Past Life Tour Guide

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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.

Then Something Weird Happened

“Miracles come in moments. Be ready and willing.” Dr. Wayne W. Dyer

Fourteenth row.  I can’t believe how close we are to the stage.  Was I even this excited when I saw Billy Joel perform live in Calgary back in 88?  Checking the time I see that it is only a few moments to show time.  I look up and there he is!   Walking down the stairs, just as casual as can be in his shorts and T-shirt, he shakes a few hands, gives a hug then signs something.  He chats a bit then moves closer to the stage.  As the announcer walks to the microphone I see him smile and wave at a few people.  ” Ladies and Gentlemen, blah-d-blah blah……… Dr. Wayne Dyer!”  The crowd roars.  I am personally doing the bouncy clap, trying desperately not to hoot, whistle or throw any undergarments at the stage, which to my mind would probably not be deemed appropriate behavior at a lecture on Spirituality. 

Dr. Dyer saved my life.  I can’t honestly say that I would be who or where I am today if it hadn’t been for his books, his teachings, or the mesmerizing quality of his lectures.  I had recently been through some very traumatic stuff and through it all Dr. Wayne was the life line for me. He followed me through my days, his voice repeating words over and over from the tinny speakers of my MacBook.  His teachings on Inspiration, Intention and fulfilling our personal Dharma had been the bricks in the path that led me away from despair and showed me that I had everything within me that I needed to heal, survive and thrive. 

I had really wanted to go on his tour of Holy sites in Europe, but the cost had been prohibitive.  Regardless, I knew that the Universe had ways and means beyond my small human thinking that could make this miracle happen for me.  So I just did what Dr. Wayne says to do.  I set the intention.  “I intend to experience the miraculous with Dr. Wayne.” And then I left it up to the great Divine Mind to figure out the hows, wheres and whens.

As with most miracles, this one knocked my socks off.  I had planned to drive to Kelowna, a city about 7 hours away by car, to take my daughter for a music festival.  I was talking to my Mom, asking her if we would be able to stay with them while we were there.  Dad mumbles something in the background. Mom says “Dad wants to know if you want to go see Dr. Wayne Dyer in Vernon while you are here.” 

Well slap my ass and call me Judy!  Did he just say THE DR. WAYNE will be mere moments away from me while I am in Kelowna?? Needless to say I booked our tickets that very night, and didn’t sleep a wink between that day and THE day of the event.  (I told you a million times not to exaggerate).

You see, when somebody reaches across the page and touches a soul, that person can tend to gain a little bit of rock star status.  At least he did for me.  That would account for my nearly rapturous state at the lecture that evening. 

The events that occurred that evening count as some of the most bizarre, magical moments of my life.  On reflection I believe that what allowed it all to unfold the way it did was my state of pure openness.  I was of a mind and a heart that was open to everything and attached to nothing.  It was that magical state that allowed the veil to slip open for me, giving me a glimpse of eternity I never in my wildest dreams would imagine seeing.

Dr. Wayne began to speak, his deep soothing voice moving from topic to topic, easily inserting interesting and pertinent quotes and funny stories.  He is engaging to watch, a true master of public speaking.  My senses seemed to narrow and all of the people around me, the auditorium, everything faded so that it was just me watching him. 

And then something weird happened.

A large white light seemed to extend from his form and surround him.  It was a huge aura of energy, moving with him so that he seemed to be dancing in the light.  I was mesmerized.  At first I wondered if I might be getting a migraine headache.  I’ve had those in the past and they sometimes created the light effects similar to what I was seeing.  I looked around me to see if the aura was anywhere else, but it wasn’t.  That is when I knew I was seeing something very special indeed.  I was seeing the spirit and not just the man. 

My eyes were swimmy with tears but I couldn’t stop grinning.  This was the most awesome light show ever!  Better than any rock show.  My love dial was turned up to eleven.

Dr. Wayne started to talk about St. Francis of Assisi.  He had written about St. Francis in his book There’s a Spiritual Solution To Every Problem.    Although I hadn’t yet read that book I had always felt a great affinity for St. Francis and the prayer based on his teachings, Lord let me be an instrument of thy peace.  Such beautiful teachings, pure in the spirit of Divine Love and service.  I watched as Dr. Wayne became immersed in the passion of the teachings, his excitement evident in his voice and actions.

