Stupidly Happy

The play was over.  Fulfilled theatre-goers streamed past me on their way to wine, or home, or late night coffees.  I smiled, as I am wont to do, wishing them well as they left the theatre.

An old high school teacher of mine sauntered up to me.  We hadn’t seen each other in many, many (too many to count) years.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, face drawn carefully into neutral.  “Are you stupid?”  Gasps all around as those in the vicinity heard his words.

I smiled even wider.  “Sure.” I agreed good naturedly.  “I like to smile.  Smiling’s my favorite.” While he didn’t quite smile back, I did hear his gruff laughter as he wandered away.

I get his point.  The world lately, has given little reason to make us smile.  I find myself squinting through barely open fingers as I open my web browser, afraid of what I might find.  Facebook has become riddled with landmines of stark negativity, and hatred.  There seems to be doom and gloom all around us.  Plus winter is stretching into spring and the gray days can be downright depressing.

But I like to smile.  Despite all of the nasty crap that is happening.

For years I have had the Optimist’s Creed, by Christian D. Larson, hanging up in my room.  Each morning as I dry my hair and drink my coffee I glance up at the words.  Sometimes I read a line or two.  Most days it is just a blur of non recognition, similar to the color of paint on the walls.  You see something often enough you stop seeing it.

My old teacher’s words brought up the first line of the Creed for me, making me stop and ponder.

“I promise myself to be so strong that nothing can disturb my peace of mind.”

I am an optimist.  I have been called a Polly Anna by some, and an idiot with my head in the sand by others.  I do see the glass as half full, and am grateful for the glass, and the lovely liquid inside.  The world looks brighter when I wear my rose colored glasses and I refuse to allow anything to disturb my peace of mind.

Happiness is an inside job.  I figured this one out a long time ago.  I realized that I had waited and waited, deferring my right to be happy until X, Y and Z happened.  But then X, Y and Z would happen and I would still not feel happy.  It didn’t take me long (only about 45 years or so) to figure out that what I needed to do was to make the decision to feel happy.  Nothing had to happen to make it so.  I could just wake up each morning, yawn, stretch and BELIEVE that today was a great day to be happy, and VOILA… I would be happy.

When the world turns upside down and I am inundated with the images of racism, fear, hatred, Trump, explosions, war, and, and, and….. I am not foolish enough to believe that by smiling I will save the world.  But, I am wise enough to know that by worrying, fretting and being frustrated  by things I have no control over, I am stealing peace from myself.

So despite what is happening in the world, I smile.  I choose peace.  I choose to continue to be optimistic, even if it seems foolish.

I choose to be stupidly happy.

And here is a song to help you be Stupidly Happy too.

An Unexpected Hero

Heroes come in all different shapes and sizes. The one I remember every November 11 is my Great Grandma Elsie.

I had the privilege to grow up knowing this remarkable lady. She lived in a tiny house (way before tiny houses were cool) in my Grandparent’s back yard. Elsie loved birds and always had a budgie for company. Her birds changed every few years, but were always named Joey. Elsie was quiet and kind and every once in a while could be coaxed into tell us stories of her youth. Orphaned at 11 years old, Elsie was shipped to Canada to live with distant cousins in a small town in Saskatchewan. She grew up quickly and when she was 16 years old, two local lads had a horse and buggy race to determine which one would get to propose to her. After great grandpa won the race, they married in a small church and headed out West to begin a family.

Great Grandma Elsie is an unlikely hero. If she were here today she would be the first to pish-posh such an idea. She would claim she didn’t do much at all.  She didn’t serve in the armed forces. She didn’t work as a WAC or in a factory like Rosie the Riveter. She just stayed home and sent her men off to war. Not much heroic about that on the surface.

But every Remembrance Day Elsie would sit in front of her 10 inch black and white TV with the tinfoil on the antennas and watch the Service at the Cenotaph in Ottawa. And she would cry. Not a misty kind of stoic British, stiff upper lip kind of cry either. Elsie would weep openly, clutching her handkerchief in her small trembling fist, as the leaders of the day would pay tribute to the brave men and women who gave of themselves for this country of ours.

