Past Lives

by Susan K Morrow | Dec 13, 2013 | Interesting Info, Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary

In reading Wishes Fulfilled by Dr. Wayne Dyer, I was very interested in a transcription of his experience in being past-life regressed with hypnosis.  And I remembered that I had written down one of my experiences with the same.

I’ve been regressed two or three times, and this is my account of one of those sessions.  As I understand it, most people recall one or two lives at most per session, but, as you’re about to read, I had several.  I don’t know if that’s because I am very suggestible or because I am psychic or what, but it’s pretty cool!

Interestingly, when I dug up this essay and re-read it, there was one life I did not recall at all, the 19th-century schoolteacher.  Also, I’ve removed the names of the people whom I know in my present life.

And finally, if you want to know more about past-lives, I cannot recommend strongly enough that you read Many Lives, Many Masters by Dr. Brian Weiss.

Past lives 8-28-08

Janet hypnotized me and these were the results:

I was walking through a yellow meadow.  Janet asked who I was.  I said I was a girl named Shayla (phonetic).  She asked how old I was and I said, “10”.  I suddenly sounded young.  Janet asked what I was wearing and I looked down to see that I had a pinafore and I said, “I’m a little Dutch girl!”  Janet asked if I even had wooden shoes and I answered that, “Yes.  We’re going to a festival.”

My father was holding my hand.  He was a woodcutter.  He gave me a doll that he had carved and it was a wooden man with hinged arms and legs that moved.  I’m happy, but my father is sad.  He’s sad because my mother died.  I cry a little bit now.  Then we go to the festival.  I can see the whole gathering area, which consists of a clearing in the woods, a church building and one other building (the parsonage?) and several temporary things for the festival.  My father leaves me to go work, either building a bonfire or selling things he has made, I’m not sure.  I see my friend, a little boy, and he brings me an apple.  He goes with me to watch me dance with the other girls.

Janet asks if I recognize him.  He’s “J” in this life.  This makes me laugh in surprise.

Next, I see a woman in a red cloak, sitting along the path in the woods.  It turns out that I am she.  I have wonderful gifts.  I deliver the babies in the village and all around.  Janet asks where I am.  I say it is now Turkey, but it was different then.  It’s heavily wooded and green.  There is a large town nearby.  I give herbs to people and I speak in a language that is for healing.  I go to the woods to talk to the animals.  The birds especially, because they fly around and look at everything far away and then come and tell me what’s going on.  Then I tell the people, so that they can be prepared for what’s happening.

Now I am afraid because the people have turned against me.  I can’t understand why they don’t like me anymore, they hate me, and they fear me.  I am so very sad because I keep saying, “I came to help.  I want to help.”  But now they won’t let me anymore, and I tried to protect them from war, but they are in danger now because they hate me now.  And I can’t help them.  I am so upset and sad about this, because I really love them and want to help them, I came to be this person so I could save them, but they will get hurt, get sick, and die because I can’t help them anymore.  And I am afraid, because they will kill me.

Janet took me out of my body to see what happened.  I don’t want to write it down.  But death was okay, because I left my body and went on and was okay.  This was the life (or one of them) where I learned that being well-known and inexplicably knowledgeable could be dangerous, painful, or make me feel unloved.

In the next life, I saw a thatched house on stilts.  A house of grass or reeds.  Janet asked if there was a river nearby.  Yes, it’s marshy.  It’s…  is it a rice paddy?  Yes, the people there work hard.  This life is not happy.  The house on stilts is the leader’s house.  I live in the house with him and I am a servant.  I am a little boy, and I work in the rice paddy too.  There is a famine and we have very little.  Everyone is always hungry.  I am fortunate because I am an orphan and the leader took me in instead of leaving me to starve.  It is not happy and I only work and sleep on the hard floor, eat a little, and work more.  But the leader is not unkind.  I ask what was the purpose or message about this life.  “Even in the most meager of circumstances, there is love.”  I ask if I know the village leader, and I realize it is David Neagle, whom I do not know personally in this life.