Then something really weird happened.

The man, Dr. Wayne Dyer, phased out of my sight and in his place stood Francis of Assisi.  He was very thin, dressed in tattered monks robes with a fringe of hair around his otherwise bald head.  His face was unlike any I had seen depicted in the frescoes and paintings of St. Francis.  He did not wear the anguish of a martyr in his demeanor and expression.  To the contrary.  His face glowed with rapturous joy.  It was the most sacred thing I have ever witnessed and even now, years later as I remember it brings me to tears. 

It lasted for only a few seconds but the impression it left has changed my life.

Soon it was time for an intermission.  Dad, my date for the evening, went off to stretch his legs.  I sat quietly amid the sounds of hundreds of people milling about.  Closing my eyes I took a deep breath and tried to assimilate what had just happened.  Was that real?  Did I just see what I thought I did?  Or has the cheese slipped off my cracker? 

A soft touch on my hand startled me and my eyes flew open.  Sitting next to me was a very lovely older woman.  She grasped my hand and stared deeply into my eyes.  I smiled back, a bit startled, but was fascinated by her eyes.  They were so young looking in such an aged face.  Sparkling green, they seemed somehow familiar.  Did I know her?

“I couldn’t stop watching you.  You were shining.  It was as if a light was glowing from you.” She smiled at me and I felt like I was seeing somebody I knew really well but had forgotten for some reason.  The connection between us was intense, like instant love, just add water.

We began to talk, our words melding, completing each others’ thoughts, talking about important things like God, and love and how we are all connected, about angels and friendships and family.  We talked for the whole intermission and when Dr. Wayne climbed back on stage, she left my side to sit further in the row.  Our conversation was not finished, I decided.  As soon as this was over I would get her contact info so that we could resume our connection.

The second half of the evening was even better than the first.  Everyone in the building could feel the energy and Dr. Wayne was as good as I have ever seen him.  The aura was back, bigger than ever and I felt myself once again drawn by his words to moments of pure, inspired Truth. 

He began talking about his year of living the Tao. For one year he gave up almost all of his worldly possessions  and studied the Tao Te Ching, an 81 verse teaching that was purportedly written in the 6th Century BC by the Chinese Master, Lao Tzu.  In the book, Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life,  Dr. Dyer wrote 81 essays, one for each verse of the Tao.  As Dr. Wayne was discussing these teachings he was once again caught up in the passionate message he was delivering.  The words flowed seamlessly, carrying the messages of Lao Tzu. 

Then something really, really weird happened. 

Dr. Wayne’s physical form seemed to fade into the white aura that surrounded him and he became the form of Lao Tzu.  He had long white hair, braided down his back and wore a simple blue tunic.  He had facial hair, long and sparse, and the Asian features of the great master.  He emanated true wisdom and peace.  I could barely breathe.

Again the image only lasted a few moments, but they were some of the most powerful moments I’ve ever experienced.

What was happening?  And was I the only one who saw this??  I turned to look at my Dad but he didn’t seem overly weirded out.  I looked down the row and everyone was in passive listening mode, all eyes turned toward the stage.  With the noted exception of my new friend that is.  Her twinkly green eyes peered down the row at me and we smiled at each other.

Dr. Dyer talked for another hour or so, powerful messages, good laughs and everything a person could hope for from an evening with the man.  We stood up and applauded at the end and as soon as he had left the stage I turned toward my new friend, anxious to get her email address or phone number. 

And then something really, really, really weird happened. 

She was gone. 

I searched the row, looking for her diminutive figure.  The seat she had occupied was empty and there was no way she could have left other than by crossing in front of me.  Where did she go?  And more importantly, was I losing my mind?

Ah what the heck.  Was a mind such a terrible thing to lose?

Dad and I left the venue and as we were pulling out of the parking space I happened to catch my own reflection up close in the rear view mirror and paused as I saw my own green eyes.  They were exactly the same as the  lady’s eyes.  No wonder they looked so familiar to me!

Mind = blown.  But in the best possible way, of course. 

