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Deborah's memories

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I lived in England in the mid 1600's. I was a boy - my name was Kayln. I worked at an Inn as a child and later became a teacher. In my mid twenties I became a sailor and went to the New World.

I married young, at 19 - she was 17 - but my wife died in child birth -I never married again. My wife's name was Isabelle, and she is my daughter now.

I was a little boy -about five years old..in the 1600's in England. I began laughing and giggling and was so proud of myself! I was hiding in a pile of hay for the cows and horses in the barn. My mother was calling my name "KAYLN!" I thought it was so funny that she could not see me. That inner joy..that childhood innocence I never would have experienced had I not done the regression.

I dug up this shared experience with my son in 1994.

When Daniel was around nine years old, and after doing extensive past life regressions myself, I decided to try something new. Daniel was in a rather calm mood for the day, and I asked him if he wanted to meditate with me...his eyes lit up, and said,"yah what’s that?"

I had done most of my meditating when he was in school or somewhere else due to the noisy household I had at the time. :eek:) I told him it was a form of relaxing, that the light in his inner vision could take him to anyplace in his mind that he would like to go. Daniel talked of the light when he was younger in the third eye region, so he was familiar with it. We set a timer for fifteen minutes so that we both would know when the time was up and he agreed to lay quiet and still until the bell rang. We both laid down on my bed, and I held his hand. I had put on some Tibetan Bell music and told him that the sound of the music would help him to relax and to watch for anything he might “see“ when relaxing.

It was a beautiful experience, he laid perfectly still for 15 minutes, his breathing was shallow and he held my hand softly. I went into an altered state very fast, as he must have too. The inner light was beautiful and the unconditional love I felt between us was beyond words. When the buzzer went off, he sat up slowly and looked at me with the most amazing amount of wonder in his eyes. He said, "Did you see all the fog mommy? Wasn't it cool? That barn was awesome we had so much fun!" I got chills, and tears in my eyes because I had seen and experienced the same thing. In more detail, but his confirmation to me, before I said anything was truly a gift. This was the begnning for me - to see that we can “share” memories with our children and with others.

What I experienced -- was that it was the mid 1600‘s, in England, it was cool outside, and very foggy. He was my best friend and we were playing in a barn near my house, I knew we had spent many childhood days playing, working and hiding in that barn. He was a mischievous little boy of about seven and I of about eight. My name was Kayln. His name was Aron.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Shared past life experiences

This memory came not out of curiosity - but seemed to present itself to me unprovoked. However, it was this memory that opened the doors of curiosity even wider :)

As I already said - my first past life memory with Daniel was when he was 8 months old and I was twenty-six. I was laying in bed cradling him in my arms. My other two children where asleep. He had been fussing and had just fallen asleep too. It was a warm fall evening, the sun was down and my husband was still at work. The house was very quiet.

I closed my eyes and within a few seconds was viewing a movie, (I don't know what else to call it, it was as if I was looking at a movie screen only I was in the movie). Suddenly I was inside of a covered wagon, I could hear the rain hitting hard against the tarp and the pots and pans hitting the side of the railing. I could hear the horse's footsteps and the wheels grinding over the ground. I was a boy of about ten years old and my sister lay before me in back of the wagon dying. She was five, blond, blue eyes, very petite and frail. I began sobbing and crying. I cried and cried and cried. The pain in my heart and the sorrow I felt cannot be described.

I knew our mother had died, my father was in the front of the wagon driving the horses and could not stop for we would be lost behind the rest of the wagon train. My sister was so weak and sick. I could do nothing to help her or stop it. She had phenomena. I kept telling her "if only you were a boy like me you would be stronger. If only I was mom, I could stop the sickness" I looked deeply into her eyes right before she died. I cried and cried....

I left this altered state of consciousness, I was in my room again, holding my baby. I realized as I cried I was holding my little sister. I had come back as her mother, and she had come back as a boy.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Curiosity – Past Lives and Taboo
I "remember" my mothers deaths..one was killed by a wagon that overturned on her -one was killed in World War I, one died when I was small..probably in childbirth in India. One I was taken away from at age 8. When you look at history -- the reasons for early deaths and separations are many. I of course remember "mother" but the RELATIONSHIP parts are void of the details that I usually get in past life recall.

I seem to remember the whole "feeling" at the time of death.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Remembering mother
I was a princess in India -- maybe the late 1700's when the British were coming into the picture. BUT - I died before my 20th birthday! My luck. So I painted a picture of myself. Does anyone recognize her? LOLOL Probably not - there were many princesses just like there are many famous actresses :(

My validation is that my mother has memories that match mine from this life - she was my sister then. And she confirmed that my painting is quite accurate from her perspective.

I have a friend here locally who has seen the same past life scenario as I, and we know we were different people at the time - Dorie
Yes, Dorie, that is exactly what I mean. When two people experience similar memories or visions the 'reality' of the experience takes on a whole new level.

My mother and I share many memories..one of the most clear and new to both of us at the time, was in India as sisters. At a mediation retreat we were sitting across from each other in a big room meditating when suddenly I was Out-of-Body and so was she...we took on the forms of little girls from India, and met in the middle of the meditation room.

Reality shifted and suddenly we were back in another time and place - in India holding hands and swinging and dancing in a circle. We both laughed and giggled and there was such joy in the experience I cannot put it into words. When the group was done meditating the look on my face and my moms said volumes.

When we finally got to talk about our experience - they matched! Every detail. It seems to me that the Akasha records when 'stepped into' reveals aspects that can be very specific - especially regarding past lives. Sharing an experience with another brings past lives to a whole new level of awareness - it becomes much more 'real.'

Several family members and I remember clearly living during the time of the Bristish take over of India. For example; My brother as a small child would scream bloody murder if my parents made him wear short pants. In fact he would crouch down on the floor boards of my dads station wagon (1970's before seat belts) and cry. The connection seems to be that the Bristish wore short pants during the time period we lived in; he was horrified to have to wear them.

My mother and I were sisters; my father now was our father then; my daughter was one of my aunts and my sister was also an aunt. It's quite complicated really.

I died at about age 17-19 from a terrible illness. If I can pin point the time period - I am sure I can find out who I was, because my father (then and now) and his brother then (My brother now) were rulers in India. One sided with the British, the other with Older Indian traditions. We lived in a palace. So I imagine - there is some recorded history about a young girl -who died in the palace from an illness and whose father and uncle took different points of view for the future of India.

I feel it was in the mid 1700's. It seems to me to be on the Coast --- near the East Coast.

Looking back into my notes from 1993 -I noted Bengal (desh). I also wrote Rahhiem, Rahshii, and Rashmi that at the time I felt were names (SP?). I really haven't thought about this life much.
I was very protected. I remember being sheltered from the outside world. Which makes for a problem locating world events that match. I remember the palace, the beautiful silk clothing, the jewelry. Learning to dance, and hand movements. Typical protected young woman. :(

I remember my father and Uncle arguing about the politics of the time. And knowing it had to do with the British. But I was not allowed to be present during indepth discussions or any form of decision making. At an early age though - my sister and I would hide under the table covered by a cloth and try to hear what they were talking about. But giggles usually gave way to the hiding place and we were removed from the area.

