Death and reincarnationists. It is
not the first time I write about this, as death is always in my mind. Lately,
it has become more present. Maybe the reason is I am getting old, and those I
love even older. In this life I have been fortunate enough to lose only a young
kitty, event that was quite painful to me and showed me what I was capable of
doing for “just an animal”, but the mourning was short. When my grandparents died
I was too small to know what all the fuss was about. And now, at 40, I have
known closed deaths of relatives, but not close enough to make me cry. Or maybe
all those defenses I built are being helpful now? “Don’t love anyone too much,
because one day they will be gone, and you will die with them”. At least, that
is what happened to me in WWII, though before that I had already lived other
losses that broke my heart in a way I only can imagine today. But time keeps
passing, inexorable. And death is getting closer.
One thing I have come to realize
through remembering past lives. You become used to talk about death, you lose
some of the fear of it, as you are certain death is not the end. But anyway
death keeps being an annoyance. Like I said in an conversation not long ago,
death is like a visit to the dentist: necessary, but always fearful because you
don’t know what to expect, what it will be like this time, if you will be able
to accept it and carry on with no unresolved issues. You can be more or less brave
when facing your own or others’ death, but you eventually have to yield. There
is no other way. And yielding is never easy. Our survival instincts make us
fight, make us afraid of the end, of the dissolution of our ego, of forgetfulness.
Whether we want it or not, death always brings some kind of suffering to
ourselves or the ones we love. It makes us angry, sad, weak, we feel helpless
and naked in front of death. The worst of it all is most of us are not prepared
to face it. This is one of the reasons I am most thankful for being a
reincarnationist: I know how I died in a few past lives, I know it is not that bad... at least when it is finally
over.
And this is why I love so much this
song by Arena called “Ascension”. I want it to sound (LOUDLY) in my cremation. There
are so many past life feelings behind this song. However, it is not related to
specific past life events, as it depicts the moment right after death. My memories
of that kind are in no way similar to what the song says. I have never seen
myself “ascending”. But I have felt the liberation, the end of the suffering,
the departure. One chapter is over, let’s write the next. For a while, no more
fear, no more judgment, no more rage, no more sadness. It is hard to leave
behind your body, your being, your life, but once it’s done, it’s done (unless
you want to become a ghost). And though I have felt that same detachment in some
of my OBE’s, when you’re back in your body you seem to forget this physical
life is what it is: not even a chapter, just a short line in the nearly eternal
book of your spiritual life, the real one. But you forget and then death looks terrible again. I guess that's part of being human, and no one said being human is easy.
Rising up: you thought it was the end, and it is just a new beginning.
Day after
day I have to bear superficial analyses and preconceived notions from newbies
or, even worse, people without past life memories. I’ve talked about the
frustration this causes me at great length, so there is no need to rub more
salt in the wound. Then, one day comes when, unexpectedly, a new forum member
posts something related to his own research that makes me remember an old
memory. In this case, a blurred image with deep emotions that left me with some
doubts. Well, not real doubts, it’s hard to have doubts at this point of the
game, so I’ll just say “memories I left unverified”, but for no special reason,
apart from laziness or other things keeping me busy.
I think
I’ve talked about that image here before, though I’m not sure of the details I
gave. But the scene is clear in my mind: I am in a bathtub, naked. It doesn’t
look like a bathtub I’ve ever known in this life. It’s in the middle of the bathroom,
it’s white with curves. We don’t have taps, I think we have a jar to fill it. I
see the water all around me. I’m holding a sharp hairpin on my right hand, not
too long. I use it to inflict some wounds on my left forearm. I see the drops
of blood falling down into the water and dissolving, just like my tears. I’m
married but my life has become a nightmare. I’m so very young, but I feel so
alone and desperate. I feel like dying, with those little bleedings in the
white of my eyes and the bruises all over my body.
Back in the
waking state, you start to analyze everything with logic and distance. You
start to wonder if that was possible or if you are just “fantasizing”, as many
of those people who don’t have memories of their own often think. You forget
about the emotions, the circumstances you were in, your desires to die. You
come convinced that validating a memory is proof of something, if not for you,
for everyone else. I’ve never seen a hairpin like that in my whole life, and
the ones I have no way could slit anyone’s veins or make deep wounds on the
skin. So, you doubt you could have done that in the past, and you doubt your sanity. You don’t give importance to the feel
of the instrument in your hand in that memory, the way you gripped it hard with
your fingers, with all the tension, pain, rage and hate you were feeling at
that moment. It seems the look of it
is more important to corroborate that memory and show the world you are not
crazy and you really lived that.