You see, Elsie stayed home, kept the home fires burning, hung the laundry on the line and rationed sugar and gasoline. Elsie waved goodbye to her sons as they pulled away from the train station heading to faraway places to fight for our freedom. And Elsie waited. For years she kept watch, praying and hoping her sons would come home safe and whole. And one by one they did.

Except her youngest. Her baby. He served as a tail gunner in a plane that was shot out of the sky. The section of plane he was in was blown separate from the rest, ending up scattered miles away. Listed as Missing In Action, Elsie’s baby boy never came home.

Decades later, Elsie still grieved the loss of her son. As a young girl I didn’t quite understand why Great Grandma was so sad, but now that I am a mother I cannot begin to comprehend the courage it took for her to carry on. When did she stop waiting for word that he had been found? When did she give up hope? And every year as she watched the wreath being placed on the tomb of the Unknown Soldier, did she wonder if that was the final resting place of her youngest son?

Elsie’s grief was a lifelong battle. She fought with courage and survived. Grandma Elsie left us just after her 96th birthday. During those many decades she lived after losing her boy, she bore a burden of grief and loss that most of us will thankfully, never have to fathom.

So I remember Elsie and her amazing courage.

And I remember my lost Uncle, whom I never had a chance to meet, and the other brave souls who have fought and died to protect our way of life. Because of them we enjoy the freedom to think, speak, worship, and live as we choose. These men and women of the Armed Forces continue to fight for us, and are willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect our peace.

This Remembrance Day citizens will gather to salute these men and women, some of whom paid the ultimate price. I will join them, giving thanks to the soldiers for their bravery, and to the families they left behind, for their sacrifice.

Lest We Forget.

The Ode of Remembrance

by Laurence Binyon

They went with songs to the battle, they were young. Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them

 

My grandfather walking with my mom, circa WWII
My grandfather walking with my mom, circa WWII

 Originally published in e-Know

 

All Dressed Up

The first Halloween I remember was the one when I was 6 years old. This doesn’t include borrowed memories, like the ones you get from looking at old family albums, or hearing old family stories. This is the first memory that I authentically pull from my memory banks of a specific Halloween. And even more specifically, the first memorable Halloween costume.

Mine was the year I dressed up as Cinderella. I had the sparkly skirt, a real live diamond tiara (that my Mom made out of tinfoil and cut up cardboard) and shiny blue ballet slippers.   And since I lived in Southern California at the time, I could wear the costume without even a sweater or pair of tights to keep warm. That’s right. As foreign as this may seem to my fellow Canadians, in Southern California we just wore the costume. No jacket over top. No clunky snow boots. No mittens. No toque.

Can you even imagine?  It was just like a movie. (That is a good, fun, family movie. Not the Jamie Lee Curtis kind of Halloween movie). I skipped and danced happily from house to house, enjoying the balmy evening air and the feel of green grass beneath my scantily clad feet.

Fast forward one year. It is the night of Halloween. My family has relocated…. To Prince George. Yeah. I know.

That year I had one wish for Halloween. I wanted to be I Dream Of Jeannie. I imagined myself draped in the gauze and silk, bare midriff, hair all fancy in an elaborate up do. And lots of make up. Maybe even false eye lashes. I imagined myself crossing my arms and nodding my head, just like I Dream of Jeannie, at every house I came to. I even considered converting my bedroom to look like the inside of her bottle, just to stay true to the theme. I had it all figured out.

So imagine my chagrin when my ever practical mother determined that there was no way in H E double hockey sticks that I was going trick or treating wearing next to nothing, outside, at night, in Prince Freezing George. (I am pretty sure the word she used was “freezing”).

Instead, my innovative and super creative mother had saved the Styrofoam packing unit from the amber glass lamps she had bought when we moved in. (yes this was the 70s). This unit was perfectly round, hollow and once she cut a hole for my face and stuck in two pipe cleaners for antenna, it transformed me into a Martian. Plus, she excitedly explained, I could just wear it with my snow suit and boots!