I did sneak out of the palace in my later teens - (Gad was I a handful) to see how the rest of our country lived. Against the wishes of my Aunt and Father. I contracted an illness that caused my death. I feel like no big war had happened in my life time, at least not yet.

My mother however remembers the wars -she lived a much longer life than I did. She was my sister at that time. The destruction she said - tore at her heart, and devastated the family.

My father then sided with the Old Indian ways. His brother -(MY Uncle) sided with the British, and approved of working with them.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread India - the time of the British take-over
Ancient Egypt

I lived around the year 3500 BC, I was an Initiate in the Temples of Horus.

My meditation today led me to Egypt. I first entered into the light; it was a swirling beautiful purple and blue light in my inner vision. It felt as though my consciousness was moving through time and space and I soon found myself walking through a garden. This garden area was square shaped, open at the top and laid out in the middle of what seemed like a temple (thematic) school. The garden area was in the center. As I walked through the garden I noticed there were pillars which held up the porch walk ways. These pillars were shaped liked reeds at the top.

I know I am undergoing a very intense education which seems to be focused on inner knowing and self awareness. I looked down and I am a young woman of about fourteen years old. I know that I am studying very hard and that I am in a very elite school. I feel very proud to be there."
Working with energy

One of the things that was taught that may be fun to talk about are the tools that help to strengthen our ability to learn in the 4th - (and on) dimension and even travel to other dimensions.

The basics are the same. Meditation is and was the best source. Going within and trusting oneself within ones being. Making contact with the first spark of life that was created by God, it is within each individual.

They taught that in order to experience other dimensions that there are thousands of additional senses. The senses that most people know of are the most primitive. Touch, taste, smell, hearing and sight.

The higher senses are those of vibrations. These vibrations were key to experiencing beyond our time space paradigm -- most important was the realization that certain sounds are actually Light.

Dealing with vibration and sound and light is probably the best I can do to describe teaching tools used then in order to experience altered states consciously. To listen very carefully and to surrender within the being as you meditate. It is also the act of surrender, of letting go that brings one into higher states of consciousness.

Sound works to enhance human vibration. It is brought through the body and all of the peripheral nerves and felt within every part of the being. This type of vibrational sound is not the same sound that we are most familiar with, such as the speaking voice. Vibrational sound sets off a value that is felt within the body. Peripheral nerves feel this vibration.

We were taught that the physical body must not be in resistance with the astral body. The astral body must be able to clarify and release itself from the physical. Bringing the vibration down through the physical body helps to release the astral body from it. It was at the time of birth that the astral body unites with the physical body.

So in a nut shell they worked intensively with internal sound, color and light -- these are what raise the level of consciousness.

It would be easier to take these one at a time. So I'll start with sound. They used a bell similar to the Tibetan bell, a very pleasurable sound. It is the ringing of these bells that enable the balancing of the right and left hemisphere of the brain which in turn brings consciousness to the center. Enter - altered states...

First World War - Italian life

Well, in my last life - 1900 -1958 - I lived in Northern Italy and took in a German Pilot in 1917 whose plane crashed -- hiding him in my Father's barn in an underground storage area. I had him there for three months..and we fell in love. BOY was my dad mad when he found out! Talk about Italian temper!!!

The German pilot said he'd be back....but I saw him killed by fighter planes as he and his comrades rode on motorcycles with side cars up the hillside and away from my fathers vineyard. He never came back in that life - he died. But that very German Pilot is now my husband. SO I guess..he kept his promise ;)

#1 -I was a white boy -raised by the Indians after my family was killed. My name was Alexander and I lived from 1794 until 1838, my life was filled with trauma, anger, distress and ended with the Trail of Tears. I came to know the suffering, the pain, the wounds inflicted upon the spirit of a people whose culture did not and could not understand the ways of the white man.

I held in my heart the image of an Indian woman pleading for the Great Spirit to help her. I held in my thoughts an Indian man with his hands outstretched to the sky pleading with the Great Spirit to end their suffering.

At the time of my death, my feelings were of helplessness, my emotions were of anger and negativity, my thoughts were fearful. The Indians were at the mercy of the white man and his ways. I had wanted so badly not to be a white man. I wanted to have darker skin like my Indian brothers.

What I held in consciousness during my life and at the time of my death, I must have created in my next life. For my name was Clara. I was a black slave girl living in the South during the Civil War.

#2 As a black woman in the South, one need only imagine the pain, suffering and trauma! At the time of Clara's death, my feelings were of fear for myself and for others, my emotions were that of confusion and distrust, my thoughts were to not bring children into this terrible world. Again I had come to know the suffering, the pain, the wounds inflicted upon the spirit of a people whose color dictated their class, their social standing and their sense of self.

I wanted to be accepted, I wanted away from the racial issues in America. I wanted to have lighter skin. My thoughts, my feelings and my emotions, drew me like a magnet into my next life, in 1900. One more time I would face the suffering of mankind. My name was Valeria, I lived in Italy, I would never marry, never have children and I would experience two of the worst world wars in History. Valeria -- died of ovarian cancer in 1957 - I was born in 1959.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Trauma at the moment of death
Italy during WWII

I remember World War I and II -but from the perspective of a woman living in Italy. I helped many Jews escape..I lost my whole family to a bombing near our home. I lost my love in a motorcycle car to another bombing. Such sorrow...such trauma. I never married, never had children and lived alone.

I can to this day remember the sirens, the screaming, the endless tears. I also remember my uncle coming to check on me and the vineyards my father owned -- and standing at the train station - the whistle of the train still rings in my ears.

I was a white boy -raised by the Indians after my family was killed. My name was Alexander and I lived from 1794 until 1838, my life was filled with trauma, anger, distress and ended with the Trail of Tears. I came to know the suffering, the pain, the wounds inflicted upon the spirit of a people whose culture did not and could not understand the ways of the white man.

I held in my heart the image of an Indian woman pleading for the Great Spirit to help her. I held in my thoughts an Indian man with his hands outstretched to the sky pleading with the Great Spirit to end their suffering.

At the time of my death, my feelings were of helplessness, my emotions were of anger and negativity, my thoughts were fearful. The Indians were at the mercy of the white man and his ways. I had wanted so badly not to be a white man. I wanted to have darker skin like my Indian brothers.

I have a lot of memories of being a white man who lived with the Indians in the late 1700's until 1838.

It started with myself in a rocking chair dreaming of a spirit that was rocking the chair, and then I began to spinn...very fast. A lot of my OBE's start with a rocking motion.

Suddenly I was aware of myself..my ethereal body...and then holographically --through my light body you could say..I shape shifted into a man! I was Alexander..whom the Indians referred to as Little Hawk. I was at an US Army base talking to the man in charge. My Indian brother was not far away..hiding along the tree line.

The Army men thought I was a trapper..although I was dressed like an Indian..and had lived with them since I was ten years old (taken during a raid) I spoke very good English too. I was distracting them with something they would consider to be magic.

