had not done any formal research on this time period or the plague at all) I had two dreams in a matter of about a week or so between. The first I remember running up a small piece of land that was at a slight incline, like a small uphill field. I say small because it was cut off by trees. I was in a long baby blue woolen dress of sorts. And there was snow. A thin layer of snow. I felt so happy and remember scooping some up in both of my hands, accidentally picking up some blades of dead grass along with it. It was so cold and I could feel the way it crunched in my palms. I smiled up to the overcast sky, but was soon pelted with a snowball from my left side. There was a boy my age laughing at me, as he had thrown it. I would venture to say we must have been in our late teen years. He was wearing a seemingly bland colorless tunic, also woolen, with a belt which seemed to be cloth around his waist, tights and a little cloth hat which came down over his ears. Just like one would think a peasant to appear. As for his shoes, I could not see them in the snow. He had blonde hair that curled around his neck and a bit around his forehead from underneath the cap. And I knew that I had such loving feelings for him. They were warm and tender. As if he were my best friend. I do not know if we were siblings or lovers, I simply know how I felt and that it was beautiful. But then, he spoke and that's what caught me in this dream. I then realized that this dream was no ordinary dream. For when he spoke, it was nothing like I had ever heard. I want to say it was English, but it sounded so so different from that of which we speak today, that my modern mind was having difficulty processing it. It almost sounded like another language. But in this dream, even though I couldn't understand him, my soul knew that he was mocking me playfully. And also that I was not in control of my actions like I usually am in dreams. Because before I could come back at his sassiness, we were called inside by an elder woman, who I believe now to be my mother. And we ran back inside where I was immediately smothered in a blanket by her, in this one room cob walled thatched roof house. She also spoke this unusual old language and was scolding the boy. In today's language I would say that she was saying something along the lines of "now I sent you out there to get her and you just play around. You both should know better than to be out there. You'll get sick". He and I smiled at each other as she rambled on and that is where that dream ended. The second was but a flash of a scene. This time, I had on a pretty colorless cloak for the winter cold, but also that same blue dress underneath. It was just my mother and myself. We had gone into the city. She was carting some bags and baskets and I had a few as well, but made sure to hold on to her clothes as not to get separated. Lots of people seemed to be wearing outer cloaks as well. There were so many people. Most were in a hurry and some bumped into me. There were some people on the street yelling out to advertise what they were selling. I remember a large cream colored horse and wagon passing very closely to my left. But I mainly remember the mud. The mud of the streets was ridiculously wet and thick. And I was hoping not to lose my shoes as we walked. That was the end of that dream. By this point I was so intrigued that I began to dig into research. I read several books on this time period. Mainly the 14th century. I was getting comfirmation from that and from several friends of mine who live in England on things such as weather. For example, how it usually rains but hardly snows, which may have been why in my first dream I was so thrilled about the snow. I had also realized that within my medieval art which had been created prior to the dreams, I had given every female character a light blue dress and blonde hair subconsciously. But I still did not understand why I kept returning to the Black Death and why I had made such a tragedy the main focus of the story I was writing. Until several weeks later. I was at the store one day and was feeling kinda off. The whole past life thing was new and was taking its toll on me. I wanted to know more and those which I discussed it with were having trouble relating to me and helping me. For some reason as I stood looking at items, I had a quick vision. I was in that one roomed small house. I was on the bed, on the far left wall. I was on my back and I was crying. I felt as if though I was too weak to even move. My face was wet. Probably from tears, but as for around my mouth? Quite possibly with blood. I was alone. I knew it was the end. Both my mom and the boy I knew were gone. And there were questions that flooded and pained my mind: why? Why did this have to happen? After that there was nothing but a fade of the memory into a warm darkness. And that killed me. I had never felt such a suffocating grief as that. I had to leave the store and go home quickly. And when I did get home, I shut myself in my room and I sobbed. Probably the hardest I have ever cried in my life. It was an unexplainable grief. And to this day it still is. For the longest time I struggled trying to find out a reason for the grief. I believe it was because of what happened and the fact that it happened so quickly, and that I never got to say goodbye officially to those that I loved. I continue to get episodes of unbearable sadness. Even talking or thinking about it chokes me up. Sometimes letting out the grief and crying helps. But each time is just as bad as the last. And friends which I talk to about it, a few say that I frustrate them because they don't know how to help me. I don't know how to help me either. I simply wished for them to listen. So I found this forum, in hopes that someone would be able to understand what I'm feeling. For now, I shall leave this with those memories. This is just the tip of the iceberg. The very first clues I had. The connections through what my subconscious mind has told me through my art and the reflection back on my life when I was younger are even more powerful and astonishing to me. They helped solidify this for me. And I shall tell them soon. My thanks goes to all who read this and who may continue to read what I have to share in future posts.