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Asian Lifetimes

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JulieZ

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I am convinced that my 3 year old son Ian (who I had to name that...long story there) was Asian before. Since he could walk he has been immidating movements that resemble tai chi. He gets all excited when we go to Chinatown and a couple years ago, I saw him put his hands together and bow. *My husband is from Mexico and I am mixed European.* Go figure?
 
Japanese Girl


I also had a past life in Japan. I have very vivid memories of myself as a little girl, running barefoot between burning wooden buildings. There was chaos and I was alone, terrified, screaming and crying. My death came when one of the burning buildings fell onto me. It was during a WWII air raid on my town. However, I'm not sure if it was during the Tokyo Raid or Hiroshima or Nagasaki, but I too have always had a fascination with Hiroshima. I would love to visit there one day.


In this lifetime, I am also Japanese. I went to see the movie, Pearl Harbor, and during the battle scene, it was very difficult for me to watch. At one point, I got so sick to my stomach that I wanted/needed to leave the theater, but couldn't because we were in the middle row and I didn't want to crawl over people to get out. So I just sat there and gritted my teeth and watched the scene.


I can only describe the feeling as a feeling of horror and guilt, sort of like, "Oh my God!! We did a horrible thing!!!" Sometimes, planes flying overhead will make me uneasy...it might be a carryover from that lifetime.
 
Vietnamese Fisherman

I don't have a clue of the exact date, I believe it was in the 20th century. I was a fisherman in Vietnam, it was before the war, I remember that life to have been peaceful, I think it could have been in the 1st part of the 20th century.

I was working in a traditional pirogue and I was wearing the traditional hat worn in Southeastern Asia. My clothes were very modest but looked like 20th century peasant clothes, out of the traditional hat, my clothes weren't looking like traditional Vietnamese clothes, so it was in an era of Occidental influence, probably short before the Vietnam War.

I had a hard life and was poor but my life had been peaceful
 
Running from a tsunami in Japan

I have been interested in Japan since I was 5. I started studying Japanese last June, and I find that all the grammar rules, sounds, words, etc. make sense to me, as if I was once able to speak Japanese.

I have had dreams about running away from a tsunami in Japan (I woke up before I died). Fortunately, my waking visions have been more pleasant. I have children's books in Japanese to help me learn (I can read at a kindergarten level), and while reading one out loud, I "saw" myself as a Japanese man, about 30 years old, reading to a very young (and very cute) Japanese boy. I even saw dark-brown-almost-black straight hair in front of my eyes--and I have curly light brown hair in this life!

Lots of little things add up. When I was in preschool, I had difficulty with sounds that don't exist in Japanese (like v, th, and l). I taught myself to use chopsticks at age 7. I feel more comfortable around Asians than most white people I know do. (In fact, in a Japanese bookstore once, I forgot that I stood out by my physical appearance!) Many people I felt a connection with upon first meeting them also seemed to show signs of a past life in Japan.

Sorry about going on and on; I can't tell this to anyone I know without feeling crazy. Obviously, I lived in Japan in a previous life. Probably the Meiji period (late 19th/early 20th century by our calender), since that's the most interesting time of Japanese history to me.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Anyone lived in Japan?
 
A Samurai

I have been a samurai several times-- possibly under the Hojo in northern Kyushu fighting the Mongols (1200s), as a member of the Niiro clan serving under Lord Shimazu Yoshihisa (1500s), as a samurai (not sure which side) at the Shimabara Uprising in 1638, and as a pro-Tokugawa samurai in the Battle of Nagaoka in 1868.

Personally, I think that, while the samurai had rights to do some things which were wrong (like kill commoners for no reason, known as the right of seisatsu yodatsu), their code of conduct and their standards of behavior are admirable, and I try to emulate them in my day to day life.

The point of the samurai class is not killing-- it's protecting and serving. Indeed, the word "samurai" itself means "one who serves". A samurai serves and protects, and is fiercely loyal to his or her cause, clan, and lord.

--N.
 
Shimabara, Japan 1637-38

Found out from the regression that I was a poor land-owning samurai in Shimabara, Japan, and took part in the Christians' uprising there in 1637-38. There were many important figures I'd met in that life, even a few Europeans...however, one person who has me confused is the person who was apparently my wife. The images of her that I got before the uprising and the images of the person who I think was her at battle at the very end of the uprising (when it was crushed) seem like they're the combined impressions of two different people. As far as anyone here knows, is it possible that my mind merged my wife with another person-- perhaps her sister or a close friend? This has really got me confused.