My purpose for being there was to delay their movement..they were to dispatch to a near by location where I knew the Indians were going to attack a small band of armed forces. After I had distracted them as long as possible..my Indian brother and I went to a hill top not too far away..watching as the Indians rushed in below --killing all the men in the small army and then leaving...we could also see the larger forces moving in...but they were too late and the Indians would be long gone by the time they arrived.

I could see and hear a railroad train as it sped by in the distance. I looked at my Indian brother..fully dressed in deerskin clothing, his facial features were so clear..his beads..his essence!!!! We both smiled --we had been successful!

I looked down at my own body..also fully dressed in deerskin - beads etc...then holographically my body began to shift back into being female...to being me now.

Another memory : I was in my Past life as a man living among them, only I was a white man. There were five of us who had stopped to rest from a long journey along side a creek bed. There was conversation, I spoke softly a few words in that language. I was so close to them, I was right next to the horses and was looking at the pelts around one of my brothers neck, and admiring the beautiful deerskin clothing. I could smell the pelts, the wet skin, the sweat of the horses. It was so real I could touch them. The horses were under a tree and grazing. There was a Buckskin horse that I think was mine..I seemed very connected to that one horse..spiritually.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Memories and OBE's and Energy work

From my journals:

...Time moves forward...., it is the dead of winter and we are traveling a long way. It is cold in the snow and the wind is piercing the skin on my face. Many people are dying. There is no food and only a few wagons. Most of us are on foot. Tears come easily...... that is why they call it “The Trail of Tears.”

We have stopped to rest. I see a mountain man in a full length fur coat. His face is covered with a beard and his legs are covered with leathers. I can see that he feels sorry for the Indian people, I can see it in his eyes. I reached over to put something in the back of a wagon, loading it up to get back on the trail. Then I am tying ropes.

I see a woman draped in old blankets. She is crying and hitting the ground were they have just buried her child -- the Christian way, a Christian burial. She did not want to leave her child in the ground, she is hitting it with her fists and pleading for the Great Spirit to help her.

I look over my shoulder and see an Indian man stripped naked except for a loin cloth, he is on his knees. He has his hands outstretched to the sky pleading with the Great Spirit to end the suffering.

Later that night, I am preparing to leave, my intention is to find help, the conditions of this journey are inhumane. My wife is there with me wrapped in a blanket and we both cried. I talked to her, aloud in the meditation, tears streaming, about how sorry I was to have to leave, and that I felt the only honorable thing for me to do was to go for help. I had to try and “fix” what was happening.

I touched her face, many times, and hugged her. We were maybe in our forties, our children now gone. I had the greatest chance of not being stopped, after all, I was a white man. Yet, I had chosen higher ground in order to not be followed. It was a very torturous trail, and seemed to last forever. The cold was piercing, and my horse froze to death. I tried to walk on, but I too was freezing! Then I experienced what Alexander had, from his perspective ... finally collapsing in a snow drift by a tree. I froze to death!

I saw myself raise up out of my body and go into the light. The Light was beautiful, it was peaceful. And Alexander (me) didn't look back.

.....I see a blue pulsating light within the 6th chakra and enter into it. I move fast and then faster as I feel my spirit body spin in the tunnel of light and into a time when I am Alexander. I am 19 or 20 years old -- my hair is long and I am only in a loin cloth and moccasins. I am standing in a meadow with tall grasses almost up to my waist. I reach out and run my fingers over the long oats. I close my eyes and listen to the breeze as it ripples through the grass like waves.

I am no longer called Alexander, they call me Little Hawk now. I am remembering my little sister, how much I loved her and how much I miss her still. I am remembering her playing by our old home, teasing me to play with her, it is as if I am right there with her again, in the memory. But in the memory I had chores to do and would not, and for that I am now sorry. (She died of an illness at age 5)

Awareness shifts and I am in the field again, I realize I am remembering her, not with her in that moment. It is a fascinating experience to have a memory within a memory. These moments are filled with multilayered emotions, multilayered thoughts and feelings, I call them my “soul moments.”

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Energy work and remembering past lives
Italy during WWII

I had a very interesting experience the other day that got me thinking about "triggers" - things that spark past life 'memories' and bring them to the surface.

I was walking from class to my truck in the parking garage. The sun was shining and it was warm outside, students were sitting in the grass...it was a very nice atmosphere. Not far away a siren started to go off...it was an odd sounding siren, not like a modern one and I do not know where it came from except maybe an ambulance. No one seemed to notice or pay any attention to it.

I kept walking, but as I walked - in my third eye vision - as if there was a tear in fabric with holographic images coming through, I began to see a truck, with round head lights from the 1940's. It was covered in ash...with rubble all around it and behind it. A bomb had just been dropped - I realized it was World War II - I was in Italy - in a town near my home, my consciousness was not in 2001 - but in about 1940! I continued to walk to the garage, but within my vision, I stumbled on the rumble, and I caught myself with my hands {in another body, I was wearing a skirt...but that day at school - I wore pants}.

I noticed that the siren that was happening in the background at the school shifted to an older sounding siren - in 1940. I saw a Red Cross on the side of the truck. My eyes were open during the vision, so I closed them...but it didn't matter...the truck, the sirens, the rubble and ash were still there in front of me; eyes opened or closed.

It only lasted about a minute, but during that time I found it difficult to be in the here and now and walk forward while stumbling and heading for an ambulance after a bombing and feeling the emotions of another time.

It appeared to me like a black and white movie...but then the red cross on the side of the truck suggested other wise, and it dawned on me that the ash was covering everything from the bombing, and made it appear mostly black and white. When I looked down, I was wearing an ashed covered blue skirt with a white apron. When the images came into full view...so too did the emotions, thoughts and feelings I had then. The vision was just bits and pieces of a day in my past life, but my soul remembered well the tragedies of another time. The siren triggered the memories.

I have been thinking about it the past few days, and integrating it with my feelings and emotions regarding recent events. The tears I felt deep within my heart in the vision, are those I feel every time I see the images of buildings in rubble in New York. I am thankful for the experience..for it has helped me to integrate my 'soul reactions' to recent events and better understand me.

Carol wrote about triggers in her first book.
Has anyone else had 'triggers' --that have brought on memories from a past life?

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Triggers
China - Ming Dynasty

Well, last night Synchronicity brought me to an old friends house, a friend that is an energy healer. He took one look at me and said.."oh woman..you need work"! LOLOL Stress will do that to you *S*S*S And a divorce.

Mostly Daniel moves energy - it isn't deep massage work but touching points on the body, the hands the feet the base of the skull. I have worked with him several times and each time I experience glimpses of past lives in relation to specific body points. I find it fascinating, and last night was no exception. I experienced several PL but will post this one.

He was on the right side of my body - and working from the neck and shoulder down -immediately I saw images of China and I knew I was surrounded by royalty. There were intricate patterns and designs in wood carvings. I was in a palace with fountains, gardens and statues of Lions and gods and goddesses. I knew it was the Ming Dynasty.

I had already remembered some of this past life years ago in regression work but have not seen it again for along time - it's been at least five years. I was the Governess to the Emperors son. I looked down and could feel and see the silk gowns I was wearing, my feet felt numb though...and I am wondering if they were bound. Does anyone know when feet binding became tradition?