The following few weeks were spent trying to make sense of what happened.  I shared the experience with my American Husband, my daughter and my best friend.  They each had differing theories on what the visions meant.  As far as the Dr. Wayne transformations there were a few schools of thought.  One was that Dr. Wayne had been both St. Francis and Lao Tzu in previous lifetimes.  (That was my vote)  Another was that he was so enraptured by the messages of these men that time kind of folded in on itself and they became One for a moment.   The third option lived silently in my mind and whispered that I was delusional and had better not talk about this because I would be judged as bat-shit crazy.

As far as my friend, the woman with my eyes… who could she be?  Was she an angel?  Was she me from the future (another fold in time)? Or was she me from a Parallel lifetime?  Jury is still out on this one, but I do know that she visits me in my dreams sometimes and it is always such a beautiful reunion.  I only spoke with her for a few minutes, but I have missed her ever since.

So here’s the thing.  When strange things happen to me I tend to keep them to myself, only sharing with a select few people.  I would like to say that I am independent of the good opinion of others, but truth be told, I fear the judgment.  (I’m working on it)

These events began to grow in my consciousness.  It seemed that every moment of the days following I would think about them, and a persistent voice was nagging me, like Patrick Swayze singing ”I’m Henry the Eighth I am” to Whoopie Goldberg, over and over and over.  This persistent, nagging voice kept telling me I must write a letter and tell Dr. Dyer what happened.

I ignored that voice of course. (WRITE THE LETTER). No way was I going to be THAT person!  (WRITE THE LETTER).  He would think I was wacko!  (WRITE THE LETTER).  Crazy as a spoon!  (WRITE THE LETTER).  Off my proverbial rocker! (WRITE THE LETTER).

I sat down at my computer and wrote the damn letter.  Without allowing myself to give it any further thought I found the address to Hay House Publishing in the back of Inspiration Your Ultimate Calling and stuffed the damn letter into the damn envelope, sealed it and dropped it in the damn mail box.

Whew.  Done.  I could breathe again.  Certain that my letter would never find the man, I went on with daily life, relieved that the nagging voice was stilled. 

Little did I know what the Universe had in store for me. 

You have one new message.  “Hello Brenda Babinski, this is Dr. Wayne Dyer……”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lavender

‘As Rosemary is to the Spirit, so Lavender is to the Soul.‘
–  Anonymous

Gnarled and spotted thumb draws circles upon the worn linen sachet.  Careful, careful, I remind myself.  The yellowed fabric now so thin the contents easily bleeds through.  Thin and yellowed, like my skin.  And yet I still live.  Wretched.

I sit on the straight back chair, watching death as it hovers ever near.  This time my husband, Gaspard, breath ragged and strained, lost already in the deep sleep of death but with a body that, ever so stubborn, continues its functions.  How many hours have I sat waiting for death to come and take somebody I love?  I absently stroke the sachet as my mind counts Maman, Papa, young Pierrette, Grandmere finally at 102, and now Gaspard.  All these years I sit and wait for death to come, jealous each time that I am not the quarry.  What cruel God keeps me healthy and breathing?  What cruel God gives me nearly half a century of living after my soul has died?

I brush a bit of lavender dust from the fragile fabric of the sachet, thin as moth wings, powdery.  I lift my hand and breath in, hoping the scent will come, but that scent was rend many years back.  Another time of grief.

There was a dream.  He had been steps away from me in a fog and I chased after him, calling his given name, a name I never dared to have uttered in my waking moments.  I called and called in my dream but he remained just out of sight.  When I awoke I tried to bring his image to my mind but found it had gone.  I panicked then, trying to remember the turn of his jaw, the shape of his brow, the shine in his brown eyes, but he was not to be found.   He was ten years in the earth by then, but I grieved again as if it were a day.  His image, the face I fell in love with, gone forever.  That was another bad year.  The scent of the lavender survived a bit longer, but it too has faded from the world.

My other memories remain viciously clear.  I remember the moment he placed three sprigs, freshly stolen from the botanist below deck into my bare hand.  He was full of mischief, laughing about his crime.  Our fingers brushed and we both held our breath.  My face was reddened and I hid my fluster behind my fan when Gaspard joined us at the rail.  Gaspard did not come above deck often, finding his sea legs were far too uncertain, but on this day he had managed.