--N.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Regression
 
Wielding a katana

My dreams were always of the same genre; they followed the same "person", the same "story... like a neverending soap opera. In this foreign world, I was a young man striving for his life; persisting on surviving the dangers at hand. Young and arrogant. Was he an assassin? A traveler? A warrior? I don't know. I weilded a katana, at least, that's what I think. Two of them, actually; one shorter than the other. It was not modern times, either. The landscapes, the atmosphere, everything was the replicated realm of feudal Japan.

It was like a quest from childhood to adulthood. The more I dreamt, the more faces and places I visited. Just where was I going? Why was I fighting, relentless towards the consisting battles around me? Why do I feel guilt, heavily burdened remorse for those that this fictional character had killed? No matter. They're just dreams.

They will end soon enough. And they did - when the man died. I felt everything. It was terrifying. I was running, vision blurred; running towards a faceless figure. I think I was going to kill him. I had to. This wasn't a game. It happened so fast, then...

I was on my knees.

What happened? I don't remember collapsing. Why was my stomach so warm? It felt as though I had failed every aspect of my life. I just... gave up. These emotions were tearing at my soul. Far too real for comfort. I tried to wake up, but failed.

I couldn't control the situation at hand, it was like being inside someone elses body; all I could do was watch. This is the only way I can explain it. It felt as though water was ebbing forth, draining; my breath was becoming shallow and lifeless. But if this is just a dream, why does it hurt? When I awoke, my entire body ached. For fifteen years I had these dreams, and then... They just stopped. It has been at least three years now.

As I got older, historical exposures of the Meiji period nearly made me question myself. Everything I have ever dreamt was in relation to this era.
 
A samurai of the Nagaoka domain, 1863

My name, as I understand it, was Nakajima Nobutada. I was a samurai of the Nagaoka domain, in the center of modern-day Niigata Prefecture. I went to Kyoto, the old Imperial capital, in 1863, when my lord was assigned as the official military governor of Kyoto by the Tokugawa shogun. While there, I fell in love with my soul mate, who was, at that time, a geisha by the name of Midori, who lived in the "pleasure quarters" of Shimabara. By the help of Hijikata Toshizou, vice-commander of the Shinsengumi (a patrol group in Kyoto), I was able to become Midori's exclusive patron. When I left Kyoto to go back to Nagaoka, Midori came with me...this was about mid-1863, I believe.

Fast-forward to 1868. April 1868, I finally proposed to Midori, under blooming cherries. May/June 1868, we were married...and around the time of the Tanabata Festival, July 8th, I was killed in battle when the "Imperial" armies of those who backed the Meiji "Restoration" invaded my lord's domain. I took down five enemies with my sword in my last battle, and one with my rifle, before getting shot repeatedly and falling (forward, as "true" samurai are supposed to). And as I fell, I fell with my wife's name on my lips...

--N.
 
A Japanese warrior in training


It is a dream i had two or three times while being a kid.


I think I am a girl .But I am wrong. Even with long flowing dark straight (somehow I notice this because my hair is usually curly) hair I am a boy of about 13 or 14.


My brothers and me are running down a long corridor with large walls but not hight ceilings. At the end of it we stop. A door is a little bit open . And light is to be seen.We have to be careful since before the doorway are lots of furnitures. It seems as if there is no order for the furnitures. So I and 3 or 4 other surrounding me (brothers)- in fact i only know i am one of the elder children, either the eldest or the secong eldest.


There in this big room who looks more like a library. on the right side are lots and lots of books written in a language I can t identify-too far away, but it could be Chinese...On the left is a man standing on a elevated something, and is talking to a gathering group of men who are listening attentively.


The man has long greyish hair, slanted dark eyes and some chin beard ( it s really thin and only on the chin so you cant call it a beard ). And he looks some kind of scholar. When I look at him I immediately know and feel this is my father. The men and my father are all wearing clothes which are very wide and full of different colours. i know father is also a merchant. a merchant and a scholar.