Suddenly I saw the Emperors son...he was seated on the floor studying, at about age 10. He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. There was a soul connection between us...as if I was his mother, but I was not. I was his teacher. This young boy - is now my nephew Michael, and his mother then...is my mother now (another long story.)

Then the scene shifted..he was seated within a gold, ivory and red silken pedestal with a cover over the top. (Hard to describe) He was so happy and I was so proud of him. He was receiving quite an honor from his Father at this ceremony - he was now maybe thirteen and reaching manhood. He would someday be Emperor. He held out a golden silk pillow with tassels on it, the pillow had something important on it but I could not see it. Only his smiling face.

Then it shifted, I was with an Old Man who was tending the garden in the Palace. He wore a pointed hat and began speaking to me about the planting of seeds, how we could find our soul reflected in every seed. That each seed had to be carefully planted in order to grow. The seed was like life - it needs nurturing and care. Then he encouraged me to go be - in my own garden. I can still see so clearly this old mans face, in the mist of the early morning, and the seeds in his hand. I can still feel the silk of my gown, my hair up and twisted on my head. I can still feel my round face, and my silent nature.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Energy work and remembering past lives
Further Comments

I forgot to mention one of the most important validations for me personally! I also saw many men, in red coats -- a heavy wool I think. But they wore black fur caps close to their heads. I kept thinking...this isn't Chinese...but the men look Chinese...but not Chinese.

Today talking to a friend, I mentioned it and he said that it sounds like the caps the Mongolian men used to wear. My mouth dropped open - I was shocked!!! Want to know why??? When my mother did her work around this life time years ago...she said she was from Mongolia. They had brought her to China to marry the Emperor due to her psychic abilities. They wanted their next Emperor to have her abilities. That's why I saw all those men - somehow they were there to honor the Child in the ritual.

I never would have thought or put it together if it was not for my friend. WOW! Made me think twice - the pieces fit exactly! Those hats were my validation. I had no way of knowing until today -24 hours later :)

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Energy work and remembering past lives

Thought I would share a little snippet of a memory I had during some further energy work the other day. As the healer massaged my feet, images if China during the Ming Dynasty resurfaced again. Usually I remember my adult life then, as a governess. This time I went to when I was a small child, young - maybe three for four. My mother was with me, they were binding my feet.

She was so happy for me, and so proud. I was excited. Then came memories of the pain..the aching. Not a good thing. But the memories of my mother were of a very sweet woman, who only wanted the best for me. She wore beautiful silk garments, she was small, and very gentle.

The gardens were beautiful, the plants were delicate - just like her :)

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Remembering "Mother"
Black Slave Woman

My friend Dan is a healer, the same one I did the energy body work with a few months back. We did a meditation together a few weeks ago that really showed me how people can and do actually connect -mentally and sometimes physically during focused meditations.

About ten minutes into the meditation I suddenly felt electrical energy inside of my body, and a strong jolt as if someone had an electrical zapper and had jolted me from the inside out! My body actually jumped! I experienced this in my second chakra and then my third. My energy and inner vibrations magnified and I was seeing a LOT of inner light.

Daniel later told me that was clearing my chakras, and that as he did he saw a golden ring move up from my seventh chakra to the three levels above. I saw none of this, just a lot of LIGHT. It was this experience though that suddenly placed me in front of my home in about 1884...as Clara..... I was in my mid 40's.

I was hoeing my garden in the front of my home and talking to a neighbor woman who was passing by. I looked over my shoulder when I realized I was babysitting my granddaughter. She was playing in the fields with a loose scarf over her head. She wore round metal glasses and was about 6 -7 years old. I knew that her life would be easier than mine. That she had many possibilities in front of her -and her future ...would be better. As I turned to her, I called out her name. Charlene!

As I did, an inner joy I cannot describe grew inside of me. My heart expanded, my vision expanded, I was filled with so much love for this little girl. Then it happened again,(I have experienced seeing others this way before) holographically, just briefly I saw my grandson Lucas’ image over this young black girl.

Tears filled my eyes, and the recognition of her/his soul filled every cell of my being. The meditation ended, with me in tears but so full of love and light -I just cannot describe the feeling here in words.

As I began to come out of the altered state, Dan seemed to stay in it -- ever so slightly. I started to tell him of my memories, as Clara, what I had seen and felt. When he began telling me what my home looked like, the size, the location, the yard; then he described my granddaughter, and her braided hair in pigtails.

Remember, I had seen all of this, clearly! It was like we watched the same movie! He was describing to me what I had experienced. He told me of the chickens in the yard and the large river that was close by. I had described none of this to him, now or from earlier meditations. I said Charlene was my oldest son Eddie's daughter...and then Daniel described Eddie to a TEE! He was a VERY large black man, and very dark, Charlene was a dark coca brown.

I can only say..WOW! What a great feeling to have this kind of validation..and be so filled inside with love for a little girl..who is now my grandson Lucas.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Shared experiences
Two actually

I was a nun in the 1300's and tended to the children who were orphaned due to one of the plagues. Behind the Cathedral was a wooden shelter where they placed the sick people - away from the church.

The other was the mid 1400's -I visited the Cathedral often as a woman who actually lived to be very old -perhaps 80. I was an average lady -whose husband was a carpenter. My memories include the funeral in the cathedral and watching the procession out of my body while looking back down at "me" in the casket. I remember looking around the inner structure of the building and the stained glass.
I was talking to my mother the other day and in conversation she was telling me about my grandfather -my fathers dad who passed away a few years ago. In 1990 she had many visions of my fathers past life in the South during the Civil War and their relationship to one another then. I too have had visions of him there during my PL as a slave. He was the son of a very wealthy plantation owner and befriended many of the slaves -(behind his fathers back).

The father (my grandfather now) insisted that the son go to war -that he fight for the South and defend their rights to own slaves. The son (my father now) of course went off to war.

My mother describes a gun that was hand held and rested on the shoulder -a mini cannon type gun that she later researched through archives and historians to find there was such a gun and they were rare. This gun she said exploded in the son's face, dislodging his eye and placing him in a comma. His body was sent home -- and he died in route. The historian said -- that is exactly why the gun was rare -it would explode in the face of the person shooting it. So they stopped making the gun.

My grandfather in his mid 50's got cataracts at a very early age and had vision trouble even earlier on. It was the same eye as the son who was killed in the previous life during the Civil War. The last 20 years of his life he was totally blind in that eye.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Physical ailments due to guilt

My memories of a young white boy raised from age ten in the late 1700's with the Indians reveals something about guilt and how I carried it over to the next life time. Here's an excerpt of my memories........

.....My throat, my throat suddenly felt very constricted. I could not speak. I didn’t know why, what did I need to remember in order to release this constriction?..... Time shifts ... we are moving. "My people" are angry. I see a young boy on horse back and he is yelling war cries and waving a spear. The whites are moving in on us. We are moving -- moving away from their encroaching presence.

