• Thank you to Carol and Steve Bowman, the forum owners, for our new upgrade!

First Recall: The days of the Black Plague

A

A.L.G.Xeylon

New Member
Bear with me, please...I am unaccustomed to sharing my past lives. And so, I shall release what I know bit by bit.

The Black Plague is something I am familiar with. Some say *too* familiar, as it is a subject I have constantly researched, initially as an elementary school kid, out of an almost gruesome and certainly horrified fascination. Disease tends to have that effect on me, but the Black Plague attracted me most of all.

Surprisingly, though, it took me almost ten years to realize why it was so. I had a past life back during the times of the Black Plague- not its initial outbreak in 1347, but in its last big outbreak in Marseilles, France (or so I believe).

It had happened only about a month ago. I was in the dorms when suddenly, I decided to go down to the dorm lounge to watch one of the movies that the other students would put on.
It was perhaps the first and the last time I would do that for the semester; such an occurrence was rare to say the least, as I am more one to stay in my room and read than do anything else when homework is done. The movie happened to be "28 Weeks Later", a horror movie centered around a killer epidemic of "Rage", a virus that turned people into infected cannibal zombies. It was not the gore and all of the savagery and violence that scared me. No. It was the eyes of the diseased. The deadness of those eyes triggered the visceral impulses I had gained so long ago to scream and to vomit- only, I was so rigid in my seat and shaking so violently that it was nigh impossible for me to do either. It took my friend all the way from Idaho to walk me through an energy cleansing exercise, allowing me a modicum of coherence about what was scaring me so much.

And that was when I found out that I had a past life...as a little girl during the days of the Plague.
 
That is very interesting, thanks for sharing. I can't wait to read more :thumbsup:


Remembering something as horrible as the Black Death can be horrible, and subsequently such a life has had effects on my attitude towards disease today. I am utterly scared to high heaven of disease. I will go bio-war at even the slightest cold (if given the chance I would buy a bio-suit).
 
I was only a little girl of about 6 or 7 in 1720 when the epidemic began.


My father was my only close family; my mother, whose pale and delicate features and golden-blonde hair I had inherited, had apparently died either in childbirth or because of childbirth, as I had no living recollection of her. I, however, grew up strong and active (hyperactive as well as active, I might as well add xD ) and roamed the narrow, cobbled streets of medieval Marseilles with bare feet and an unruly head of golden hair. The texture and stones of those cobbled streets still resound with me today...I feel a strong affection for them, as well as for the coarse fabrics of my worn cotton shift and the brown rucksack-like material of my sleeveless over-dress (I had refused to let my long, thick tresses be bound by those mob-caps we girls were supposed to wear).


We were poor, of peasantry...my father was but a farrier. I didn't care. Horses were more often than not better company than other children in my opinion...and I knew that only two things were required for my happiness: my music and my father.


Both were intertwined; he *was* my music, for he both encouraged me and rejoiced with me in the voice I gave forth from my body. During the day, he would let me roam Marseilles and the seaside and watch him with his thick leather apron as he hammered horseshoes for the horses that would visit. At night, he would hear me sing and tell me stories by the fireside with his twinkling blue eyes (which I had apparently possessed as well). As long as he, with his big, tall frame and big laugh still lived, I would sing with all my might and live a happy child.
 
Mammatus said:
That is very interesting, thanks for sharing. I can't wait to read more :thumbsup:
Remembering something as horrible as the Black Death can be horrible, and subsequently such a life has had effects on my attitude towards disease today. I am utterly scared to high heaven of disease. I will go bio-war at even the slightest cold (if given the chance I would buy a bio-suit).
Click to expand...
Hahaha, thank you! It's kind of hard for me to do, and thank you for being patient enough to read through it. I know exactly what you mean about disease...I adapted the practice of pouring boiling water on dishes during cold and flu seasons. ^_^"
 
Then the Black Plague hit. I didn't understand the circumstances surrounding the sudden change. All I knew was that Papa started to forbid me from going outside. I wanted so much to obey him, but curiosity and pent up energy got the best of my six-year-old mind. The corpses that met my sight outside the now barren streets frightened me into completely obeying my Papa's new order. He would keep me safe.