The thing
is that months pass, and someone comes and casually talks about hat pins that
were used in the Victorian era. You look at them and realize they are really sharp, so much that they were
thought to be a good weapon. The truth is it doesn’t matter at all, but you
suddenly realize your memory is more likely to be true now: hairpin or hat
pin, you did hold that instrument in your hand while you were weeping in a
bathtub, feeling like shit, and seriously considering suicide. You were having
a quiet day at home, and suddenly such a silly finding, such a small
verification, brings tears to your eyes and makes you remember the damned
bathtub where you could have lost your life.
I’m not
sure which my real intentions were when I hurt myself. Possibly not suicide,
even though I did feel I wanted to die. Maybe it was the opposite: I wanted to
feel the pain, I wanted to feel alive, as for me living was like being dead.
Maybe I thought that’s what I deserved anyway. Probably that’s what my husband
had forced me to believe, as I wasn’t the loving wife he wanted me to be.
While I’m
thinking about those memories, I also realized a couple of days ago I fell down
while I was skating in real life. I could have broken a bone. Luckily, I didn’t,
but the following day I was indeed feeling as if someone had beaten me up. Was
that the same feeling, the same ache I
had when I was in that bathtub, and is that the reason I’m recalling those
events?
If you are unlucky
enough, you’ll go to the internet and find some outsiders talking about past
life memories, wondering if people just fantasize about it, or discussing the
possibility alleged past life memories are just “symbolic stories our mind
creates in response to our psychological issues”.
I wonder
what kind of symbolism lies on wanting to slit your veins with a hat pin to
stop so much suffering and bring oblivion to yourself.
It seems I
just can’t stop now that I have started. I think it’s because I feel there
are many things that need to be said. I can’t remain silent.
This
morning I posted this (with some minor modifications) in one of the forums I
frequent:
The recent deleted conversation about suicide in the
forum Child Past Lives, and most likely, the time of the year, seem to have
triggered some memories/feelings in me related to my last days on Earth during
my WWII life.
I barely remember what I have written before in regards to the cause of my
suicide, but I think the answers are always the same: I had lost everything, I was utterly alone and I didn't want to live
anymore. Is that so hard to understand?
First of all, was it a suicide or not? I've always wondered about this question
myself, to be honest, and I've always come to the conclusion it was, no matter
who pulled the trigger. Like I told one of the forum members in response to his
comment, I'd call it "assisted suicide", but a suicide nonetheless,
only the soldier didn't know he was doing me a favor. But no, I know what I did. As someone else said, intent matters...
yes, of course it matters.
I also wonder about the resistance and the fear people in general have to talk
about suicide. I've observed this fear is more common among people who don't
have clear and verified memories of past lives and what happens after death. I
guess the reason is they are still
afraid of death, and so they are still afraid of living and letting everyone
make their choices. Right or wrong, you just can't learn if you don't act.
And we all are responsible of our actions and decisions, and of course of the
consequences. Death is bad... yes,
especially for those staying alive. For dead people, it's just rest and peace.
But for some reason they all want us to keep suffering in the afterlife, being
judged by "the Elders" or thrown to the darkest pits of the astral (commonly
known as Hell).
Well, it seems there are many reasons to commit suicide. I don't know of
others, but I think my suicide would fit in the category of "act of
rebellion". My WWII life was mainly a life where I couldn't control
anything. My mum didn't give a damn about me or my feelings. When my
grandparents died she sent me to work as a maid and live with that German man
(possibly my father who cared even less about me). Yesterday, when I had
memories of being awake in the dark, unable to sleep, thinking where I'd like
to go back, the only place that came to mind was my uncle's home. There I had
some cousins and was really a home. But I couldn't find out what had become of
them after the German occupation. Possibly I hadn't had news of them for years,
so I had no place to go back. Anyway, I couldn't go back. I was alone in France
with the German Army. My only option was to keep working as a nurse until win
or lose.