I feel very wise, yet I am afraid and I feel powerless. I know the white man and his ways, I know of his inevitable coming. I am him, I am not him. I know the Indian and his ways, I am him -- I am not him. I see my Indian "brother", he stands in a buffalo robe, knee high moccasins, and beads in his long hair. I watch him as he turns slowly toward me, pausing to look deeply into my eyes. There is a silent acknowledgment of concern between us. In silence, we exchange our mutual respect for each other.

Time changes... I am older, maybe 40 years or so. I was sitting in a hut structure. The room was very dark and only a small candle flickered in the corner of the room. I had the feeling we had been traveling for some time, and it was very cold outside. There was a lot of anger and hostility among the people in the room. The Indians were upset and I was very sad. The sadness was overwhelming. I became aware of feelings......feelings of being responsible. Just then a man in a red jacket with brass buttons and white long hair came through the door. I could feel the blood flushing my face. I was so angry with him. He had lied to me!!! I hated him...he was evil, he was greedy and I did not trust him.

I suddenly knew the reason for my feelings, for the upset situation between me and my Indian brothers. I was the only one in our tribe that could speak English fluently. I had translated the messages between the Indians, and the man in the red coat. The man in the red coat had lied, he had lied to me and this meant I had spoken lies to the Indian People. I felt responsible and helpless for what was happening to them. I knew the white mans ways, and despised him. I was caught in his deceptions. I was him, I was not him.

My next life -was as a black slave girl in the south - during the Civil War. I was.......at the White man's mercy. Not a physical ailment, but my appearance made for a life time -of physical and emotional pain.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Physical ailment due to guilt
A Dream of the past -- with the Indians

Last night I dream I was back in time! I was with the American Indians that I lived with in the late 1700"s. I have been aware of this life time for a while......so it didn't surprise me. We were watching as soldiers from the American Army made there way in the distance toward "the battle." I am not sure what "battle" this was. :(

A group of us decided we would "cut them off" by cutting into their pathway from our side instead of "following" them. I was not sure of our intentions as we did but I followed. As we came to their "path way" the leader of our group -a Shaman said -"Lay down in the dried grasses. Trust that the horses will know that you are there -even though the soldiers will not see you."
So we did.

Sure enough all the horses jumped -or stepped over us -not harming any of us! The Soldiers passed on by. But before they could get very far the Shaman stood up and lit his hair on fire! As he did -so too did the rest of us. I could see the fire on his head - and feel it on mine. The soldiers noticed us from a distance and watched in amazement. Then we patted the fire out -the smell of burning hair was evident but the fire did not harm us. The Shaman said "This is to remind you -that you are one with spirit -that the light, the fire will lead you home. Feel the Light at the top of your head -and know -wisdom."

I was in awe..of the act -and the knowing this Indian Shaman had. I followed him without question. The soldiers kept going -they thought we were "crazy." ;)

My first memory of living with the Indians was in 1985; I have always felt it was the Northern Plains. All my journals dating back to then - even say so . I remember migrating to the rolling hills in the winter -- but being in the Mountains in the summer. I remember the snow -------- and the grasses of the plains.
Russia - Early 1400's

I was born in Russia in the early 1400's - to a middle class family. My father was very religious and we didn't get along too well. I was sent to the Netherlands to a school at about age 15 - to learn with the Masters. I became a painter - painting walls and small icons.. images for the Church. They were my biggest patron at the time. No one famous - that I can tell - just another painter who sometimes slipped in symbols against the churches ideas and without them realizing it! ;) I am still looking -for my work. Haven't run across it yet. I have a feeling - I ended up in Spain. Someday I hope to go there and visit their museums.

I work large now - 6 foot by 4 foot mostly. This past year I did a few small self portraits of me as a child. 6 inches by 8 inches. Oh the pain! I remember - the detail - the tiny tiny images of icon painting. What suprised me most?? How easy it was so for me do!

These images are all that small. ;)

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Russian lifetime?
Black and White Photo's

Last night as I was going to bed, I began getting visions of black and white photographs of people I have never seen before - in this life time. They had that mousie gray color to them - not truly black and white and the people in them I knew lived in the 1930's -1940's. The clothing was very specific, the hats, hair styles and the culture. They were Italian, some of them Jewish.

I felt this incredible sadness as I viewed one woman - I could draw her image - easily. It was that clear. I knew she was taken by Nazi's. So the feeling, emotional response was also present with the visions of the photographs. I know my last life time was in Italy, during World War I & II. The photographs I saw - I have never seen in this life. I am very good with faces, and images (not names however).

I have had one real vivid past life memory -- in Italy. My last life time. Specifically I remember the furniture in the house, the fireplace, the front door. But something that held emotional meaning and importance was the sepia colored photograph that I could see on the fireplace mantle. It was a photo of my uncle in his uniform -during WWI. This to me seems like a reasonable memory. But why -the photo parade? Why in black and white? My flashes were of a time period when the B/W photo was in vogue -popular and acted as the most contemporary record of our friends and family.

My other visions are always in motion -like watching a movie. These were still. No motion, only an occational emotional response on my part.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Black and White Photos
I have several memories beginning in 1995 of living in the upper right hand corner of Italy during WWI & WWII. I have very clear memories of hiding Jewish people INSIDE of wine barrels during WWII. During that time -I never thought to research it....but in 2001 I found this image in the June 1963 National Geographic -

Wine Barrels - Italy

Point in fact -people DID FIT INSIDE! I never would have believed it had I not seen it. A friend of mine told me that there is a BIG difference between Italian and French wine barrels for example and they are very specific in size and material. I was clueless and dismissed it until I came across the image a few years ago.

Anyway I am in the middle of researching that life - Can anyone tell me why in my memories I am calling the Nazi soldiers "Nazin"?

It does -- it gives me the history of the term -- and if the Germans soldiers didn't call themselves Nazi's then it was a term used by those that didn't like them - during that time. Especially if you look at it in this context -

the nickname Nazi (from the masc. proper name Ignatz, Ger. form of Ignatius) was used colloquially to mean "a foolish person, clumsy or awkward person."
I have always felt that my fathers uncle in that life -- married a Jewish woman. She was my great aunt... and taken to one of the camps -and eventually died during WWII. My uncle was devastated...he was in his mid 50's when it happened. She was taken -- he was not. He was Italian.

I clearly remember him coming to my home; the look on his face...will always haunt me. No words can describe.

Nazin appears to be another way to say it! A friend of mine did a search on Nazin and reich.

BERLIN DEUTSCHLAND. Die deutsche Regierung errichtet ein nationales Denkmal zu den Homosexuellen, die unter den Nazin verfolgt und getötet wurden, ähnlich bis ein, das die sechs Million Juden gedenkt, die im Holocaust starben. Unter den Nazin ca. 50,000 Leute wurden für Sein homosexuell und geschätzten 10 überführt,000 bis 15,000 homosexuelle Männer wurden zu den Konzentration Lagern verbannt. Wenige überlebten.
Babelfish translation:

BERLIN GERMANY. The German government establishes a national monument to the homosexuals, who were pursued and killed under the Nazin, similarly to, which intends the six million Jews, who died in the Holocaust. Under the Nazin approx.. 50.000 people were transferred for to be homosexual and estimated 10, 000 to 15.000 homosexuals men were banished to the concentration camps. Few survived.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Nazi - Nazin?

