Jadeswan
Member
Warning: The memory below is somewhat graphic.
Recently, through guided meditation I have re-gained memories of three past lives. I've also had flashes of a couple of others. The last few days I've had strong feelings that I needed to find out about the life I lived most recently to this one. I knew I needed to explore it but had this feeling that I didn't want to do so at all. Yesterday I started having problems with my throat closing up as if I couldn't breathe and I decided it was time to be brave about it and see if I could remember anything. My husband led me through the meditation and as I asked to be taken to the place I found myself gasping for air.
I am next to a tall brick building. There is smoke in the air and a small fire in the distance. I am wearing an overlarge coat and a cap of some sort is pulled over my face. I am creeping along the side of the building. I can't breathe. The smoke is too thick and it's half blinding me. My husband's voice from the present asking questions about my age and gender and what year it is seems irrelevant and annoying. Why would anyone care about those things in a situation like this? I know I am a school teacher and the place where I teach is nearby. Perhaps I am trying to reach it but my mind is becoming confused by the smoke and the fire and I'm not even sure where I am trying to go anymore.
Suddenly out of the smoke a soldier appears. Is he on our side? I'm not even sure what "our side" and "their side" looks like. I straighten, determined to meet whatever comes with dignity. Our eyes meet and I know with certainty that he will not harm me. His eyes are squinted against the smoke and I can't even tell what color they are and yet I see something in them that makes me trust him implicitly. He takes my arm and I notice he has some sort of armband with a red cross on it. He guides me out of the smoke and to another area of town. The building is a school building for young children but it isn't being used for school right now. There are people with soot on them and other people helping them. I feel I ought to be helping someone but I can't think straight and I stumble to a chair. Across from me are some plastic school chairs. They have metal legs and are in primary colors. I can't stop staring at them. They seem so incongruous somehow. Someone brings me a blanket and says something about being in shock. My hat has fallen from my head. For just a moment my view is from the outside and I can see myself. I am a young woman in my mid to late twenties with blond, softly curling hair.
I begin to get my bearings a little bit. The kind people begin passing out food and they give me some. It is wrapped in plastic and I open it and eat some without even being aware of what it is. Near to me a baby is crying and I turn to look. Her mother is holding her and she seems exhausted. I ask her if I can hold the baby. I take the baby on my lap and I am looking at almost the exact image of my present life daughter at the age of six or seven months. I had a dream about her at that age before she was born and as she got older she looked exactly like that dream except her eyes were blue instead of brown. This baby has brown eyes. She is wearing a white dress covered with pale yellow flowers. It has a little attached apron. I hold and soothe her. Perhaps I even walk around with her. I'm not sure because what happens soon afterward erases everything from my mind. We hear a rumbling outside and suddenly a whole corner of the building is blown away. "The baby's mother is dead," I think and then everything goes black. My last conscious effort is clutching the baby as I fall.
The next thing I know I am lying on my back with rubble around me. Nearby a bloody hand sticks up from under pieces of the building. I don't want to see it. I turn away and find that the baby is beside me and she seems okay. Just her little dress is torn. She is strangely quiet though and I think she must be in shock. I half lift myself up and wrap her in my coat. We seem to be the only survivors or at least the only ones alive who haven't already fled. I feel an urge to get away from here but I am weak and confused. Once more I see the soldier emerge from the smoke. His gun and helmet are gone but he is still wearing an olive green uniform. He is crying---horrible, wracking man sobs. He helps lift me up and leads me to a vehicle of some sort, perhaps a jeep. We drive away from the destruction and out of the city. We exchange names. I am Anya, he is Piotr. I can't tell him the baby's name because I don't know what it is.
We drive and drive until we come to a small house. I think it is his grandmother's house but I'm not sure he actually said that or if I just thought it. No one is there. We go inside. The baby is crying now and I think she must be hungry. Piotr searches the pantry and finds a can of condensed milk. We feed it to her with a spoon. I have a sudden fantasy of what it would be like to be married to him and this baby be ours. I imagine giving her a bath in the kitchen sink with sunshine and laughter around us.
It is growing dark outside and we settle on the couch---Piotr at one end and I leaning against him holding the baby. We don't want to lie down on the beds. Somehow it seems as if death might come and we don't want to meet it lying down. We don't say this in so many words but we go to the couch with perfect understanding of one another. It feels safe to lean against him and I keep thinking, "This is a good man. He is a good man." Somehow it seems very important.