Shocked! Horrified! I railed against the new costume. I whined. I cried. I cajoled even, but to no avail. A grudging compromise was finally reached. I would wear the rotten Martian outfit, but with I Dream of Jeannie make-up. My poor, harried mother agreed, slapped on the blue eyeshadow, rosy blush and pink lipstick, stuck the Martian hat on my head, then hustled me out the door.

The tricking and treating went well for the first little while. But then it began to rain. Soon the rain turned to sleet. Tiny stinging pellets of ice began to hammer down on my Styrofoam head, echoing like ricocheting bullets into the face hole, smashing against my skin and making I Dream of Jeannie run in an oozing mess down my cheeks. The Styrofoam worked just like it does when formed into a nice fat beer cooler, and my ears, cheeks and forehead were soon developing some sort of permafrost. I broke away from the gang I was touring with and began to run toward home, one arm up to shield me from the onslaught of ice bullets. My pillowcase dragged behind me, getting soaked in the muddy ice and a hole was soon formed. By the time I reached home, frozen and in shock, I had about a ½ dozen soggy pieces of candy and 3 very bruised Macintosh apples left in the tattered sack.

Happy Freezing Halloween.

I bet this stuff never happened to I Dream of Jeannie.

 

Originally published by e-Know

 

My Message from Wayne

I haven’t shared this recording with many people until now.  It happened a few years ago and I know a lot of you have read about this experience.  I felt compelled to share this message that I saved… this is the first time I heard from Dr. Wayne Dyer.

It holds such a special place in my memory, and I hope it brings some joy for all of you to hear his voice again.  <3

Wayne

An Attitude of Gratitude

I imported my American Husband to Cranbrook about 14 years ago. A native of Detroit, he spent his first few months here unable to blink or to close his mouth, so amazed was he at the majesty of our area. I had lived in Cranbrook for a lot of years already and was somewhat immune to the surroundings. When he arrived I began to see things through his eyes and it allowed me to truly understand how incredibly good we have it here in the East Kootenay area.

Fast forward a few years. My American Husband and I head on over to Michigan during Canadian Thanksgiving weekend. Upon mentioning to the American relations that we celebrate in October and not November they were all very curious.

“Why is Canadian Thanksgiving in October? What is your Thanksgiving all about?”

When somebody asks me a question I do not have the answer to, I typically say something like: “That is an excellent question” while furtively opening a browser on my iPhone and googling like mad. This time was no exception. As the official Canadian Ambassador to my American In-Laws, I did not want to appear ignorant to my own customs and history. Which, sadly, I was.

Turns our Canadian Thanksgiving did not begin with one specific event or meaning. It was a combination of many things. It all started with the ill-fated voyage of explorer Martin Frobisher. Back in 1578 Frobisher planned to travel to the aptly named Frobisher Bay to begin a settlement. Plagued by ice, freak storms, loss of supplies and a terrible no good awful set of bad luck, Frobisher turned around, heading back to England with a ship full of what turned out to be fool’s gold, and the inspired words of learned man Mayster Wolfall who encouraged Frobisher “to be thankefull to God for their strange and miraculous deliverance in those so dangerous places”.

Years later another explorer, Samuel De Champlain held a huge feast for the French Settlers and First Nations neighbours to celebrate the bountiful harvest and to form the Order of Good Cheer. Not long after a bunch of British Loyalist expats moved to Canada, bringing the U.S. tradition of turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie to add to the mix. (Which may be my favorite export from the Americans. Next to my Husband of course). And in 1872, the first official Thanksgiving was held to celebrate the Prince of Wales’ return to good health from a very serious illness.

Dates and times bounced around for lots of years until 1957 when it was officially declared by Parliament that Thanksgiving would be held the second Monday in October. Please pass the stuffing.

No matter the roots of this holiday, the central theme has remained the same. To be thankful. And to begin this most grateful of celebrations, I asked around to find out what the local folk find to be thankful for in our beautiful city of Cranbrook. Here is what some had to say:

Erin McDonald: “A community of people who care about one another’s well-being and happiness. Also Lotus Books.”