It was not long before it happened. Papa became sick. I can't remember how long he was sick for, before he died, but as his wasted body lay upon the bed, I cried and cried and cried. He told me not to be afraid, to pray...and so I prayed, even more than I did before, even though my formerly frequent trips to the chapel were forbidden. It did not work. As he breathed his last, I asked him not to become one of those...those things, those bodies that I had seen on the cobbled stones I knew so well. I did not know how to say "death", but some part of me knew that if Papa did not get well, he would be gone from me. Forever.


He died. I had been praying and praying as he slept fitfully, his face drawn and pinched. All of a sudden, I found myself screaming, "Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! (Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!)", moments before his eyes snapped open and all the life left them. I screamed and screeched, torn between my impulses to 1) scrabble away from him and 2) hang onto him, the person who was my definition of being.


His eyes stayed open until they came to get him for burial. Even then, they stayed open. Nobody wanted to touch one of the infected.
 
Here is where things start getting foggy. I am positive that after they took the body away, she was taken in by the local church, which I read was the chapel at the Notre Dame de la garde at the time. I also know that after a short amount of time, she left Marseilles, permanently- why or how I am not sure...


I cannot seem to find evidence to support this, hence my hesitation to proceed and to mark this as truly something from the 1720 Plague of Marseilles. Their clothing, though, does confirm this, as per my research: her father wore a tricorn hat with baggy brown wool trousers tucked into worn leather boots. His shirt was coarse and white- and he frequently also wore a long overcoat made of coarse brown wool. The little girl herself (I can't even remember her name) I have described earlier, in a cotton shift and a simple brown over dress without sleeves and with a high waist. Does anybody have any suggestions here? I know a past life regression session would very much help with this, but I am unable to procure one at the moment...


*takes a break* Draining!!! Like a vampire!!! Just kidding. If anybody has any comments so far, feel free to post them before I continue with the remains of what I remember. LAWL. NOPUNINTENDED. ^_^
 
Ahh, the Black Plague. I always read on that particular disease when I was young as I wanted to be a doctor. But I stopped that ambition as I went in a state of mental shock whenever I see medical things (Still do).. But oddly this doesn't apply for war movies nor crime shows.. Odd...


Did you know, there's an urban legend saying that the nursery rhyme 'Ring a ring o' roses' was about the Black Plague? Hopefully it isn't true as it scared the collywobbles outta me..
 
Ignotus said:
Did you know, there's an urban legend saying that the nursery rhyme 'Ring a ring o' roses' was about the Black Plague? Hopefully it isn't true as it scared the collywobbles outta me..
Click to expand...
Oh yes, the nursery rhyme. Been wondering and researching it for years. Sorry to say that it might, just might be true. I remember reading about the Spanish Flu rhyme, something that was really made up during the time:


"I had a little bird,


Its name was Enza,


I opened the window


And in-flew-Enza."


Plus, I might just have been in England at the time of the first Black Plague, but I haven't gotten memories of those yet. I 'll inform you if I do- would you like that?
 
Ring around the rosey


Pockets full of posies


Ashes, ashes, we all fall down!


That was supposed to be written about the Black Plague. The rosey is the rosey rash that appeared from the disease. The pockets full of posies were to ward off the smell of the dead. Ashes is for the cremations. We all fall down is when they died.


Most nursery rhymes are taken from true events. They are interesting to research if you are so inclined.
 
Hi and welcome to the forum :)


Thank you for sharing! I find your memories intriguing. I've also been fascinated with this disease (although that's quite a macabre thing to say about the plague). I've been most preoccupied by the medieval outbreak, but I know about the later ones too. In Copenhagen there was an outbreak in 1711 and many of our cemeteries here were originally for mass burials of the plague victims. Horrible tragedies were played out and people, who lived through those times (both medieval and later on) must have traumatic memories of it.


I have no specific memories of the plague, however I had two lives in the 1300's and I think that one of them took place during or right after the plague. I remembered watching a procession of nuns through a medieval town and thinking that they could protect me against the plague. Today I know that thought is quite ridicules, but in that memory there was such a feeling of relief of being near the nuns and such a strong faith that their prayers and blessings would keep the disease away.