“A few days to port.  I am very eager to see land once more,” Gaspard spoke cordially to M. du Pre.  The gentlemen settled in to talk with cigars at the rail and I made my way to the state room to attend the children.  We embarked from home five years hence with three children in tow and since that time three more have joined our family.  The seventh was waiting for home soil.  Swollen with child I berated myself once more.  How could I be tempted so when I was matron, wife, mother, dutiful member of polite society?  And M. du Pre and his beautiful, childless, yellow haired bride, with a waist easily spanned by his long tapered fingers, how could I be so foolish as to believe he would even glance my way?

And yet.

We could not stop our eyes from finding each other and once found, to linger, seeking depths never before known.  I feared that others around us must be aware of our racing hearts for the beating was profound.  Oh I had noticed him looking, searching the dining room, the deck, and then setting eyes upon me, his seeking would end.  And my eyes drawn to him as if I had sight unseen, knowing when he was near, yet uncertain how I knew.  Two flames drawn together, but belonging to separate chandelabre.  We could not seem to resist, though we both knew that the fire would destroy us.

I hid the lavender in my sleeve, and later dried it carefully on the windowsill.

Moments, so few, I replayed them over and over through the years until they became dust.  What words did he not speak?  Handing me down the gangway, his kerchief over his hand lest our skin touch, he looked into my eyes for the last time.  Loosening his grip on the cloth he released it to my care,  a secret gift.  His monogram, AdP stitched into the corner was tucked carefully inside the sachet so that only I can tell that this, and I, once belonged to him.

These two gifts, the lavender and the cloth, sewn together and tucked next to my heart now for forty eight years, are all that I have left of him.  He and I never spoke of love.  We never even spoke our given names.  Propriety won out.  But we did love, of that I am most certain, though that has not always been the case.  I had many moments through the years when I would doubt his feelings, and convince myself that I had imagined the whole thing, read nuance where there was none, or brought my own feelings to bear where his were devoid.  Perhaps he was just polite, being attentive to the matronly passenger who sought the fresh sea air as he did.  Those were some of my worst moments, so much worse than the silent screaming grief that I carried with me.  Did he love me as I loved him?

When we parted, he spoke of reuniting upon his return from Polynesia.  He spoke of a time when we would drink cognac in a parlor and he could tell of his great adventure.  He held my hand a moment longer than necessary and I saw his mouth move, a silent word unspoken.  Olivia.

I smiled politely, waiting until the children and I were in the carriage and had moved beyond his sight before I shrugged behind my veil and allowed tears.

The first parting, ever bittersweet with longing and hope.

The second parting was much worse.  He lived within my heart those next few months, alive in my thoughts every moment of the day.  He was with me when I gave birth to my son, and in all of the moments I sat in a sunny window alone with my memories.  Sewing him in every stitch of the sachet, I could feel him warm against my beating heart, a tender secret.  A whispered maybe.

News of his death was a black feather, stark and surprising, landing softly at my feet.  A parlor filled with smoke and laughter.  Talk of news and gossip interwoven with the steady hum of nonsensical chatter.  Smile affixed I feigned interest in something, my thoughts at the rail, a hint of lavender rising from my bosom.  A word across the room caught my attention.  Polynesia.  I tilted my head toward the speaker, a man addressing a group of others.

“… findings that the expedition made luckily were salvaged.  At the very least he kept good notes.  Terrible shame.  Young widow.”

Voices like ice pellets. Scattered words.

“du Pre leaves a great legacy”…”death on foreign soil”…”young man with great potential”…”dead”.

I rushed across the room, my skirts waves upon the stillness.  “Tell me.  What is this you are saying?” Men staring at me with surprise, but answering my question despite my impropriety.

Anton du Pre was dead, they said.  As was my soul, perished that very day.

Several hands caught me as I swooned and I was removed hastily to the confines of my bed, where I stayed for many days and nights.  When I finally arose it was to begin life as one already dead.  Years passed and no day was spent without thought of him.  I played and replayed our moments together, imagining what I could have said, should have said, and wondering what he wanted to say but didn’t.

A widow with no weeds. A grief with no voice.  A silence so loud and hot and full of tears that some days I could not rouse myself to leave my bed.

I persisted in my duties, smiling at the successes, romances, weddings and lives of my children and cooing at the births of theirs.  I craved the sleep of dreams to once again be with him, for his visits were infrequent, but offered vivid color against the spectrum of gray and brown that was the waking world.  Years of living but not.  Years spent sitting the death watch for so many, but never for the one who mattered.