Shona Bohmer: “Multi Season recreation! And the views that go with it.”

Vicky McDonald: “The mountains! Spectacular!!”

Brianna Stevely: “The ability to drive 5 minutes outside city limits and be surrounded by silence and nature’s beauty.”

Lary Sparks: “7+ lakes within 45 minutes.”

Leslie Molnar: “My commute to work takes 7 minutes. 10 minutes if I stop at the bank on the way.”

Lori White: “ The amazing people!”

Jeannie Argatoff: “Hey! I was going to say that. Okay. Amazing people.”

Shelly Shaw: “Moved to Cranbrook from Surrey six years ago. I am grateful for not having to lock my door just to take the garbage out. Or my car door when my car is sitting in front of my house. Grateful that my car is always there the next morning when I wake up and not stolen! That if I drop something in the mall, it is always returned to me or taken to the lost and found. That almost everyone smiles and says hello on the street or in the stores. For the endless glorious sunshine and almost no rain to speak of. That I no longer have to worry about mold growing on me after months and months of rain! For the white Christmas’s every year. For the endless beauty of the mountains. Grateful for the chance to see wildlife almost every day, either in my yard or while driving around the area. And that wild life is not a rat! Awesome that I don’t have to wake up each day to another shooting in Surrey!!! Thankful to live in one of the most beautiful places in BC if not the country.”

And last but not least, my American Husband: “The proximity to beautiful, natural wonders and the solitude of nature. I appreciate the welcoming I’ve received from a close knit small town. Cranbrook is super friendly. Also very few drive by shootings … haha.”

I’m sure he also meant to mention that he was thankful for me.   Must have slipped his mind.

Personally, I am grateful every day for this beautiful city. I did most of my growing up here and though I have flown away a few times, I always come back. Cranbrook is a wonderful place to call home, to raise my child, to build friendships, to enjoy 4 glorious seasons and to explore nature.

Cranbrook makes it easy to maintain the attitude of gratitude, on Thanksgiving and every other day of the year.

(Originally published in http://www.e-know.ca/)

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

It has been a quiet summer for pastlifetourist.com, as a few of you may have noticed.  Maybe some of you imagined I had taken a leave of absence from life and was basking in the sun somewhere with a cool drink in hand and many cabana boys jumping to do my bidding.

Alas, no.

However, despite the lack of cabana boys and sandy beaches, I am happy to tell you that my summer has been quite spectacular.  Life changing really.

Funny thing happened.  Back when I was writing the Daily Halo and Weekly Halo-Scopes, the same messages kept coming up over and over and over.  Being the smart cookie that I am I eventually figured out that maybe those messages were meant for me, and not just the people who subscribed to them.

The messages were all the same.  Time to make a change.  Move on and follow your dreams.  Trust in the beauty of your dreams.  Make the leap of faith.

During that time I was working a day job that did not fulfill me, and being overscheduled, stressed and getting those nasty little frowny lines at the corners of my mouth.  Not a good thing.  So one day, while bemoaning my circumstances for the gajillionth time to my long suffering and patient American Husband, he said something that made absolute and perfect sense.

“Why don’t you just quit?  If you don’t try your healing business and writing now, when will you?”  What a wise guy, am I right?  If not now, when?

And so I gave notice at my job (which was a perfectly nice job, just not MY job) and jumped into a life of self employed exhilaration two weeks later.

Funny thing about taking a leap of faith:  every time I have taken the leap (every single time), my wings magically appear and I can fly.  Every.  Single.  Time.  And this was no exception.  As soon as I made my quiet little announcement on Facebook that I would be open for business, people started to show up.  And not just clients (though those have been coming in droves, for which I am eternally grateful!) but other people.  People I didn’t even know I would need, people who could be supportive or helpful, all started showing up, offering assistance.