I was sinking deeper and deeper in my depression, that's sure. Though this
keeps being a hunch, I'm pretty sure I died around this time of the year, one
of the reasons being Christmas was approaching and I didn't want to spend
Christmas without my German boyfriend. But apart from that there was this rage
inside me, this desire to stop doing what "they" wanted of me. I
wrote this in my journal yesterday, right after the meditation: "In that life, suicide was the only thing in which I had some power of
decision, it seems. This is shit, I don't want to live this. I don't want to
fight in this crappy war, I don't want you to decide for me what I have to do
with my life. I don't want to meet the only man who showed some interest in me
and lose him. Go everyone to Hell".
I think that "everyone" includes living people and also spiritual
guides or whoever sent me to live that life.
And so, I quit.
I've stopped wondering what would have happened if I hadn't quit. People are
quick to say other people there are always better options, as if they know the
future. You see, I quit and probably spared myself lots of suffering. Though
it's great to imagine myself as a lovely war veteran lady, it's likely I would
have ended up raped by allied soldiers after D-Day and then killed or
imprisoned. And then I was reborn as a German boy who loved to play with wooden
airplanes. So, was it a right or wrong decision?
Thoughts
keep coming. After a tough night (a real bitter watch, until I got asleep), I
was surprised when my current partner arrived and told me I looked happy. Maybe
a weight is being lifted after all, with all this past life work I’ve done in
the last few years. I’ve never felt especially guilty for committing suicide in
my WWII life, though I did wonder for a while how I could have done “something
like that”. But I soon realized it’s not a crime, a sin, or anything that must
be punished. It just happens. Sometimes you decide to do things you are not
proud of, that can lead to a variety of consequences. Suicide is one of these
things. But it’s not better or worse than other choices, because, every
reincarnationist should know, death doesn’t exist. Death is not bad in itself.
So, if I decide to kill myself, I’m not going against “any law” or whatever you
want to invent to make me feel guilty. It’s my life. It was my choice to come.
It’s my choice to leave. That’s all.
After that
thread was deleted there was some talking about the convenience of saying
publicly things like these I write in my blog. Couldn’t we be influencing another
person’s decision and incline them towards suicide, in case they’re on the verge of doing it and
we tell them nothing happens? Instead of this, I was thinking of those parents
and relatives who unfortunately have a suicide victim in their family and are
marked forever, as the rest of society think that’s a disgrace and the victim a
sinner. The dead is dead, I doubt anything can affect them any longer. Those
who still live not only have to endure the pain of the loss of a loved one in
those circumstances, but also the ignorance of the people who judge.
I speak
mainly for them. For the living. I have no fear of speaking the Truth.
REST
PEACEFULLY, BECAUSE A SUICIDE IS JUST A NORMAL DEATH.
NOTHING
HAPPENS TO PEOPLE WHO COMMIT SUICIDE.
THERE WILL
BE UNRESOLVED ISSUES, BUT THAT IS COMMON IN ALL TRAUMATIC DEATHS.
I can say
it louder, but not clearer.
"Nothing happens" also means "nothing will change". Your issues won't disappear killing yourself.
And no, I don't encourage anyone to commit suicide. If you're thinking about it, SEEK HELP. Probably you will be luckier than me and will find it.
[I rarely do
this, to translate almost literally something I wrote for my Spanish blog, but
I think the occasion deserves this treatment. Suicide is a matter that concerns
everyone, and from what I have seen, only in a few places (the main one being
Military Past Lives) you can talk about it without wasting your time and
effort.
A recent
conversation in another forum (Child Past Lives) about suicide has made me reflect
about this subject again, though I also suspect it’s a time of anniversaries
and so this triggers certain inner feelings of rage and sadness I can’t avoid.
On the other hand, the truth is I’m feeling a bit frustrated again. Besides my
own publications and the book I have written (which is more than a little), I
not only don’t see any serious advancement in regards to reincarnation (with
the exception of some new forum members who do advance, a lot, at a personal
level, which makes me proud and glad at the same time), I even notice a bit of
a setback. Or at least that’s the impression I get when I watch certain
lectures in certain “spiritual” conventions attended by people that are still very lost.
But, well,
I’d better go back to my writing, and today it’s about suicide. I don’t know
why this subject is so controversial, even among reincarnationists themselves.