OK More questions -during my meditation in 1995 an interesting bit of information came through.

I had the realization that helped me understand the situation I was in at the time. Not only was I a woman, but my father had died, there was no man in the house, just me. I knew - a woman could not own property. Therefore, my fathers youngest brother owned it. I merely kept it up, tended what little grapes I could and lived there. Occasionally my uncle and his wife would come to visit me to see how I was doing. That's why I saw them when I was so young and they were leaving on the train, and many times after that even when I was older.
I was alone beginning around 1918 or so right up until my death...does anyone know if my memory about a woman not being able or allowed to own property during that time is true or not? How would I find out such a fact?

Does anyone know a good translating website or know what "Para (N)Michie" means? I have no idea on the spelling but that's how it sounds. It came to me when others were saying how sad..or awful or troubling..something was....when they carried my dead body out of the house. I am clueless --------again... perhaps they were just chatting but now I am curious.

Aaron found this for me --

Italy: The property qualification of a widow or woman legally separated from her husband may be transferred to a son, grandson or great-grandson appointed by her, by the law of 1882.
So I imagine - that if my father died and there was no other male heir - except my fathers brother - he then would have owned the vineyard and the house. My mother was also killed in the bomb raid and I was the only child still living.

It's really hard to decifer sometimes the spelling of a word we hear in meditation. Spirit told me tonight to check the spelling - that I was off by one letter. So I thought about it and ran another check. The closest thing to "P"ara is "B"ara.

When I ran a translation on the word bara- in Italian it means - coffin. That would fit the situation. Since they were carrying my dead body out of the house. Now if I can figure out what the other word means. ;)

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Nazi - Nazin?

I have one clear memory of burying important documents (Birth certificates and family papers) near a post by my families barn in Italy during WWII. They are in a metal tin- box. These papers showed one of my Aunts to be Jewish, and then, her children too. It also implicated me as being supportive of the Jewish people, which I was. I was not Jewish -but some of our family members married into Jewish families.

Someday I hope to visit Italy and find the house I lived in. If there is a post buy the barn I know right where to look. If not -a metal detector should do the trick. ;) The family -had no idea where I hid them. My immediate family was all killed in a bombing, but other relatives were never told.
OBE Past Life - died at age 4

In my dream, I was again a child -- a little girl in this life. I was jumping around in the yard with a black umbrella -- it was very windy outside and I was trying to fly! I love the feeling of flying (Yes, I really did this as a child LOLOL I wanted to be Mary Poppins) But my umbrella could not hold my weight and collapsed in the dream. I noticed a larger umbrella and began jumping in the wind with it and actually floating and flying about the yard OBE 20 - 30 feet in the air. I just love flying dreams!

I wanted my husband at the time to see me, so I caught the wind just right and floated there with my eyes shut hovering in space for a very long time. My body position was laying down - as if sleeping. I was savoring the moments. I love this feeling of floating. As I was floating I was also aware of my chest hurting! I said to myself in the dream -- "I want to remember this feeling..I want to remember...I want to remember."

My body began to vibrate from the inside out and as I vibrated there seemed to be a tear in the fabric of "reality" in front of my eyes. What came into view was a gravestone. It was a gray stone, carved imagery on each corner.

The stone was about three feet tall. I looked closely and began to see the name and date on the stone, ...lisia...ton...424 AD... then it began to blur. In my dream I said, "I need CLARITY I need to read this; it is important!" Just then like a lens from a camera that came into focus it was crystal clear. I was so excited in the dream..... I read it over and over again!


I began reading the inscription under her name and the date. "She was the Mascot of our ship ....she held our hearts....." (There was more, but I went back to the name and dates repeating them to myself over and over so I would not forget!)

It was so lucid I could see every detail of the engraving! I knew that her parents had sailing vessels and that she was very loved and well cared for. As I viewed the stone, I realized she was me. I had died at only 5 years old, of a chest infection.

By attempting to fly in my dream, I had shifted consciousness and REMEMBERED the feeling -- she had died due to this "feeling." I remembered me/her and was viewing the grave site. It felt like England along the coast somewhere; the weather was cool, foggy, and I sensed water nearby.
China foot binding

The following passage confirmed my memories - that it was indeed my mother - who bound my feet. It also confirmed the age I thought I was. ;)

The process of foot binding started for the young girls anywhere from the age of four to six. It was done so early in her life so that the arch did not have much time to develop. The mother who was the one to bind the feet, and usually started the process late in the fall or winter, so the foot would be numb and the pain would not be as severe.

I went to a healer in 2002 who massaged my feet during an hour session; which triggered memories. Images if China during the Ming Dynasty resurfaced and although I have had several experiences of living there once - never before had I relived the actual process of foot binding. Usually, I remember my adult life as a governess. This time I went to when I was a small child, young - maybe three for four years old. My mother was with me, and they were binding my feet.

She was so happy for me, and so proud. I was excited. Then came the pain..the aching. I remember placing my feet into the snow drifts - which took some of the pain away - before going to bed. Binding is not a good thing. The memories of my mother were of a very sweet woman, who only wanted the best for me. She wore beautiful silk garments, small built, and very gentle.

The gardens were beautiful, the plants were delicate - just like my mother.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Foot binding
My last life time was in Italy. I died of ovarian cancer in my mid fifties.
This post and discussion is continued in the thread How did you die?

In 1992 - I remembered living in a small town near the Italian-Austrian border.
It was clearly the upper right hand area of Italy - near the border.

My strongest memories are of two bombings. One in WWI the other in WWII.

Words are so hard to deal with in memories-- especially if they are in another language. I heard -"Para Michi" and a few months ago I came up with the following. It is so hard to hear the words and spell them correctly, consciousness seems to go to that which it knows and makes associations. I knew the feeling of the words and am now wondering if they were not talking about getting a coffin from the city of Trieste which I had never heard of before today.

tristi, which means Sad and was the closest to the meaning I felt-------me tristi which means me sad ---And ma tristi = but sad. Bara- in Italian it means - coffin.

I was researching some areas to visit because I am planning on traveling to Italy next summer -- and came across this -

The frontier between Italy and Austria was different to any other frontier in the First World War. To the north the Alps protected the Austrian heartland. To the east the Austrian navy sat just across the Adriatic: its chief port was at Pola and it had major ship-building yards at Trieste.

I didn't live there - but perhaps in a small town near by. Are there any train stations in that area from that time period?

I am not sure if I am on the right track - but so far it feels right.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Nazi - Nazin?
Today while at the chiropractor's office on the massage water table -I had an experience that makes me wonder. I was a small girl, probably 3-4 years old and I was at a funeral. I was small; we were at a service that was outside. An old woman with a black veil over her head and a long black dress on was walking down the isle way. She carried a large silver spoon and was sprinkling some kind of herb on the ground. I felt this was part of the service; that the sprinkling of this herb, spice or ground material of some sort was significant.

The woman with the veil was about 65 - 70 years old. Her appearance scared me - although for no reason other than her dark dress, the funeral itself and death - which I did not understand as a small child. I kept hiding my face in my mothers skirt. It was spring, an older member of the family had passed. There was green grass coming up through the ground. A cool breeze and a few wooden lawn chairs for the elderly.