 “If you advance confidently in the direction of your own dreams, and endeavor to live the life which you have imagined, you will meet with a success unimagined in common hours.”  Henry David Thoreau

My days now consist of doing what feels right and important.  I work with clients doing Reiki, Regressions and Readings, and am blessed with a thriving practice.  I host workshops on angels, past lives, and all sorts of soul stuff with my beautiful friend Erin from clumsygrace.com .

I got to do readings at an Angel Tea Party this week!  Can you even imagine how fun that is?

And the coolest thing of all is that I have taken time this summer to finally finish my book, Pieces of Me, Memoirs of a Past Life Tourist, which will be released this fall.  Stay tuned to this space for exciting cover reveal and release dates.  (AAAHHHHH!!!!!!)

I am living the life of my dreams.  It took a long time to trust that I could make this change, but now that it’s done I wonder why the heck I didn’t do  it sooner.

So please my friends:  Anyone who is standing at the edge wondering if it is safe to finally jump… go for it.  Leap with all of your mighty faith and feel those beautiful wings appear.  They’ve been there all along, just waiting for a chance to fly.

Hello, Again

phone

I was driving home from work one day, stop and go, hurry up and wait and I had found that blissful space between leaving the mad, fast pace of work and before landing in the mad, fast pace of home.  I was just floating along, enjoying some CBC 2 and letting the thoughts and worries of the day evaporate.  I don’t admit this to many people, but I really enjoy a good traffic jam.  Being locked in place makes it impossible to do anything but relax and get into that in-between space of meditation, visualization, daydreaming.

I like travel days for the very same reason.

 And doing dishes.

And folding laundry.    Just me?  Really?

So anyways,  I was sitting there, happily zoning when someone whispered in my ear.  Tingles shot up my spine and all along my scalp.  My breath caught and I half laughed, half gasped.  “Wha..!?”

Again the whisper, words as clear as if spoken aloud:  “I sent you a present.  You will receive it tonight.”  I recognized the voice, a voice I hadn’t heard for several years.  A voice I missed terribly.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am fairly used to hearing from my dead friends and relatives.  Quite often they send me things like feathers, and song lyrics.  Sometimes they make the street lights go on right when I am looking at them.  Sometimes they make hummingbirds fly right up to me and look me in the eye.  I’ve even had them whisper messages to me, but never before had it been so loud and clear.

“Hey there, friend.  I’ve missed you”  I whispered back, then got that weird smiling through tears thing.   For the rest of the crawl home, I wondered what this present might be.

I didn’t have to wait long.  I stopped to pick up the mail and there was indeed a big, exciting package in there, addressed to me.  What could it be?  I didn’t recognize the return address and had not ordered anything.  I got home quickly, dumped my stuff on the floor and grabbed some scissors to open the package.

I slipped my hand inside.  It was a book!  I pulled it out, froze for just a moment, then started laughing nearly hysterically.

It was The First Phone Call From Heaven by Mitch Albom.

WTF?!  The book wasn’t even released yet.  I knew that because I had been eagerly anticipating the publishing date.  And yet here I was holding a copy in my hot little hand.  The jacket was not complete, and had things like “insert Author bio here” and stuff like that, but the pages were full and I could hardly wait to start reading it.

How the heck did my beautiful, deceased friend pull this off?  This was a mind boggling mystery.  A real life, honest to goodness, knock your socks off miracle!   And to this day I have no idea why this book was sent to me, or what forces came together to bring me that precious gift.

What it did was solidify my belief that our deceased friends and loved ones are always with us.  The more we trust their signs and gifts, the more they will work to bring us their messages.  Trusting what we see and hear is the first step to opening those lines of communication.  Once we remove the voice of doubt that tells us this is just coincidence or that our imagination is getting carried away, once we open to the possibilities that this is really something, then we will begin to truly open to the communications.  Our loved ones have been knocking on the door, trying to get our attention.  If we start to pay attention we will be amazed at what we notice.

So when you smell your Grandma’s lavender hand cream, or see that the photograph on the mantel of your deceased relative has moved, or find feathers in the strangest places, or dimes and pennies keep showing up, or even when you get a book about Heaven randomly sent to you for no reason,  smile and say hello.  They are.