Then I see myself running in the garden. Here too I mistook myself at the beginning for a girl because i was wearing wide clothes,and too me it looked like a dress. But it was not. Just fashion for men.


i hide behing a tree and i take out a knife i had stolen from the kitchen.i look around afraid someone might look. And with my left hand i take all the hair and with my right hand i am holding the knife reading to cut the hair at the base of the neck. But at the same time a hand suddenly is holding back my right wrist where the knife is. I turn round and am face to face with a young warrior in full equipment,so it seems to me. He is 17 and i know he is the one my father was waiting for. If I remember corrrectly he is a noble's son.


He is bending down to me while holding my wrist since he is a good one head and a half taller than me. He has long black hair in a high ponitail till the middle of his back. Something what looks like a sword-a bit differrently. and a kind of armor protecting part of the legs and the arms and kind of boots. His face is tanned from the sun and he has slanted eyes, too. His name is Chiaki. I know because my afther will present him to our family. And while bending down he says in a voice which seems sad but also angry: " DON T CUT YOUR HAIR!!!" He is not shouting , just saying it forcefully and at this moment i notice that he is warrior and all of his hair is up in a ponytail while mine is unbound and flows freely down my back.


Then i understand what he means, i can t cut my hair. I will become a warrior too soon since i have almost reached adulthood and then the symbol of it is the more or less long hair in a high ponytail.I don t know why i know this. I just know.


The rest is just a rush: me getting older, as warrior: but always by my side the two most important people for me: father and Chiaki. i ti s a very strong and warm feeling; beeing home: first with father, he was the first two give me this feeling, than Chiaki.


The another picture of an upset Chiaki and then we as lovers.But strangely being a warrior but still having him by my side is also feeling home, the home I don t want ever to leave again.


Here everything ends, just the fleeing vision of something drastic happening and somehow the death of Chiaki:this i can t see, because it s too blurry, too fast. i just feel his death. Then nothing.Blackness.


I often dreamt it as kid, but also it started again some 8 years again,well now.


Only so many words to say the dream came back more forcefully.


This post and discusison is continued in the thread A japanese boy
 
Mongolian boy

Since I can only remember being a boy about seven years old, I wasn't too interested in personal appearance yet, but I recall pretty clearly that leather and felt were the fabrics for daily clothes.

Men's hair was quite long, and they attached some importance to it, considering it, or the whole head, a part of the body only family members were allowed to touch. (What would Freud say? :D ) I also remember black tattoos or scarification on a man's cheeks and arms. It seems like those were more than decoration, that a man wouldn't be caught dead without them. What women did, I don't know--as I said, I was about seven and wanted to be around the "big boys."

I have a feeling that life was pretty short, but happy. My clearest recollection of it is an emotion--the fearless love a child can have for a trustworthy adult he looks up to.
 
Memories of 13th century Japan


I'll go with the 13th century one first.


I don't know what clan I served, but it might have been Shimazu of Satsuma-- the story of their action at the battle and their building of the defensive wall at Hakata bay seems familiar to me somehow. In terms of clothing, the outfit here seems the most familiar and comfortable-- it's the outfit that sumo referees wear now. Back then it was "normal" clothing for a samurai not in the battlefield. However, as far as battle armor goes, I'd say that this looks the most familiar.


When we were at the battle sites, before actually engaging the Mongols, I think I prayed and chanted a lot, trying to get some sort of mental and spiritual calm before going into the fight.


I don't know if I survived, though. I might have drowned in the storm where the Mongols were blown away, but I'm not sure. Japanese armor of that era can get very heavy when wet, especially since it was mostly made of leather and other things of the sort.


Shooting a lot of arrows from horseback also seems familiar-- the Mongols were doing it too, but I was trying to do it in my own way, with the Japanese bow, which I believe has greater distance, though the Mongol bow has greater power over shorter distances.


I think we also drank a lot of alcohol, or whatever we could get our hands on-- we figured that if we were going to die, we were going to enjoy ourselves.


Also, letting down my hair seems familiar, too-- letting it down without tying it, and if you watch Japanese history movies, you'll see that samurai in those years had their hair down when they wore their helmets.


Washing briskly with parts of the armor still on and weapons close at hand is also familiar.


-N.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread A japanese boy
 
Samding Monastery validation

I believe in my previous life I lived in China/ Tibet. I have had various pointers to this all my life but I didn't start taking my reincarnation seriously until a certain dream a few years ago. I am not going to go into detail about the dream but I will say I was in a buddhist monastery in Tibet and when I woke up I was able to draw a map of the area including roads, mountains etc. I actually matched up my map with one of Tibet and found the location, Samding Monastery. I also found a picture of the monastery and it was a squat squarish structure overlooking a lake (as per dream).