Gaspard releases a rattling breath and I wake from my reverie.  His face has turned gray, lips parted and purple.  It will not be long now.  Soon he will win the death that I covet.

My hand squeezed the sachet involuntarily and I feel it disintegrate in my hand.  I cry out in despair as I see the fine dust escape the shattered linen and fall to the floor.  A fine whiff of scent, a death knell.  Lavender at last.  I inhale with a shudder.

My gnarled hand releases the fabric. As it floats to the ground I finally see his face, clear as the day I last saw him standing on the pier.  He is staring into my eyes and trying to convey a thousand words with one look.  I reach to touch his face and see that my hand is no longer the hand of an old woman but is once again young and soft.  At last.  At long last.  Years of aching sadness release on a breath and I ride the beating of my heart to the next world.

 

The Senses Awaken

“Lose your mind and come to your senses.” Frederick Salomon Perls

My American Husband and I were long distance friends for about a year before we finally met face to face.  We had been members of an online community of movie lovers who started as strangers from all around the globe and ended up finding each other as friends, lovers, spouses, and eventually even co-parents.  We called ourselves the Movie Regs and met every evening for conversation, trivia games and laughter.  For a single Mom, this was the only social life I had the time or money for, and it was surprisingly fulfilling.

After a year of emails and phone calls, we finally decided to meet for a 5 day getaway in Idaho.  We figured that if the chemistry was good and our friendship was meant to blossom into something more, the 5 days would be sufficient to determine that.  In reality, 5 minutes would have been enough because our chemistry was most definitely good.  It took us an hour to get out of the Spokane airport because we kept have to stop and kiss on each other.

Too much information?  Probably.

On our second day in Idaho we stopped at a local market and picked up some fresh fruit to have for dessert.  Ranier cherries, plump, yellow and pink, and redolent of that amazing scent that perfectly ripe cherries have.  We ate them warm while sitting outside in the sunshine.  We spit the pits off into the bushes, and didn’t mind too much when our hands and lips got a bit sticky with the juice.  They were succulent.  The perfect food.

To me,  Ranier Cherries taste how falling in love feels.

Our senses hold so many memories. The smell of baking apple pie is a visit from my Grandma.  My American Husband can’t hear “I Shot the Sheriff” without remembering his Dad (“What kind of song is this? What is this world coming to??”) And the sound of a spoon dragging along the top of a bowl of cheerios, dunking them in milk, well… you know who you are.

But what about those sense memories that harken to other lifetimes?  My Dad has had vivid memories of a lifetime in the Incan Empire since he was a tiny boy.  He won’t wear the color red.  He hates the taste of cornmeal.  His senses remember what happened centuries ago and he carries those memories in the sights, and tastes of this present time.

For me, the sight and scent of apple blossoms bring back a flood of happiness from a time I lived  a gentle, loving life as Constance Willoughby.  And the smell of dust in the dry air make me remember how it feels to choke with asthma, though I have perfect, healthy lungs.  I get anxiety from the sight, smell, taste and feel of saffron.  These things belie logic and make me wonder how many memories from other lifetimes are stored in these senses of mine.

Curiosity piqued, I intend to do a little experimenting.  I have a sense memory tangled up in lavender.  I have no idea why it is, but when I smell or see lavender I am filled with such a deep sadness or maybe a better word is longing.  Why does lavender (and no other flowers, purple or otherwise) create this reaction in me?  Is this a past life sense memory?

I aim to find out.  During my past life travels I have determined that if I set my intention to find out a specific answer to a question (Like why do I have stage fright?  Or when did I have a past life with this person? etc. etc.), I typically end up going to the lifetime that best provides the perfect answer.  With that in mind I will do a regression tonight, setting the intention to find out what this association with lavender is all about.   Why such a visceral reaction to an otherwise lovely flower?  Inquiring minds want to know.  If anything of interest comes up I will be sure to write about it in tomorrow’s blog.

Where will Brenda’s travels take her next?  Find out on the next episode of…. Past Life Tourist.

Don’t touch that dial.

 

Past Life Tour Guide

As you may be able to tell by the many memories I have shared in this blog, I really enjoy being a past life tourist.  Exploring other lifetimes and remembering the lessons learned  has been incredibly healing and a great guide to me in this life.