It Takes a Village

RodO
RodO… photo courtesy of Jasmine Osiowy

“A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” Henry Brooks Adams

As originally published in e-Know:

Mount Baker Wild Theatre’s spring musical production of the Drowsy Chaperone played May 7th at the Keys City Theatre. For those who have enjoyed the amazing Baker productions for the past many years, they will know this play marked the close of an era. The youngest group of students who had the privilege of working with the late, great Rod Osiowy are getting ready to graduate.

Rod was a special teacher. He believed in expanding and opening the high school’s theatre productions to include the whole community. It was not uncommon to see the chorus or main characters being played by local business people, clergy, and other pillars of society. And Rod encouraged children from the local elementary and middle schools to join the casts. Rod called it stocking the farm team. He knew that the love of theatre, when instilled at a young age, would carry through into the teen years. By the time the children who began performing as young as 5 years old got to high school, they would be seasoned performers, ready for whatever challenge Rod might throw their way.

10400470_77434084460_833262_n
RodO and Evan… Photo courtesy of Jasmine Osiowy

Grease, Beauty and the Beast, Jesus Christ Superstar, Anything Goes, Seussical and Les Miserables, just to name a few, Rod Osiowy along with his partner in crime, Musical Director Evan Bueckert managed to create theatrical experiences far exceeding the expectation for a high school production. But more than that, Rod taught each person who worked with him the importance of being a part of the team.

It was a grand tradition. Opening night of each show Rod gave the Village speech. It went something like this:

A high school production is like a village. All sorts of people are part of the village. You have the Mayor and Council members, who look after the townsfolk and make sure that things are fair for everyone. There are the law makers and the ones who enforce them. There are trades people and artisans, builders and business people. All of the townsfolk are vital, important and have their own unique purpose. And of course you have the lovable village idiot (and Rod would point to himself, causing great gales of laughter). The thing about a village is that every person is important and nobody matters more or less than anyone else. We work together for the success of the village and we remember that the energy we bring will affect everyone. Attitudes are contagious, so make sure yours is worth catching.

Important life lessons from Rod Osiowy.

Tessa Charlton who played Mrs. Tottendale in the Drowsy Chaperone recalls: “Rod had a way of making everyone feel special. I loved to be the center of attention but Rod helped facilitate that diva in me in a productive way. Towards the end of one of the rehearsals we had for Beauty and the Beast, Rod approached me and complimented my eye for the number we had just been working on and asked if I’d address the cast with my opinion on what we needed to work on. I felt like the most special kid in the world, even If I was just an 11 year old kid playing a dancing tea cup.”

And Eve Sperling remembers: “He always knew how to make us laugh and he was so easygoing but just strict enough to keep all us hooligan kids under control. He always had a smile on his face and a joke ready, and he remembered everyone’s names, even if they were a small chorus part that to anyone else would be ‘insignificant’.”

The Village metaphor is kept alive and well by the young people who worked with Rod, carrying on a legacy of inclusion and mentorship. Tyrel Hawke, who graduated several years ago, has returned to the area to work as an RN at the Cranbrook & District Hospital. Hawke volunteered as the vocal coach and pianist for the production.

DSC_1179(1)
Tyrel Hawke… photo by Julian Bueckert

“Quite often I’m asked why I volunteer my time for this program, and my answer is pretty simple. During the awkward point of my life I call high school, Rod and Evan took hundreds of hours out of their lives to spend with kids like myself and help us create something amazing. This led to confidence and purpose for me during high school and careers and opportunities ever since. Rod had a way of making each one of us feel special and that we can always try harder to achieve something great. I am forever indebted to Rod, Evan, and the Baker arts program. I’m still stopped occasionally by people saying, ‘aren’t you that Jean Valjean boy?’ ten years after we did Les Mis. I do these shows for the spirit of Rod, my younger self, and these kids that have a lot more drive and dedication than many adults I know.”