Well, I do know: because most of the time reincarnationists also base on their
own beliefs instead of first-person experiences. Not all of those who remember
past lives remember they committed suicide, and so it seems they treat us, “ex-suicide
victims” or those who for some reason wonder about suicide, the same way they
treat other people whom they consider they have to commiserate, like all of
those who have been “very, very evil”, and then they wish you don’t suffer too
much in this life, as undoubtedly they believe you’re going to suffer a lot as
a consequence of having been very evil... In that conversation I mentioned
above, someone said suicide could be a form of self-punishment for taking
someone else’s life and they invited us to guess why Judas Iscariot committed
suicide. I almost faint due to the nonsense of these words, thank goodness
there are few things that surprise me at this point.
There is
also another reason why in general talking about suicide is avoided, besides
the fact that rummaging in the wound of those who lost the suicide victim implies to stir a very deep pain and nobody wants to do that. That reason is that
if you say nothing happens when you kill yourself, it seems you’re promoting or
glorifying suicide, and you’re encouraging everyone to do it. Well, I want to
make myself clear I don’t promote or glorify suicide, nor do I encourage
anyone to do it. Had I not done it in the past, perhaps I would have
known facets of myself that remain hidden nowadays. Or perhaps I would have
become a lovely old woman and today I would be telling my great-grandchildren
what living through the Second World War meant. Possibly I could have made
better decisions... or maybe not. We will never know that, as once we make a
decision, we can’t go back and we have to bear the consequences (and, no, this does NOT mean karma exists). So, if I don’t know what would have become of me
in my case, how could I know in the case of other people? The circumstances
surrounding a suicide are always very different and no one has the right to judge. The important thing here is, whatever you do, it is your decision. You are responsible, and you will realize for yourself if what you did was
right, cowardice, a desperate call for attention, a stupidity for abusing drugs
or a direct consequence of the depression you were going through.
Anyway, I’m
going to say it loud and clear, as is my style:
FOR COMMITTING SUICIDE NOTHING
HAPPENS.
ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.
This is to
say:
No one is
going to punish you in the afterlife.
You’re not
going to Hell.
You’re not
going to be forced to wander in the astral until all the time you had
determined to live before incarnating has passed. (This doesn’t mean you’re not
going to be a bit confused, in some cases, but this also happens to those who
die by natural causes).
You’re not
going to “repeat stories” until you learn whatever you came here to learn.
You don’t “break
contracts” with anyone, among other things, because I doubt very much there are
“binding contracts” in the spiritual world, though many want to sell us so many
“soul plans”, “soul contracts” and many other unproved tales. Just an
example: someone in that conversation said that in Robert Schwartz’s book Your Soul’s
Plan it is said the actions of a person can influence the DNA and be passed
down to their offspring. Fortunately this person doubted this was true, as anyone
with a minimal knowledge of genetics (and especially if they remember past
lives) knows that claiming this is a barbarity, even taking epigenetics into
account, something that is starting to be mentioned quite frequently, but only a
few really know how it works. Another person said, mainly based on the Michael
Newton’s books he had read, that “the soul who committed suicide merely jumps
back into another, similar life as soon as possible if not immediately”.
Well, this
is not what happened to me. I remember many lives very close together, but it
has nothing to do with the manner in which I died. And after committing suicide
in WWII, I reincarnated in West Germany, where I had a quite well-to-do life in
which I was an industrial engineer and then I worked for the American Army. It
wasn’t a similar life, in any way, to my former life. But I am not an
exception. I also know many other people who also committed suicide in past
lives, and you know what? None of them has had to repeat stories, nor have they
been lost in the astral, nor do they know anything about contracts they made
with other souls. Furthermore, currently they all are as happy as a lark. Even
if there was something planned, we all have free will. If we wish, we ignore
the plan, and that’s all. You can say this is not too considerate or sportsmanlike,
that’s true, but if that’s our decision, nothing happens. The others will have
to adapt to the changes and improvise. But no one said you will have to pay a price
for coming back home before it was due, whatever the reason might be.
Now, will
your loved ones suffer? Of course they will. The same way they would suffer if
you had died for any other reason. So you will have to evaluate if making your
loved ones suffer is worth. But in each case we would have to see who is more
selfish, the one leaving because they don’t want to live anymore, or the one
that forces someone who is suffering to stay because they don’t want to suffer.