The next natural step may be the most exciting of all though, and that is to take on the role of Past Life Tour Guide.  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 learning how to help others access those memories that make up who we are.  The workshop, led by Dr. Brian Weiss and Carole Weiss, was the beginning of a fantastic journey for me.  Now I am hoping to help facilitate that journey for others out there, who may be wondering what came before.

My friend, Diane has written about her regression experience with me  and has graciously allowed me to share it here.  Even though this was done over Skype it was still 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.

So, if you feel like taking a trip and need a tour guide, give me a jingle.  I’m always happy to help.

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Fly me to the moon, and let me play among the stars ~ Bart Howard

 

 

 

 

 

The Empty Chair

The table is set with the finest china and crystal.  My Izzy has outdone herself.  She works diligently to keep our family happy during this holiday season, though in the moments she allows herself to be still she suffers the pain of her broken heart.  She cloaks herself in noise and chaos to keep such moments at bay.

It has been a day of delightful surprises.  Shiny coins hidden away for the children to happen upon.   A lovely red cardinal for Izzy and the girls singing through the kitchen window, bright red against the bleak winter.  And now a fresh blanket of snow to brighten the dark night.

The family sits.   William, my son,  looks diminished somehow, as if the past year has taken some of the air out of him.  His wife, Clara fusses over their daughters, tying bibs and settling them in.   Faith and  Temperance pass bowls of steaming vegetables and soft white buns.  Hudson and Hinton argue with good nature over who shall carve.  Hinton, the eldest, prevails.  The older grandchildren giggle at their tiny table, set beside the fireplace while the younger babes are tended next to their parents.   All have gathered for the feast.  It is a typical scene, one we’ve acted out so many times before, but this time there is a great difference.  This time the room is filled with the presence of the empty chair.  Nobody speaks of it but its presence will not be denied.  They carve, and serve and pour and cut and sip and laugh and talk, comforting sights and sounds.  Their faces glow in the shimmering candle light, tentative joy, tentative sorrow.

I wonder if they know how happy I am to have them all here.

Hinton, my son, finally raises his glass.  His face freezes as he fights emotion.   After a moment he smiles, and toasts the empty chair.  The others join him.   Family.  We come together in good times and in bad.  We share the love and laughter and we hold each other tightly through the tears.

“To our lovely Mother, may her spirit rest.  There is surely a feast in Heaven tonight!”  They smile.   They tap their glasses and wipe their tears.  And soon the memories start and there is laughter.

I sit here in this empty chair, abiding love.  Yes … there truly is a feast in Heaven tonight.

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A Ticket to Ride

“Why are all of your past lifetimes so bleak and traumatic?” asks my American Husband.  Yes he has a point.  I suppose that when a person is looking to explore past lives to effect any kind of healing then that person is bound to dig up lifetimes of tragedy and impact.  I had been at the Omega resort for 3 very intense days when I made the conscious decision that I needed a break from all of the drama and trauma.  Reliving lifetimes like this and this had taken a huge emotional toll on me and I was exhausted.  So that Wednesday afternoon when Dr. Weiss took us on a soul journey, I set my intention to deliberately experience a lifetime that was uneventful and just…. happy.

That is when I met Constance Willoughby.  Constance lived in the early 1800’s somewhere in the New England area.  She had a lovely life where there were no wars and no lost children, where everything played out in a most expected way.  She was sheltered and loved, first by her family of origin, and then by her husband and children.  When I decided to write about Constance’s lifetime I focused on her friendship with her maid, Izzy.  It was not a conventional friendship, but it was a deep and abiding one nonetheless.  While this was a normal, ordinary kind of life, it has quiet lessons that have served me well.  Lessons about love, and family, and friendship.

Every lifetime is like a different ride in an amusement park.   Some lifetimes we choose to ride the roller coaster, with all of the dramatic highs and lows, the terrifying drops and those gut wrenching moments when we are turned upside down and don’t know if we will survive.   Other times we choose to sit on the carousel and spin around and around until we either catch that brass ring or we just get dizzy and sick.  And then there are times, like Constance, that we choose to glide gently through the tunnel of love and just truly enjoy the ride.  All of the experiences have their own merits and the great thing is that we have unlimited tickets, so we get to try each and every ride as many times as we like.

And when we get to the end of the ride we arrive back where we started from, hop off  and say “Wow that was FUN!  Let’s go again!”