Bethany Turcon is the new Drama Teacher at Mount Baker and was the Director of the Drowsy Chaperone. This was Turcon’s first experience as a director and she managed to create a production worthy of all that have come before. Along with Evan Bueckert and Stephanie Tichauer, and a host of other fine and dedicated designers, musicians, technicians and volunteers, Ms. Turcon created another Village, one that lived up to the legacy created by Rod Osiowy.

Everyone should have a teacher as great as Rod Osiowy. Thankfully his legacy lives on in the fine work and dedication of the students and colleagues who carry on in the village he created.

Past Life Tour Guide

cropped-flight.jpg

In the fall of 2011 I spent an amazing, life altering week at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York at the Past Life Regression Training Seminar.   The workshop, led by best selling author and ground breaking psychiatrist Dr. Brian Weiss, was the beginning of a fantastic journey for me.  Now I am honored to help facilitate that journey for many others.

A client of mine, Diane, has written about her regression experience with me  and has graciously allowed me to share it here.  This was done over Skype and was a profound and wonderful session.  Please, enjoy:

After visiting my beautiful garden full of lush flowers I walk across a bridge in the fog-

So begins my past life regression led by Brenda, via Skype. I am in Portland Oregon, USA and she is in Cranbrook Canada.

I see my feet in sandals, on a floor of big stones. I am an adult male wearing some kind of robe garment, my fingers are short and strong. I wear some gold jewelry and I know I am a leader. My life is abundant with two wives, and many children. I am in my home which is higher than others and later I realize it is in Mexico- perhaps Mayan. 

Brenda asks to see what message this past life has for me: I see myself standing above a crowd of hundreds of people. I am holding a scepter, I have authority and power, I am satisfied and content. I tell Brenda that I am feeling fear and don’t want to remember other things, she reassures me. I know that my decisions or actions lead many people to die; slaves or prisoners. I am overwhelmed with sadness about this and know that I felt that some in the past life and as I do remembering.

Brenda takes me to the end of the life. I am old, surrounded by my family who loves and respects me. I have a son there who is my successor. We are very close and connected. I love him very much. I am lying in a bed and dying of old age. I am happy, complete. My life was good.

Brenda asks me to see the moment when I leave the life. I am met with a big beautiful bright light. I meet many who I killed and they are all there to tell me that it was all in right alignment. They do not hold judgment. I did not kill people out of a misuse of my power. I was courageous, knew right action and did what was in alignment with the highest and best for all. My spirit guides were incredibly proud of me and let me know that I lived my life well. I am met with joy and celebration for how I lived.

As I am telling Brenda what is happening I am crying. I did not abuse the power I was given in that life. I used my power with courage and compassion. My choices which led others to die were what had to happen. At this point I have tears coming down my cheeks.

Brenda tells me to ask my highest self what lessons I can take from remembering that lifetime. I am told to hold the memory of how courageous I was. That I made the choices I had to while in alignment with what I was called to do. I was told to remember that I have the power to say and do whatever I need to – as a leader. I am to hold the vision of myself with the scepter in my hand. I have the authority to lead and make hard decisions. She asked if there were any last messages and I was told, wisdom. I have wisdom and Brenda asked where in my body that was and I felt it in my heart. My wisdom is full of compassion and love.

Authority, Power, Ability, Wisdom, Courage

She tells me to ask what my next steps are to achieve my calling. I am told to continue what I am doing, that I am on the right track, be courageous, bold. I am given again the vision of my past life standing over hundreds of people holding that scepter; I have the authority to act when it is in alignment. I can courageously take powerful actions from wisdom and compassion.

Thank you Brenda! That was a great experience for me that I know it will support me. Diane R.

Amazing, amazing memories!  Thank you so much for sharing, Diane.  While each person’s experience of past life regression is unique, clients universally claim profound healing effects and deeper understanding to underlying issues in their present lives.  Past life regression is a life changing experience, one that I highly recommend.

Me with Dr. Brian Weiss
Me with Dr. Brian Weiss

So, if you feel like taking a trip and need a tour guide, email me at pastlifetourist@gmail.com.

I’m always happy to help.