MaryL
New Member
A couple of weeks ago my friend, who's also a counselor/therapist by profession, decided to take me and another friend, David, through a "past life regression." We did this out of curiosity and for something fun to do, but it turned into a traumatic and deeply disturbing experience for me.
He had us imagine a house and all its details, then guided us to walk out the front door and down a path that lead further and further away. Eventually we came to a river with a footbridge. He told us that at the top of the bridge's curve a deep fog began, so that we couldn't see across to what was on the other side. When (in my mind) I crossed the bridge and began walking down the other side, I heard bells tolling.
The first thought that entered my mind was that there was going to be a hanging, and I felt somewhat excited about this, I'm ashamed to say. Next he had us look down and take note of what we were wearing. I saw a pair of very thin and dirty child's legs and ragged-looking cloth. I had pieces of filthy sacks tied around my feet instead of shoes. I found this image disturbing but before I could think about it, I was being dragged by my feet along the ground. If my friend continued talking or guiding us after this I didn't hear any more of what he said.
As far back as I can remember in my real real life I've gotten the random fleeting sensation of being in this position...being dragged by my feet. It was never connected to anything actually happening in my life and I've gotten used to it and never wondered what it meant. But now here it was again, in this "regression".
As I began to look around I realized that I was being dragged through a street, but no one was actually holding my feet. I was on some kind of wooden pallet and my head was closer to the ground while my legs were raised. To my horror, I realized that I was surrounded by dead bodies. And worse yet, my mother was lying next to me and was, without a doubt, quite dead. We were passing people in the street who couldn't have been less interested in us. They were totally indifferent. I saw a woman holding a cloth over her nose and I actually heard her thoughts, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."
I felt panic building in me that no one would realize that I was in a pile of dead bodies and get me out of there. Somehow, this panic made me fly out my body and suddenly see the scene from above. I saw myself wrapped in filthy cloth, and I saw the dirty white curve of my forehead and part of my left eye. This realization threw me back in my body and I saw that my vision was partly blocked by the cloth. I was looking up at a gray sky and sections of blackened stone buildings. Again my perspective switched back to looking down at myself. I peered closely at that eye and (I still feel sick to my stomach now, remembering it) I saw that it was milky and dead-looking. That's when I realized that no one was going to save me or get me off the pallet and away from these dead bodies, BECAUSE I WAS DEAD TOO.
I still feel the shock and horror of that realization now, retelling this. I was dead! This was too much for me and I ran away from this scene and back to the bridge and across it. Then I just lay there crying until my friend guided us back to the present. He was very sympathetic when I told him what I'd experienced and in fact asked me to come back the next day and process all of it more thouroughly. I didn't want to and avoided it for almost two weeks, but finally agreed. I'm glad I did.
I think the lesson in the entire experience (whether it was a real past life memory or not) was that every life has value. From the most ignorant, poverty-stricken child to the Queen of England. It makes no difference. I didn't know that I was supposed to be miserable in that life...I was quite happy with what it offered, and shocked that my life was viewed as worthless to the people that we'd passed in the street. I'm an artist and have decided to do a painting about this whole expereince. Fantasy, memory; whatever it was, I feel a great deal of connection to and compassion for that child. And for those like him/her.
My therapist friend suggested it might have been a memory about a past life during the Bubonic Plague, somewhere in Europe. I don't know and to tell you the truth, it doesn't matter to me. I'm not really interested in finding out details. I do feel very glad that I went back and worked through the intense feelings the experience brought up.
I would love to hear anyone's thoughts or to hear about any similar experiences. Thanks so much for listening.
He had us imagine a house and all its details, then guided us to walk out the front door and down a path that lead further and further away. Eventually we came to a river with a footbridge. He told us that at the top of the bridge's curve a deep fog began, so that we couldn't see across to what was on the other side. When (in my mind) I crossed the bridge and began walking down the other side, I heard bells tolling.
The first thought that entered my mind was that there was going to be a hanging, and I felt somewhat excited about this, I'm ashamed to say. Next he had us look down and take note of what we were wearing. I saw a pair of very thin and dirty child's legs and ragged-looking cloth. I had pieces of filthy sacks tied around my feet instead of shoes. I found this image disturbing but before I could think about it, I was being dragged by my feet along the ground. If my friend continued talking or guiding us after this I didn't hear any more of what he said.
As far back as I can remember in my real real life I've gotten the random fleeting sensation of being in this position...being dragged by my feet. It was never connected to anything actually happening in my life and I've gotten used to it and never wondered what it meant. But now here it was again, in this "regression".
As I began to look around I realized that I was being dragged through a street, but no one was actually holding my feet. I was on some kind of wooden pallet and my head was closer to the ground while my legs were raised. To my horror, I realized that I was surrounded by dead bodies. And worse yet, my mother was lying next to me and was, without a doubt, quite dead. We were passing people in the street who couldn't have been less interested in us. They were totally indifferent. I saw a woman holding a cloth over her nose and I actually heard her thoughts, "Good riddance to bad rubbish."
I felt panic building in me that no one would realize that I was in a pile of dead bodies and get me out of there. Somehow, this panic made me fly out my body and suddenly see the scene from above. I saw myself wrapped in filthy cloth, and I saw the dirty white curve of my forehead and part of my left eye. This realization threw me back in my body and I saw that my vision was partly blocked by the cloth. I was looking up at a gray sky and sections of blackened stone buildings. Again my perspective switched back to looking down at myself. I peered closely at that eye and (I still feel sick to my stomach now, remembering it) I saw that it was milky and dead-looking. That's when I realized that no one was going to save me or get me off the pallet and away from these dead bodies, BECAUSE I WAS DEAD TOO.
I still feel the shock and horror of that realization now, retelling this. I was dead! This was too much for me and I ran away from this scene and back to the bridge and across it. Then I just lay there crying until my friend guided us back to the present. He was very sympathetic when I told him what I'd experienced and in fact asked me to come back the next day and process all of it more thouroughly. I didn't want to and avoided it for almost two weeks, but finally agreed. I'm glad I did.
I think the lesson in the entire experience (whether it was a real past life memory or not) was that every life has value. From the most ignorant, poverty-stricken child to the Queen of England. It makes no difference. I didn't know that I was supposed to be miserable in that life...I was quite happy with what it offered, and shocked that my life was viewed as worthless to the people that we'd passed in the street. I'm an artist and have decided to do a painting about this whole expereince. Fantasy, memory; whatever it was, I feel a great deal of connection to and compassion for that child. And for those like him/her.
My therapist friend suggested it might have been a memory about a past life during the Bubonic Plague, somewhere in Europe. I don't know and to tell you the truth, it doesn't matter to me. I'm not really interested in finding out details. I do feel very glad that I went back and worked through the intense feelings the experience brought up.
I would love to hear anyone's thoughts or to hear about any similar experiences. Thanks so much for listening.