Alexandria- guest blog by Emily

My lungs are burning as I gasp for breath. I need to keep running or they will find me but my body is screaming at me to stop and rest. Thalia told me to meet her in the courtyard past the Bazaar. She told me not to get caught or I would be killed and she would be punished by the Christian soldiers. My heart is pounding as I skid around a corner in a full sprint. Screams echo from behind me as the attack reaches the center of the city. The sounds of millions of Jews being slaughtered will be the soundtrack of my nightmares. I speed up and pump my arms, propelling myself forward through the air trying to put some distance between me and the men trying to kill me.

An arm shoots out from the alley and wraps itself around my mouth and waist. I struggle but my eight year old frame is not big enough to fend off my attacker.

“Stop it Amahlya! It’s me!”

I quickly turn around and hug my best friend. Thalia smiles and strokes my hair, comforting me.

“It’s alright now, you’re safe.”

I look up at her and see the tears in her once bright eyes. I know she is terrified for me. I’m a Jew living in Alexandria and the Christian enforcers have declared the extermination of every Jew in the city, just as they had done with the Pagans years ago. Thalia’s family has been hiding me for several days now, protecting me and feeding me. If I live through this, I will be forever in their debt.

She grasps my arms and turns towards the great library. We skirt along the buildings’ canopies so as not to be seen from the attackers above. She pushes open the door and shoves me inside.

“Do not leave here until I come and get you. understand?”

I nod and back away from the door as she slams it closed. I sit down on the cold stone floor of the library and finally allow myself to cry. Millions of my people being slaughtered just outside this door, and my fate rests in the hands of a ten year old Christian girl and God. I close my eyes and begin to pray. I pray with every last bit of energy I have left in my small body for the souls of the men, and women, and children who were prematurely taken from this world. I pray that Thalia will return soon and that she will have a smile on her face and that she will tell me that everything is alright. I pray that Mama got away in the first stages of the attack and that she is somewhere safe but most of all I pray that they do not find me here tonight.

My eyes drift shut and I’m finally able to rest.

Crash! I spring up from underneath the stack of scrolls I had been sleeping in. I stand perfectly still and listen but the only sound I can hear is the thumping of my own heart beating out of my chest. I crouch behind a stack of old looking scrolls and stare at the door.

Hours pass but I remain in the same position. Not taking my eyes away from the set of large wooden double doors. My legs aching and screaming at me to change positions but still I remain unmoving.

Finally after what seemed like days, I stand from my uncomfortable position and stretch my sore legs. I dust myself off and come out from behind the shelf. I gather some scrolls and make myself a makeshift bed. Laying myself down I close my tired eyes, not even bothering with my prayers.

It goes on like this for days. The same routine, over and over. I’m beginning to wonder what has happened to Thalia. I am worried she has been caught or is in trouble because of me but I’m mostly worried because I have no food or water. I can feel myself getting weaker as the days go by. I begin hallucinating and dreaming that the Christians have found me or that they killed Thalia. The gruesome images dance behind my eyelids almost every night. I know that I can’t stay in here much longer and that I will have to go outside these doors so I gather the few things I have with me and pull my scarf over my head.

I walk up to the heavy doors, take a deep breath and push.

The harsh light turned everything white. I cover my eyes and wait for them to adjust. Those few moments of blissful ignorance is something that I thank god for. As my eyes become accustomed to the light I can finally make out the scene before me.

Bodies are stacked, one on top of the other. Their throats slit and the street running with blood. Their accusing eyes are open and staring into my soul, questioning why I am still alive while they are dead. They never look away, nor do I. I stand there frozen in shock. My cheeks feel warm and I reach up and realize I am crying. Sobs racked my body as I take a few steps towards my slaughtered kin. I kneel on the ground in front of an elderly woman, whose frail body is mutilated and covered in blood, and I grasp her hand in mine. I grieve for the loss of people I have never met. My hands and clothes becoming soaked in their blood as I cry out for their unjust executions.

Then a sharp pain goes through my back.

I rise up above my body and look around. A Christian soldier who had been stationed on the rooftop of a nearby house had spotted me and shot me with his arrow. I look around and see the souls of all those who have been killed in this violent attack. I spot Thalia’s soul amongst the many and she spots mine. We smile at each other and embrace. Together all of us rise up.