Are you going to resolve your problems killing yourself? Of course not. That is
not a way to solve anything, it’s as if you quit an exam or leave your team
in the middle of a match. You won’t feel great after killing yourself either,
that’s true, especially if you killed yourself because you were suffering. Unresolved emotions will accompany you in the next life,
and you will have to keep dealing with them. But that doesn’t happen only with
suicide, it also happens with many other decisions you made that didn’t turn
out as you expected. Sometimes we make mistakes and repent, but luckily we
always have new opportunities to act accordingly to the way we consider more
correct. Yes, things sometimes are complicated. But no one said living was
going to be easy, didn’t they?
I was going
to put the link to the thread I was speaking of, but I’ve just discovered it
was deleted, so you see I was right when I said this is a controversial
subject, and this when it was being very civilized and interesting. I can assure
you that doesn’t happen in my own forum, where I like to go to the bottom of
things and speak with rotundity.
The truth is it’s very hard for me to understand why people find it so
difficult to speak openly about such serious and important matters as this. I’ve
been very disappointed this thread was deleted, many interesting things were
being said and I didn’t feel it was going to turn problematic in any moment.
However, I keep seeing it in the lectures I mentioned above. You go to a
convention where they talk about life after death (in Spain) and the lecturer refuses to talk about reincarnation or suicide (some for fear of the Church’s
reaction, at this point). It’s logical if you know nothing about it, but some
reincarnationists do know, no matter
who may disagree. It is not a belief, I’m not speaking of spiritualist
doctrines that are no more than a religion. We’re speaking of experiences and
facts, sometimes even with verified memories, and of very well known people of
whom I can say anything out of respect for their anonymity. How much longer
will silence prevail? How much longer this secrecy? How much longer the confusion
and the eternal doubts? When will we become really
free?
When
memories become too tough and I feel like I can’t bear it anymore, I often get
a message from my guide telling me not to worry, everything is fine. Usually it
comes with a sense of infinite love and peace in my heart that brings back all the
serenity bad emotions threatened to break. It’s like a storm that finally
comes to an end.
Earlier
today, while I was reading an exceptional NDE account, I was reminded of this
undisputable truth, though I can understand it’s not easy to believe for most
people. We just don’t understand the purpose of so much suffering in this
world. All the people dying, the lack of wisdom and harmony, the infinite
cruelty of human beings, disgraces, natural disasters, children starving...
everyone asking “If there is a God, where is He? How can He allow this to
happen?”
But in the
middle of the turmoil, in the middle of my tears, when I’m sobbing uncontrollably
due to events from a distant past that still affect me, I always hear my guide’s
voice:
“It’s all right, hush! Enough crying. Everything’s fine!”
We are made
to feel emotions, but we are not our emotions. There was something I read in
that NDE account to which I can relate so much: when you are out of your body
you feel a complete detachment. You can feel a bit sad, but surprisingly you
don’t feel anything for your own body, you don’t care too much about the ones
you are leaving behind. Somehow you know death is not the end and everything is
fine. We are so much more than flesh and bones, we are so much more than
someone physical bound to become dust again. Does it matter if you live
more or less years in a mortal body, when your soul is immortal?
Well, I was
wondering why Johann’s death affects me so much today, now that I know we’re
immortal, now that I’ve come to the conclusion reincarnation is a fact and we
all have lived many times and we’ll live a lot more. My guide replied to me: “That’s
what YOU know, but Katrina didn’t. Katrina lost all she had. She didn’t deal with her feelings back then, and so you must deal with them now”.
And the crying
goes on. It will as long as there’s pain inside of me. And anger. And desires
to shout. What happens when you block a torrent with a dam, when you cut a life
short before the feelings were worked through? You die and get rid of your
emotions when you shed your astral body. Death is like a soothing ointment. It
relieves the pain, it brings oblivion, peace... for a while. Maybe death is
like a drug. But as soon as you have a new body, the energy nets that weren’t
totally repaired rekindle those past emotions, and life goes on... Is there a
reason for this, or is it just how it works? My position is clear. It’s just a
natural process.
And
whatever happens, everything is fine. After all, we are love. We are. For
eternity.
