Lila P
Member
I have some fragmented information about two lives, both take place in the United States. In the first one, I was in New York in the 1920´s in front of a furniture store. I saw the owner´s name, Paternak. I obviously had something to do with this person.
In another dream I was in the middle of nowhere - but obviously in some southern state of the USA in the 1950´s. I was worried about writings on the walls of a certain house - the texts were written there by chicken blood. This is very little information, but by other ways I´ve found out who I probably was.
I put these two lives in the same post, because I think they explain one of my biggest this-life phobias: that is getting married and have children. How spooky.
Quite recently I convinced myself, that I must have used the typewriter before. In this life, I learned to use it really quickly - and believe me, because I took typing lessons at school, I could compare my progress with the others. This is a fairly modern skill, so practically the only chance was, that I learned in New York in the early 20th C. In that later life I did something else.
After doing some research, I found out that in those days typewriters were mostly used by women and typing jobs offered them a honorable way of making a living. However, some authors seemed to be quite worried about these women, because they didn´t necessarily show much interest to get married and have children. Here is an article about the Type-Writer Girls:
http://www.edwardianpromenade.com/occupations/the-type-writer-girl/
I particularly love this part:
This description could be about me, especially when I was younger.
So, it´s highly likely that I was an early prototype of an emancipated lady in New York.
I must have reborn to the next life not later than in 1940. Other people seem to remember me better than I do myself, but because of my this-life experiences, I can accept what they have seen. So, I´ve probably been a very obese African-American woman, possibly slightly mentally challenged. At first I lived in the South, got married and had a daughter, who now is Karoliina from this forum. My husband was very abusive - probably a psychopath - and I escaped him with my daughter to New York. I died later in the hospital, but I´m not sure what were the reasons I had to go there. There is a chance that my husband found us and was hungry for revenge. At least some men had come to our home and they had threatened my daughter. Anyway, the whole life was filled with domestic violence.
At this point it should be quite clear why I avoid marriage: there is need for independence and at the same time fear of abusive people. And believe me, in this life I´ve been quite career-oriented, but I´ve also had my share of abusive men.
Reruns, reruns...
In another dream I was in the middle of nowhere - but obviously in some southern state of the USA in the 1950´s. I was worried about writings on the walls of a certain house - the texts were written there by chicken blood. This is very little information, but by other ways I´ve found out who I probably was.
I put these two lives in the same post, because I think they explain one of my biggest this-life phobias: that is getting married and have children. How spooky.
Quite recently I convinced myself, that I must have used the typewriter before. In this life, I learned to use it really quickly - and believe me, because I took typing lessons at school, I could compare my progress with the others. This is a fairly modern skill, so practically the only chance was, that I learned in New York in the early 20th C. In that later life I did something else.
After doing some research, I found out that in those days typewriters were mostly used by women and typing jobs offered them a honorable way of making a living. However, some authors seemed to be quite worried about these women, because they didn´t necessarily show much interest to get married and have children. Here is an article about the Type-Writer Girls:
http://www.edwardianpromenade.com/occupations/the-type-writer-girl/
I particularly love this part:
In Gissing's The Odd Women, for example, the male point of view is represented by Everard Barfoot, a free-thinker who comes to his cousin's typing school as a self-styled "connoisseur" of women (20). There he is enchanted by Rhoda Nunn, Mary's partner in the organization and a pronounced gender radical. Rhoda is particularly vehement about the institution of marriage. She tells Everard, "I would have girls taught that marriage is a thing to be avoided rather than hoped for. I would teach them that for the majority of women marriage means disgrace" (99). As we have seen in Kipling's encounter with the American woman "who earns her own bread, and . . . slings out-of-the way quotations at your head," such a figure poses a distinct problem for the male gaze. Indeed, it is Rhoda's very elusiveness, the ways in which she is both a woman and somehow not a woman, that seems to galvanize the text's authorial consciousness:
At first view the countenance seemed masculine, its expression somewhat aggressive—eyes shrewdly observant and lips consciously impregnable. But the connoisseur delayed his verdict. It was a face that invited, that compelled study. . . . [W]hen the eyelids drooped a little in meditation, one became aware of a suggestiveness directed not solely to the intellect, of something like an unfamiliar sexual type, remote indeed from the voluptuous, but hinting a possibility of subtle feminine forces that might be released by circumstance. (20-21)
This description could be about me, especially when I was younger.
So, it´s highly likely that I was an early prototype of an emancipated lady in New York.
I must have reborn to the next life not later than in 1940. Other people seem to remember me better than I do myself, but because of my this-life experiences, I can accept what they have seen. So, I´ve probably been a very obese African-American woman, possibly slightly mentally challenged. At first I lived in the South, got married and had a daughter, who now is Karoliina from this forum. My husband was very abusive - probably a psychopath - and I escaped him with my daughter to New York. I died later in the hospital, but I´m not sure what were the reasons I had to go there. There is a chance that my husband found us and was hungry for revenge. At least some men had come to our home and they had threatened my daughter. Anyway, the whole life was filled with domestic violence.
At this point it should be quite clear why I avoid marriage: there is need for independence and at the same time fear of abusive people. And believe me, in this life I´ve been quite career-oriented, but I´ve also had my share of abusive men.