Here is one small snippet from my journal: -

....I am at a festival or celebration in our vineyard. Music is playing and all the people are happy, we are celebrating. I am standing by a large stone fence and wearing a very fancy dress. The length was just below my knees, and is a beautiful pastel blue, trimmed with white lace. There is a huge olive tree which hangs over the stone fence in the front yard which supplied shade for several guests.

I climbed up on the fence, pretending it was a balance beam. A distant relative is holding my hand as I walked the fence line to the other end. I feel very happy and secure, it is a good feeling, a wonderful feeling, of family and home.

Time jumps forward to a few years later. I find myself arguing fiercely with my father. I have an Italian temper. He stood in the arched doorway inside of our house. The top half of the door was open, the bottom half shut. I am outside and very frustrated with him, and him with me.

I am looking into his eyes hoping to see a holographic projection, but I do not recognize him, not like the others who are in my life now. Nothing - except I feel he loved me and I love him. He is in his mid forties and quite the head of the house hold. It seemed to me that there was a large generation gap between us and a lot of cultural issues that I didn't agree with.

There are many things - like the train station, stomping grapes for my fathers vineyard and the bombs from WWII. Not to mention the perspective changes; a child - a young woman alone -- an old woman who died of ovarian cancer. Her/my name was Valeria.

I continue to have past life experiences - that include I would call - "the little things in life." Nothing fantastic - or extraordinary. IThe little things are in italics. ;)

It began in Italy -in my bedroom. I was a young woman standing in front of a mirror putting on blue clip on earrings. These earrings seemed very important; as if a family heirloom. I felt so grown up and proud to wear them. They were no expensive ear-rings but fashionable for the time. (1920-25).

I was very fond of a man -who I was about to meet and go somewhere..but then it shifted.... I was outside - near the families barn. I walked through the big doors and turned left to see my mother shifting grains in a strainer/basket. We had goats and chickens. I think she was preparing to feed them.

Loud booming.... it was an air raid and WWI. I was home...my family was away to the nearby town....I began to cry, I was young (17) and alone. I kept saying "Pa Pa...Pa Pa...."

I then saw horse drawn carraiges..with caskets. My family was among them. The carriages were black with small white pin strips. I wore a black dress and veil; I held a white handkerchief. My eyes were so puffy -so swollen and the tears were just streaming then and now. It was amazing.

The procession for my family went from the small church to my families property and a plot of ground near our vineyard. There was a "Pastor" with a jeweled staff - black robe and white collar. The church was small and had a wood carved Jesus on the cross in the front of the congregation with a 5' x4' stained glass cross above it.

My family owned a vineyard... Perhaps 100 acres. The house was modest -the barn huge. The staff had jewels on it. Lots of blue and red jewels. Which was odd - since he was so modestly dressed and the church so small and rather crude at best. It was curved at the end slightly. The wooden statue of Jesus hand carved.

I did not live in a large town, it was a rather small community. Mountains in the background - lots of rolling hills. The house is still very clear in my mind.

In my past life, I lived alone and cared for my fathers vineyard -(my whole immediate family was killed); but my uncle and his wife came to visit me often. In many of the meditations, I felt that they visited - because the property belonged to my uncle. Not me.

I died of ovarian cancer in the late 1950's. :eek:

Is the name Natali an Italian name? I think it is spelled that way. That was my sisters name.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Italy 1904-1907
Italy -research and documentation

I recently went to Italy on vacation. I also went to look into validations for my memories of living in northern Italy 1900 - 1958. I have questioned the validity of my experiences on many levels, trying to see them objectively and subjectively. I am always questioning the possibilities and yet I am careful not to fall into the trap of acceptance without critical examination. It isn't an easy task and requires not only personal reflection but a lot of research.

Documentation of the common folk in history tends to be generalized, not always specific and even non-existent. This can be a disappointment when trying to locate a past life persona. Not everyone was famous or important, most of us fall into the category of the masses.

In our society we want proof, hard evidence and the facts, yet we are lacking pertinent information regarding our history because it is a selective history recorded by those in charge, and those that have the power and means to do so.

Text books cover only what the publisher deems important for educational purposes. The encyclopedia only covers the facts, data and important information pertaining to a culture, time period or event. For example, if you read a Russian history book they record a different history than an American text regarding the Cold War, or any war for that matter.

The most compelling information I found came from personal letters and diaries. The daily life of individuals who revealed their struggles, their joys and their pain. Within these documents I learned more about the people, the living situations, and the events of the time than I ever learned in our education system or from a history book. Diaries and letters were written for personal reasons; within them is a record of the persons thoughts, feelings, and emotions regarding the circumstances the time. The little things.

My research will not pin point me as a particular person in history. I wish it would and although someday I hope to be able to verify at least one pl, I have had to rely on the historical implications via diaries and letters and simple verifiable facts that surfaced within my experiences.

Italian cities sometimes do not name their streets - especially in smaller towns. Other times the name of a street can change within two blocks and again three blocks further down. Cities are often named similar names with only a letter or two difference. This made it especially hard.

Since I was with a friend and on vacation and our travel time to get there extended by days - my research time was limited. What I can share here are a few images of my trip that illustrate SMALL validations. Is it proof? Absolutely not. But it moves the experience of a past life beyond my imagination into verifiable facts; facts that I had no other way of knowing about - except to go to Italy and research them.

So in the subsequent posts I will share small excerpts from my journals - some written in 1992 - 1994 - with the images I took in Italy that demonstrate that yes, wine barrels at the time were VERY large and yes, there are windows slots that are low to the ground on barns.

It is important to follow up after (even years after) - it can be a very healing experience.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Italy - research and documentation
One the the things that has surfaced for me many times in meditations was the barn and the low windows at the base.

This picture of a BARN WINDOW represents an example as indicated in the following memory written in 1994.

I saw my Uncle's wife, she had her hair done up, curls all around her face in a style that looked like the mid 1940‘s. She had her two little girls with her, the oldest was about five. One of them is leaning over and looking in the small window near the foundation of the barn where I hid the German soldier in WWI.

I had never seen barn windows so low in America and doubted the experience many times. Again - is this proof? No, but it is a small validation for me personally.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Italy - research and documentation

I can say though that my findings in Italy carried with them an element of surprise and wonder for me personally. They were, however small, validations that what I was experiencing was not fantasy, or a vivid imagination. But something very real. The vineyards did feel like home. :)

In fact the only area that felt like home - was the hills and the vineyards. As beautiful and spectacular as Italy is, with all of its history and culture and artifacts (not to mention art) - I was happiest and excited in the hills, in the country. Yes, it felt like home and I had several flash backs that helped me to see further into the past. However brief.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Italy - research and documentation

Some of you might get a kick out of this HUGE Wine Barrel. This is what I remember - as I stated in post # 3 the one I am standing next to doesn't even come close. I was researching on the internet last night and came across several images that revealed that some Italian wine barrels are larger than - well, larger than I would have ever been able imagine! ;) But my experiences told me they were and after several years of doubting my memories - I see - they were that BIG!