I have started this month of August
feeling a bit weird. I have come to suspect that every time I feel trapped in
my present, without hopes of doing what I really want to do in the job
scenario, and slowly sinking in a depression I don’t want, I start to get in a
past life mood from my Black Widow life. It wouldn’t be too bad if it was just
me and myself, my thoughts, fantasies, emotions and dreams. I could spend a few
days lost in my own world, barely talking and pretending I’m interested in some
TV show or movie while I stare at the screen, lost in some old scenes coming
from my mind and not from the TV set. Then I would decide it’s enough and I
would be back in the real world, as if nothing had happened. But it’s not that
easy when those past life emotions affect your relationship with your partner,
who doesn’t understand why all of a sudden you don’t want to go out or don’t
care about the plans for the weekend.
“What’s up with you?”
“Nothing, I’m just imagining myself in an old
bathtub thinking how to slit my wrists, as I got married and this is not what I
thought it would be”.
And if he demands some attention
it’s even worse, as then he makes me feel as an enslaved wife whose only duty
is to make him happy... and that triggers me even more. I go to bed thinking
the slight discomfort in my right eye could be due to a reflection of my past
life when I got it black. As I fall asleep I can only see the white gown I was
wearing in my wedding night. I can still feel the fear of a maiden, the
bitterness of a young girl who liked a different suitor, my heart pierced with
his first threats. And it seems all this is because the prospect of being “just
a wife” for the rest of my life brings me the same feeling of hopelessness, a
dark sense of foreboding that tells me “This can’t go right. Don’t let it
happen again. Just run!”
Well, it looks like I can’t choose.
No matter how much I try, for now my plans are always unattainable. I don’t
know whether I dream too much or my wits are not enough to make those dreams come
true. Maybe the Universe is punishing me for being evil with my past life husband. In
this case I wonder how the Universe is punishing him for being a son of a bitch
with me. No need to say I don’t believe in any of these possibilities. Or
maybe I chose a crappy country and a crappy profession to ensure I would remain
unemployed for half of my life, so that I learn to be imprisoned in my own home
and feel happy for being a great cook. Is that something worth learning? No
need to say I don’t believe that’s the point. Whatever it is though, the
Universe can’t prevent me from wanting to escape through a window again.
It’s hard
to come back to reality and remember things are different today: my partner is
not a monster and I’m not a victim of female roles or a sexist society. It’s
hard to remember I just find myself in certain circumstances and it’s my
decision to deal with them one way or the other. Sometimes it feels right to
have the wisdom of several past lives on my shoulders. But other times I just
feel tempted to follow the same path of self-destruction. When I've become tired
of what the world can offer me, does it matter if I decide to get off, even if it's just for a little while?
I have a
friend who thinks she died by hanging in a past life, though she has no specific
memories. She described the feelings previous to this kind of death so
perfectly, I have no doubts she has had the experience. Who knows, maybe it
wasn’t by hanging, or maybe the circumstances surrounding that death are
different from what she suspects. But I’m certain she’s been there, waiting to
die, feeling how your whole world sinks, trying to accept the inevitable end,
trying to control the fear, the anger, the loneliness... There are things you
can only understand if you have lived through them.
I advised
her to listen to a song by Arena called “Tantalus”. This song triggered me when
I was just a beginner remembering past lives. Coincidentally I discovered this
band by the same time, and somehow their music became my past life anthem, as
they have so many lyrics to which I can relate so much. “Tantalus” is only one of
them. There’s another one called “The hanging tree” that also stirs some
feelings, especially if you have been hanged twice... as in my case.
I think I
must have told somewhere how these two lives that ended in such a similar way,
were completely different, as were the feelings associated to each of them.
When I found out I had been hanged a second time, I just couldn’t believe it,
for a while. But the reasons were not the same. In the second one I had hopes I
would be spared, after all I was a woman, and I had managed to be declared “not
guilty” before. Something went wrong this time, I didn’t understand what was
happening, and of course I was convinced I didn’t deserve to die that way. In
the first one, I knew I was condemning myself doing what I did. It wasn’t
unexpected, but even so, the weight of the emotions during the last days is
possibly stronger. As I was telling my friend, even today there are times I can’t
shake off those feelings. There was guilt, but also a lot of grief and desperation.
I had nothing to lose, and I was tired of fighting. I think I barely talked
when they asked me to say something in my defense, as I knew it would be
useless. They had already decided my condemnation, they had been after me for a
long time. They only needed the final excuse. And I gave it to them. Even now,
as I write these words, tears fill my eyes, still wondering what if I had made
different decisions, what if I had chosen another path.