I believe I was a Tibetan or Chinese Buddhist living in and around Samding who may have come to grief during the cultural revolution. This may all be wishfull thinking but I feel in my heart that there may be some truth in what I say.

Mick.
 
Mongolian boy - memories of old healing techniques


I have a distinct recollection from my life as a Mongol boy.


I was lying on a low cot made of felt or some heavy cloth on a wooden frame. It was in a tent or yurt made of the same type of cloth. The interior of the place was quite dark, although it was daylight outside.


I had a bad toothache, felt feverish, and kept crying to see my uncle.


My mother and some other women were there. I felt I must be seriously ill to be indoors with women in the middle of the day. I had a sense of dread and helplessness.


My mother rubbed a grainy, pepper-colored substance on the area around the bad tooth. After that, I remember a detached, floaty feeling that was less traumatic but not very pleasant.


In retrospect, I think some kind of systemic infection that started in the tooth was what killed me. The mystery substance may have been the ground seeds of the opium poppy, one of the few pain-relievers of the time.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Old-time medicine
 
Cambodia


Everything is really choppy, all I have are small little snippets that don't really make alot of sense, and I don't know how to get more in depth in my recall.


Memories:


1. Standing outside Pochentong International Airport (now called Phnom Penh International Airport) circa maybe early 1970's, speaking with a group of people and talking in Khmer. But I don't know exactly what I said (I only speak basic Khmer right now), it's in first person view so I see the area around me and the people around me, but I don't know what I look like.


2. The house I think I grew up in in northern Cambodia. I somehow know that it's in Banteay Meanchey Province, but I'm not sure what city or commune it's in. This one is vary detailed. There's no one around, and this too is in first person. It's a typical palm frawn hut elevated from the ground on posts that seem to be about 6 feet tall, it's at the bottom of a hill and faces a road that's cut into the side of the hill. There's lush trees surrounding the house and the side that I'm viewing from seems to be some kind of clearing perhaps the edge of a rice patty but I don't know for sure. The window is open and there's a traditional Khmer water pot underneath the house. I can feel the humidity in the air but I'm in the shade so I'm not hot, and I can smell that cool damp almost musty smell that you smell in jungles or forests. I feel very happy when I see this memory almost as if I've just come back home after a long time away and I'm looking at my childhood home reminiscing, about what I don't know though.


3. This one is pretty vague, I'm standing at the gates to a temple in Phnom Penh, I'm not sure what the temple is called but while I was in Phnom Penh I saw the same gate which came as quite a surprise to me. There's about a 6 foot wall painted yellow and at the top of the gateway there's a mold of the head from Bayon temple in Angkor Thom. This is just a small snippet of a memory its like I'm viewing the gate from across the street before I walk toward it. (possibly the temple I attended while I lived in Phnom Penh in my past life but I'm not sure.


4. This one is possibly the most vague I've had so far, and the first and only one I've recalled since I've returned home from Cambodia. This is also the only one that is not in first person. I see myself sitting in the top left spire of Angkor Wat. I know I'm seeing myself from a past life there but I cant tell what I look like, I only know its me. And when I try to get a closer look I snap out of the memory.


There is also one possible memory recall I had while I was fully conscious. While I was at Tuol Sleng prison (the largest former prison complex of the Khmer Rouge) I was hearing screams of victims being tortured. The tour guide led us into a room filled with makeshift brick cells. I was having a hard tome so I decided to stand by the door way. I looked at the wall in front of me and saw a long line of shackles hanging there. I stared at them for maybe a minute or two until the tour guide came over with the group. As he started talking I looked at the floor and was wiping the tears from my eyes, and as he started talking about how the wooden bar on the wall was used for storing the shackles and keys for the prisoners in the room I looked up and there was only a wooden plank screwed to the wall with bent rusty nails sticking out of it ever 2 or 3 inches, no shackles just an empty bar.


That's all my memories consist of, I don't know how I died, I know I was killed by the Khmer Rouge but I'm not sure if I was held at Tuol Sleng or not. I don't know how old I was, when I was born, what my name was, or even what I looked like. After these experiences I'm now a stone cold believer, but as every day goes by more questions are raised and all I can do is hope to find a way to reveal the answers.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread My memories so far
 
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