I hope you'll share more.
 
You know, I might be one of those doctors during the plaque.


I don't have memories, but it's a feeling that I was there. And I have the strangest phobia of plants.. (Yes, start laughing..>.>) I couldn't explain it till now. I'm not exactly afraid of it but the scent is something I just can't stand. And I heard those doctors smell those herbs in their masks whenever they went out and was treating patients. I wonder whether its a leftover. But I'm fine with those from spray cans but I can't stand the scent of the actual thing.


But its just a theory.. But whatever it is, this phobia is hindering my current life as I can't accept bouquets of flowers as gifts. And I don't want to look rude.
 
Ignotus, Sunniva and Mama2HRB, I would be honored to tell all of you more. ^_^" Hopefully my more foggy memories will clear up, because after this, there isn't too much more to tell...and I'm still mustering up the nerve to put up what might not be too true. LAWL.


Hey, Sunniva! Thank you very much for welcoming me :) . Yes, it is macabre, but what the hey...things do get a little macabre after a time of complete meltdown. I guess it's a way for humans to accept what happened instead of being perpetually raw-boned because of it.


Ignotus, that's not really that laughable, especially after one thinks about the Venomous Tentacula or even the Whomping Willow. :eek: :D I must say, though, that is a valid theory for what happened. Do tell me if you find anything, won't you? And I'll see if I can dig up some past life memories of the 1300s...after I'm done resting, of course. The last two episodes of memory I had, including this one, were so incredibly draining and emotionally traumatizing that I'm currently "put out to pasture", so they say. ;) Munchin' on some grass. xD
 
I just found out that the chapel at Notre-Dame de le Garde was actually a priory (a sub-abbey/monastery of sorts) at the time, one that is based off Saint Victor's, the main abbey to Marseilles at the time. My memory of that chapel involved monks and what looked to be the ghost of a nun, which is a fantastic validation.


As for the remainder of her life, I do know that she died very young- in her thirties or forties, due to some condition involving the lungs- most likely tuberculosis.


She also never returned to Marseilles...I don't think she could bring herself to, not after what she had seen and experienced there. But I do know that she could never leave the ocean-side, for she loved the waves and their eternal revivals. This, along with her incredibly enduring spirituality, helped her to make the best of what was a tragic lifetime...she lived within a cloud of perpetual sorrow and guilt. There could have been *something*, she always thought, *something* she could have done to save him- and she reproached herself for her weakness. She never got to tell him how much she loved him and as time passed on, she buried her pain beneath grief, telling herself that it was over, done with. It would be something that she lived with until the end of her life.


Her music lived on as she blossomed in her already prodigious talent, learning the piano-forte as well as the practice of classical operatic voice- but everything she played, sang and composed was tinged by that terrifyingly beautiful sadness...her compositions were likewise effected. She died a virgin, unmarried- and although I don't have much recollection of her death other than a very labored and painful breathing, there was one thing that I could never shake out of my head: the exhausted happiness that swept her mind and body as she felt her time approach. She could, at last, see her father again, be by his side.


This is all for now. I remember no more...but perhaps I shall find some things that will help me remember. Thank you for reading. :)
 
Yesterday, while listening to some Tibetan Deep-Throat music, I came out with a memory of the chapel I went to after they took her Papa's body away.


The chapel area was small, with only two rows of dark brown wood pews- but the ceiling was rather high; the altar was dedicated to Mary, rather than Jesus. Her head was tilted to one side and her arms were cradled. It seemed to be a gold-leafed statue. A monk bade me welcome; he was mute and his skin was leathery. Apparently, we were familiar with each other, as he led me to the altar and then to the front most pew on the left side. I couldn't thank him, but he seemed to understand; his eyes were kind. As I drew near to the altar, I caught a whiff of the most curious scent: it was strong and musky, with a sweet edge, a kind of incense.


I could not feel too much here. Perhaps, I believe, she was numb...numb beyond belief as she sat there in the pew. Her mind was blank as she sat there, unblinkingly, completely silent.


The memory only goes to here. When there are more regarding this life, I shall post them up on here. :)
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top