McGavock
Nicole
I have always had a strong connection to Civil War history. I enjoy history in general, but certain pieces of it have always stood out more. From Victorian times in England, to Civil War times here in America. I have always had a prolonged interest in plantations and their history. I have always found miles of fields far more stunning than any shore side, or rolling hill. But I never put it together with my slight curiosity of past lives.
As a young girl, I was playing in the wheat fields in a small rural Ohio town. I had on a blue summer dress and my hair was in a braid. I was spinning in circles, I somehow always found that relaxing. My parents had just divorced and everything was moving very fast for me at the mere age of 7. I though as I spun. First about the horses that grazed in the fences not far off, and then, something came to me. What if when we died we were born again, into animals. Or maybe even another human body. I was only 7, and did not know anything about reincarnation, or past lives. I barley knew the words Jesus and God. Let alone any other religious beliefs or phenomenons. But I never forgot that particular moment when I first thought that thought. It was like a ringing bell, but smoother. Warmer. It felt right.
Many years later when i was only 9 I began having dreams. Dreams of me, in white dresses in a field. At first I thought nothing of it. But the dreams kept reoccurring. each time more detailed. The first one I remember noticing was that I did not look like me. I was older. And I had larger breasts, and I was taller. I had darker hair, and it was curled. My hands were delicate and my nails grown out. Not bitten down and dirty form my childish play. Then the next detail I distinctly remember was a house. A beautiful house off in the distance. With white sturdy white columns. It was so right, it being there. It perfected the horizon. As time went on I had more dreams. They started off so sweet. I was so happy, and content, I could feel it.
Then me and my family moved into a black neighborhood. I was one of the few white students at the school, and that was the first time in my life that race had ever been pointed out to me. Sure enough I began having the by now, all too familiar dreams. But this time I noticed black people. I suppose they had always been in my dreams I had just never noticed. And so I wanted to talk to one of them, a sweet looking woman walking though the house. But when I went to speak the words did not come out. It was as if every part of me told me it was wrong to talk to her. And it scared me and yet surprised me. Soon after the nightmares started.
I was young and didn't understand much of what occurred in my dreams. But I wrote them down, thinking them simple night mares. But when I got older and read what I had wrote, and I pieced it together. And it became clearer. And I began becoming even more interested in civil war history than i already was before. Not long after I hear some one mention Past Lives. I began to research it and came to wonder if this could be me remembering one of them, the most recent I presume. But I never got my hopes up, and brushed it off as a childish fantasy. No such things exist, or so I told myself.
Then shortly after I turned 15, I came upon a book in a man's house. He was getting rid of it anyways so I decided to keep it. It was called Widow of the South. The title alone intrigued me. I read the book, and felt something. An odd knowledge of the people in it, and an odd closeness to some of the people.Only later did I learn the book was written after a true story. Actually I figured it out when I stumbled upon another book, I normally wouldn't have read. As I flipped through the old pictures in it, one caught my eyes. A plantation house. One that was similar to the one I always pictured in my head, so I read about it in the caption and fund to my amazement it was the actual house from the actual story of the McGavocks. I immidiatley did research and the pictures I saw or the house, inside and out, took my breath away. They seemed so familiar. Like pictures form when you were a baby, you recognize them but were too young at the time they were taken to really fully remember. And my fondness of the people in the book didn't seem to crazy anymore. And neither did the idea of a past life. Do you think that is what this is? Could it be? [/SIZE]
As a young girl, I was playing in the wheat fields in a small rural Ohio town. I had on a blue summer dress and my hair was in a braid. I was spinning in circles, I somehow always found that relaxing. My parents had just divorced and everything was moving very fast for me at the mere age of 7. I though as I spun. First about the horses that grazed in the fences not far off, and then, something came to me. What if when we died we were born again, into animals. Or maybe even another human body. I was only 7, and did not know anything about reincarnation, or past lives. I barley knew the words Jesus and God. Let alone any other religious beliefs or phenomenons. But I never forgot that particular moment when I first thought that thought. It was like a ringing bell, but smoother. Warmer. It felt right.
Many years later when i was only 9 I began having dreams. Dreams of me, in white dresses in a field. At first I thought nothing of it. But the dreams kept reoccurring. each time more detailed. The first one I remember noticing was that I did not look like me. I was older. And I had larger breasts, and I was taller. I had darker hair, and it was curled. My hands were delicate and my nails grown out. Not bitten down and dirty form my childish play. Then the next detail I distinctly remember was a house. A beautiful house off in the distance. With white sturdy white columns. It was so right, it being there. It perfected the horizon. As time went on I had more dreams. They started off so sweet. I was so happy, and content, I could feel it.
Then me and my family moved into a black neighborhood. I was one of the few white students at the school, and that was the first time in my life that race had ever been pointed out to me. Sure enough I began having the by now, all too familiar dreams. But this time I noticed black people. I suppose they had always been in my dreams I had just never noticed. And so I wanted to talk to one of them, a sweet looking woman walking though the house. But when I went to speak the words did not come out. It was as if every part of me told me it was wrong to talk to her. And it scared me and yet surprised me. Soon after the nightmares started.
I was young and didn't understand much of what occurred in my dreams. But I wrote them down, thinking them simple night mares. But when I got older and read what I had wrote, and I pieced it together. And it became clearer. And I began becoming even more interested in civil war history than i already was before. Not long after I hear some one mention Past Lives. I began to research it and came to wonder if this could be me remembering one of them, the most recent I presume. But I never got my hopes up, and brushed it off as a childish fantasy. No such things exist, or so I told myself.
Then shortly after I turned 15, I came upon a book in a man's house. He was getting rid of it anyways so I decided to keep it. It was called Widow of the South. The title alone intrigued me. I read the book, and felt something. An odd knowledge of the people in it, and an odd closeness to some of the people.Only later did I learn the book was written after a true story. Actually I figured it out when I stumbled upon another book, I normally wouldn't have read. As I flipped through the old pictures in it, one caught my eyes. A plantation house. One that was similar to the one I always pictured in my head, so I read about it in the caption and fund to my amazement it was the actual house from the actual story of the McGavocks. I immidiatley did research and the pictures I saw or the house, inside and out, took my breath away. They seemed so familiar. Like pictures form when you were a baby, you recognize them but were too young at the time they were taken to really fully remember. And my fondness of the people in the book didn't seem to crazy anymore. And neither did the idea of a past life. Do you think that is what this is? Could it be? [/SIZE]