Now I am a man, a teacher, I think it is the middle ages, but I’m not sure…  I am the Teacher, the main one, and the last of my kind.  I have scribes who work for me, whom I teach to translate the scriptures.  I know all the languages and I list them:  Aramaic, Hebrew, Latin, Greek, German (I want to say Low German, but I think that term did not exist), Roman (I don’t know what this was—perhaps an early dialect of Italian), and an older language that I could not name.

I am often frustrated because I cannot get the scribes and students to understand the translations correctly, so there are many mistakes.  The mistakes continue until none of it is correct.  We are in what is nowEastern Europe.  Many other students come from the east (Western Russia?Hungary?), their best and brightest, from the mountains (Ural?), where we recruit the best students.  I send messages and ask for more, but they are never bright enough to learn what I know.

Still, this is a very positive life.  I am special, I am the Teacher.  I understand the frustration Jesus felt, because the people could not understand the depths in the simplicity of his teaching.  I am the last of my kind, the last to understand the ancient languages that were passed down to me through generations of my family and/or teachers.

I like being so knowledgeable, I like being the one who knows everything.  I like teaching and I love my students and scribes.  As I grow old, I go blind, but I have a helper, a young man.  He is now “C” in this life.  He dotes on me like a caring friend, being sure I don’t spill my soup and helping me dress.

We live and work in buildings made of grey stone.  A classroom/workroom is high up and overlooks a mountain city.  My bedroom is also high up, with a door in the middle of one wall. It is spare, but not uncomfortable.

One day, the king, duke, or chancellor comes to visit me.  He bows down to me and kisses my ring.  It is on my left hand.  I do not feel any especial surprise at this treatment, but I do feel honored.

This life showed me so much about the present one.  My languages came from there and I was the last one to understand about the ancient words.  No one has done it since.  It’s been lost.

I just looked at a map.  I am thinking that I was somewhere around present-day Austria or Czech Republic and the new students came from Hungary.

I am a male teacher.  I see the chalkboard first.  It is 18–, late-eighteen-hundreds.  I wear robes, so I think I am in England.  The students are all young boys.  They mostly want to go outside and play, but sometimes there are eager students.  One of them comes to visit.  He is “M” in present day.  We were good friends and I was histeacher.  He was a good student, loved to study, enjoyed learning from me.  I have a long pointer, like a pool cue, that I use in class.  I am strict but not cruel to the boys.  I like teaching.

Now I am a woman, walking up to a blue colonial clapboard house, two stories above ground.  I am confused, because I have the wrong date in my mind.  Janet asks what year it is and I say, “1776”.  Now it makes sense.  It is colonial America.  I walk into my house.  The walls are white plaster and the rooms are small.  No coverings on the windows, but there are shutters outside.  My cousin is hiding in the basement, because he is accused as a thief.  He has red hair.  I don’t like to go downstairs, but my mother makes me take him broth and tea.  I am about 18.  I wear a white cap.

I marry a smart man who is a politician.  I am very smart and he appreciates this about me.  We like awake at night in bed, talking about our ideas and I have many good ones.  He uses them in his work.  I am okay with not getting credit and I am proud of him for getting the credit.  I feel that we share it and so does he, even though no one knows that I help to shape the policies of our town.

I see him making a speech on the platform, in front of a clearing that will become the town hall. We are happy together.  I am never able to have children, but he doesn’t hold that against me.  I can’t have children because…  I ask Janet if there was small pox.  Yes.  I think that is why I can’t have children.  She says probably.  I am saddened by this, but I still have a happy life.

My cousin was hanged.  I did not go to the hanging.  I realize that these people were my ancestors for present day.  They are Wrights.  One is named Michael.  (I have no idea if Grandmother’s family dates back to the Revolution.  I’d like to find out.)  I think I now know the one who was my husband, but I don’t know who it is.