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Italy - research and documentation
China - Foot Binding

I went to a healer in 2002 who massaged my feet during an hour session; which triggered memories. Images if China during the Ming Dynasty resurfaced and although I have had several experiences of living there once - never before had I relived the actual process of foot binding. Usually, I remember my adult life as a governess. This time I went to when I was a small child, young - maybe three for four years old. My mother was with me, and they were binding my feet.

She was so happy for me, and so proud. I was excited. Then came the pain..the aching. I remember placing my feet into the snow drifts - which took some of the pain away - before going to bed. Binding is not a good thing. The memories of my mother were of a very sweet woman, who only wanted the best for me. She wore beautiful silk garments, small built, and very gentle.

The gardens were beautiful, the plants were delicate - just like my mother.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Foot binding

Hi Aili,

What fascinates me is the perspectives we have of each other and the time period THEN. You - remembering an older sister and things that meant so much to you. I remember a little sister and things that meant so much to me. From my journals -

I entered into the light......... I am in Italy, I went straight to my bedroom. I am about nine years old. My father had carried my little sister up the stairs and put her in her bed. My little sister has bangs, freckles and turned up nose.

He tucked her into her bed ever so carefully, and gently kissed her cheek goodnight. As he bent over her I noticed he had no beard or mustache and his hair was beginning to gray. I watched as he turned and walked toward me, then quietly whispered something into my ear, in Italian, that felt laced with words of love.

Suddenly time jumps forward to a few years later. I find myself arguing fiercely with my father. I have an Italian temper. He stood in the arched doorway inside of our house. The top half of the door was open, the bottom half shut. I am outside and very frustrated with him, and him with me.

He was in his mid forties and quite the head of the house hold. It seemed to me that there was a large generation gap between us and a lot of cultural issues that I didn't agree with. I felt the presence of a younger brother and sister looking on, but I was the oldest in my teenage years.

The object on the table Aili; A silver necklace and locket, with intricate engraving? The image -- two -- of something???

My family died in an Air Raid - in 1917 in town. I stayed home and witnessed it from a Vista Point. Beyond the past life experiences Aili - I am enjoying the process of validation. What a journey is has become.


This post and discussion continued in the thread Sisters - A Shared Life in Italy
In a meditation 10/5/94 I found myself as a young boy named Kayln. There are many memories of him - but I thought I would share this one.

In my inner vision I could see myself a young boy 9- 10 years old. It was the mid 1600’s. I was walking up some stairs. It was the third story of an Inn. The Inn was situated on a hill side, which was almost on a cliff near the sea.

Several young boys were in the attic on the third floor. I looked around and saw boxes and old furniture stacked everywhere. It was used for storage but we liked to hide there. : angel There was one small window to my left that was domed at the top and had four window panes in it.

I walked over to the window and looked outside. I could see the harbor where all the sailing vessels were docked. There were other buildings close to it but the Inn was the main attraction. The road side had bricks laid along the path to define the roadway. The view from the Inn was breathtaking and unobstructed, there were no buildings on the sea side of the road. I could see people walking and loose dogs running about.

Myself and several other boys proceeded to roll a large “cigarette” - but it really looked more like a cigar! It consisted of an olive colored green leaf wrapped around the tobacco and then rolled. We smoked it slowly, trying to enjoy the flavor and trying to act big while we did so. :laugh: One of the boys suddenly held his finger to his lips and told us to "ssssshhhhhhhhhh." We could hear someone coming up the stairs; we all scattered to hide! My heart was in my throat! But who ever it was never came through the door.

I was crouched down behind a pile of things. I turned and looked up and I noticed a broken down old Violin with only two strings that were sticking out from it hanging on the wall. Under it was an old trunk. I wanted so badly to open it and see what was inside.:rolleyes: I could hear the people talking and scampering about in the Inn below us. Soon we all shuffled down to the “pub.” We worked there, cleaning dishes, picking up garbage and fetching stuff.

There was a lot of music played, violins were one of the major instruments of the day. There was a lot of foot stomping, and dancing in the area between the tables. I saw woman whose dress had white trim stitched on a long blue gray skirt. The shoulder straps were draped down on the arms and her breasts pushed up for more cleavage.

I looked down, I wore round toed shoes which buttoned up the ankle side, half way to the shin, with brown nickers and a loose fitting large long sleeved shirt. I knew my parents helped run the pub; Sailors and travelers would come and stay at the Inn in the rooms on the second level. There were only about 12 rooms available. Downstairs was where they ate, drank and danced into the night.

It was England - the talk of the town was of the New England - the land beyond the sea.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Memories of England - 1600s

I saw a special on TV once that showed a coastal region of England with cliffs that looked like what I remember. This was a couple of years ago. I cannot say I remember a town name or city. It felt like the Wales side of England. Northern area.

My memories of Kayln have come in various ways. The first post was a meditation. But confirmations have come via a psychic who never met me but told a friend about my pl with her; my son at age 9 in meditation telling me what he saw (which matched my experience), and the friend whose memories matched mine - right down to the name -and our travels to New England together on a ship.

The following is a past life dream. At the time I was not familiar with the term New England and what exactly the dream was referring too. Now - I know.

New England Dream------------------------------------------
I stood next to a small carriage, and one medium sized brown horse that was still hooked and reined to the carriage. An old dark blanket was thrown up over the horses back and I was removing it. Someone else's belongings lay stacked in the back. I was with an older gentleman who was riding a big bay horse. He said -

“If they wanted their freedom they were advised to give up everything.” It was night time, and the carriage was pointed down a dirt road leading out of town. It was very dark outside. The man said, “”If ye wants your freedom ye must leave everything behind.” He had a heavy English accent. I noticed the dirt road out of town had a powdery dusty layer of dirt on top. It was the mid to late 1600’s. The old man and I wore clothes like those of New Englanders. (I remember thinking this in the dream - not just in reflecting on it in the morning).

I was young - mid teens maybe. I think the older man was helping people to get out of town and obtain their freedom. I walked next to the carriage and he rode. After some time walking down the dark, dusty road we could see three men on horse back behind us. A posse was looking for people who were trying to leave. The men on horse back darted back and forth from one side of the road to the other, searching the brush for people who might be hiding.

The man with me told me to get down next to the road side, not in the brush and curl up like a rock, next to the rocks, my back to the road. He said they would not notice me there, but would instead search the brush, and that he would be alright, due to his status in the city.

The three men sure enough headed our way and I did as I was told, becoming like a rock on the road side. One man on horseback came right up to me, his horse pacing and pawing at the ground only a foot away from where I was. I froze, the man searched looking deep into the brush but never saw me. The horse knew I was there, and was careful not to step on me. I lay there thinking “New England!” ----------------------end

“New England” in the 1600’s was America. I was a young man, maybe 14 when I left the Inn where I worked to go to the new world.

His parents knew he was leaving. He made several trips over the years to America and he died of dysentery. There are detailed memories of the ship, sleeping in cloth hammocks strung between support poles in the bottom of the ship, and another boy who was with me.
This post and discussion is continued in the thread Memories of England - 1600s
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