I often
fantasize about how it feels to be hanged, how agonizing it must be to be
deprived of the ability to breathe, until you just lose consciousness and it’s
all over. I don’t have those memories. I do remember the liberation that comes
after death. Sometimes it’s funny, to see how people who kill think they’re punishing
you, when more often than not they are doing you a favour.
TANTALUS
Standing in water, but dying of thirst
This is my thanks and this is my curse
Try as I might, the fruit on the trees
All remain beyond reach, beyond wishes
or pleading for one last chance
Waiting for time to pass me by
Waiting for freedom, waiting to die
Where can I go, in a world without hope?
There is never a place
for a soul that has broken so
Trust in no one
Trust in no one
Linking the chains that weigh down your reason
Nothing to blame, but the actions you choose
Driven insane by the conscience of treason
Running in vein from a life of abuse
The closer I get the further I am
The journey I make is the course of the damned
The distance I go is no distance at all
And I climb to the sky but find myself falling so
Trust in no one
Trust in no one
Quench my thirst - Fill my heart
Hold my hand - stay close by
Talk to me - Don’t leave me crying here
Standing in water, yet dying of thirst
This is my thanks and this is my curse
Empty forgiveness for old indiscretions
And such condemnation for just one transgression
Find me now - Set me free
Find me now - Set me free
Waiting for time to pass me by
Waiting for freedom, waiting to die
Why do you smile at my timeless ordeal here
And why do you laugh at my hopeless appeal for your mercy?
On Sunday I
watch a Spanish TV show about the ordeal Captain Zaida Cantera went through
when she was sexually abused by her superior. My past lives were almost a
distant memory until I sat down in front of the telly and listened to her,
especially the things she didn’t say and were implied in her silence but you could read in her eyes. As in
other occasions, I felt the shift of energy in my body, and from that moment on
I may have looked like my 4-year-old brother hiding behind a cushion when he
used to watch the videoclip “Thriller” by Michael Jackson. My heart sank. It
does every time I think about it, so I try not to think. I was about to get up
and tell my partner I didn’t bear to watch anymore, but I did, until the end.
Though her
situation was very similar to mine during WWII, my emotions mainly came from my
Black Widow life. Katrina’s life was short, and sexual abuse was only part of
the problem. I think the wounds don’t go too deep. The Black Widow is
different. It is a longer life, or death in life, where much was destroyed. I
felt identified with a lot of things Zaida was saying. One, that you just can’t
believe it is happening when it happens. Her case began when her lieutenant-colonel
called her “secretary” and tried to caress her thigh, in front of a few
witnesses. This brought me memories of Katrina, but the rest was from a wife
who suddenly was slapped on the face by her husband for talking with common friends. I once mentioned how much I liked the
word “soul-killing” one of my forum companions had used. Well, that single
second, unimportant as it may seem (after all, how many slaps on the face we
experience when we are kids and we don’t remember?), is soul-killing. And while
you are living it, you know your soul is breaking, and that moment is being
deeply ingrained in your memory. Another thing I felt very identified with, was
the silence of her coworkers. Thankfully, some of them were brave enough to
testify at the trial, but most witnesses, fearful of reprisals and their
military careers being cut short, chose to turn their backs on her and remain
silent. I had to live through it all, and that is what still infuriates me: the
silence, the hiding, the isolation... the agony.
Well, I
went to bed and on Monday I was still quite angry so I did some exercise and
tried to keep my mind occupied with my daily routines. Then on Tuesday night I
meditated. I felt intense emotions and two or three flashes came, nothing
important. Still half “in trance” I did some research, I found my first house
in Google Street View, I read my last words on the newspaper clip, and while I
was going through another piece of information which said I managed to escape a
few days before my execution with someone’s help, I saw myself taking someone’s
hand and going through a window. I felt that piece of information was right,
though I still had no memories of that escape. Then another link did mention I
escaped through a window... and I don’t remember to have read it before, so it
might have been an instant verification.
I know I am
blocking memories though. Sometimes I even doubt I did kill the man that
brought me to my death. I would believe my own words if I didn’t know how
twisted I had become, how much poison I carried myself in my heart and how dark
my soul was at that point, unable to cope with the misery and suffering a man’s
hand had inflicted upon me. Perhaps I am blocking those memories because I know
it’s better to have someone to blame than acknowledge it was me who didn’t (or
couldn’t) find the way out of the hole I had fallen into.