Recently, through guided meditation I have re-gained memories of three past lives. I've also had flashes of a couple of others. The last few days I've had strong feelings that I needed to find out about the life I lived most recently to this one. I knew I needed to explore it but had this feeling that I didn't want to do so at all. Yesterday I started having problems with my throat closing up as if I couldn't breathe and I decided it was time to be brave about it and see if I could remember anything. My husband led me through the meditation and as I asked to be taken to the place I found myself gasping for air.
I am next to a tall brick building. There is smoke in the air and a small fire in the distance. I am wearing an overlarge coat and a cap of some sort is pulled over my face. I am creeping along the side of the building. I can't breathe. The smoke is too thick and it's half blinding me. My husband's voice from the present asking questions about my age and gender and what year it is seems irrelevant and annoying. Why would anyone care about those things in a situation like this? I know I am a school teacher and the place where I teach is nearby. Perhaps I am trying to reach it but my mind is becoming confused by the smoke and the fire and I'm not even sure where I am trying to go anymore.
Suddenly out of the smoke a soldier appears. Is he on our side? I'm not even sure what "our side" and "their side" looks like. I straighten, determined to meet whatever comes with dignity. Our eyes meet and I know with certainty that he will not harm me. His eyes are squinted against the smoke and I can't even tell what color they are and yet I see something in them that makes me trust him implicitly. He takes my arm and I notice he has some sort of armband with a red cross on it. He guides me out of the smoke and to another area of town. The building is a school building for young children but it isn't being used for school right now. There are people with soot on them and other people helping them. I feel I ought to be helping someone but I can't think straight and I stumble to a chair. Across from me are some plastic school chairs. They have metal legs and are in primary colors. I can't stop staring at them. They seem so incongruous somehow. Someone brings me a blanket and says something about being in shock. My hat has fallen from my head. For just a moment my view is from the outside and I can see myself. I am a young woman in my mid to late twenties with blond, softly curling hair.
I begin to get my bearings a little bit. The kind people begin passing out food and they give me some. It is wrapped in plastic and I open it and eat some without even being aware of what it is. Near to me a baby is crying and I turn to look. Her mother is holding her and she seems exhausted. I ask her if I can hold the baby. I take the baby on my lap and I am looking at almost the exact image of my present life daughter at the age of six or seven months. I had a dream about her at that age before she was born and as she got older she looked exactly like that dream except her eyes were blue instead of brown. This baby has brown eyes. She is wearing a white dress covered with pale yellow flowers. It has a little attached apron. I hold and soothe her. Perhaps I even walk around with her. I'm not sure because what happens soon afterward erases everything from my mind. We hear a rumbling outside and suddenly a whole corner of the building is blown away. "The baby's mother is dead," I think and then everything goes black. My last conscious effort is clutching the baby as I fall.
The next thing I know I am lying on my back with rubble around me. Nearby a bloody hand sticks up from under pieces of the building. I don't want to see it. I turn away and find that the baby is beside me and she seems okay. Just her little dress is torn. She is strangely quiet though and I think she must be in shock. I half lift myself up and wrap her in my coat. We seem to be the only survivors or at least the only ones alive who haven't already fled. I feel an urge to get away from here but I am weak and confused. Once more I see the soldier emerge from the smoke. His gun and helmet are gone but he is still wearing an olive green uniform. He is crying---horrible, wracking man sobs. He helps lift me up and leads me to a vehicle of some sort, perhaps a jeep. We drive away from the destruction and out of the city. We exchange names. I am Anya, he is Piotr. I can't tell him the baby's name because I don't know what it is.
We drive and drive until we come to a small house. I think it is his grandmother's house but I'm not sure he actually said that or if I just thought it. No one is there. We go inside. The baby is crying now and I think she must be hungry. Piotr searches the pantry and finds a can of condensed milk. We feed it to her with a spoon. I have a sudden fantasy of what it would be like to be married to him and this baby be ours. I imagine giving her a bath in the kitchen sink with sunshine and laughter around us.
It is growing dark outside and we settle on the couch---Piotr at one end and I leaning against him holding the baby. We don't want to lie down on the beds. Somehow it seems as if death might come and we don't want to meet it lying down. We don't say this in so many words but we go to the couch with perfect understanding of one another. It feels safe to lean against him and I keep thinking, "This is a good man. He is a good man." Somehow it seems very important.