The
injustice and impunity that prevail even today in Zaida’s case is the same that
prevailed back then, and that is my main issue. However, this morning I was
wondering if that only reflects my ongoing desires of vengeance, as I use to
say to people who seek justice. Maybe I was sick with desires of vengeance back
then? The answer was “No. That may be true or not, but we have to keep something in mind: we all know justice is human, BUT there must be justice while we are here”. While I was trying to
sleep these words —pronounced by a male voice, as if I heard someone saying
them— slipped into my mind: “She had it coming”. Well, if I had it coming, I
wonder: What should these men have coming? What do they deserve? Do they have
to go unpunished while innocent women keep living broken lives?
Not even my
past reincarnation as a judge can answer these questions...
It turns out I talk a lot about
mourning in this blog, but I am not sure about the reason. It is true I was in
a difficult situation in my current relationship when I started to write here,
and it is also true I had a lot of mourning to do in regards to my Black Widow
life. Both lives were merging into one, as I knew a great part of my behavior had
an origin in the XIX century, when my husband cruelly mistreated me.
But now it is a different mourning,
the real mourning that takes place after you lose a loved one. I was born
missing someone, and recalling past lives and finding out death is not the end
helped me understand space is an illusion. Distance is an illusion. No one goes
“to the other side”, though the illusion is so strong you really feel a
profound emptiness that breaks your heart. Now that I have finally overcome all
those feelings and I can’t say I don’t miss anyone anymore... all right, only
occasionally, it seems the Universe sends me the final test to see if I can
graduate. The majority of my past life memories include loss in one way or the
other. I don’t think this is uncommon, but in my case it is a repetitive
pattern I don’t know how to interpret:
In XIX century I died and I left
my sailor behind. In this life he was the main person to blame of this past
life journey.
In XX century my German soldier
died (same soul than before) and I killed myself.
Long before that, he was my father and he was caught and killed by invaders. My mother and I were enslaved. I suspect
I killed myself or died violently.
Not sure when, all my Native
American family was slaughtered by white men and I was the only one left.
Mourning for a loved one and
accepting their loss, is already hard. Mourning for an entire family, including
old people and children, a whole tribe, the only people you knew and grew up
with, is awaking new emotions I had never felt through my past life journey,
and I can say it hasn’t been an easy journey.
I wonder why I am remembering this
now. Is there a point? Do I need something else to heal? I thought it was over,
I wasn’t even interested on finding out more about that little Native American
girl I once saw in one of my flashes, ages ago, when I was a newbie and tried
my first regressions. If I were a believer in karma, I would have to say I
spent the rest of my lives killing and breaking up families to deserve so many
separations from my loved ones. Or... maybe I could think I keep doing
something wrong and I don’t learn, so the same events keep repeating again and
again. What is there to learn from the loss of a loved one? Is there really a
way to make it “right”? No, I don’t believe that. Last time I asked my spirit
guide he said I already knew. And my theory, as I said in my last entry, is I
am doing kind of a master course on losing people you love and mourning, with
the only purpose of understanding and be able to help when I am ready. There are
a number of reactions to that event. As in any other event, some of those
reactions can be disastrous and lead you to your own death. I guess losing
people and things is one of the main causes for pain in this world. Pain is on
the root of many other feelings that can destroy your soul. It takes great
courage and wisdom to live a life carrying the burden of that loss on your
shoulders. Usually people don’t understand the toughness of these trials. I
think we have still so much to learn from death and beyond. I am beginning to
wonder if part of my fascination about death comes from the fact it is always
an invaluable opportunity to grow stronger. It is a tough lesson, of course.
Maybe that is the reason we must live through it so many times.
I haven’t seen yet the end of my
Native American life. But while I was recalling the beginning of my mourning
phase yesterday, after the initial shock, I was feeling like a seventy-year-old
more than like a little kid. Another thing that surprises me is the absence of
any kind of desire to avenge their deaths, as opposed to other past lives of
mine. Maybe I was too innocent to feel like that, maybe I was so devastated
there was only room for darkness in my heart, the darkness of my own sorrow. I
wasn’t looking for answers, there were no whys. It happened, that is all. The
sun goes up, the sun goes down. People live, people die. I believed they were
somewhere faraway, but still alive. I was sad they had gone to a place where I
couldn’t follow, just like Sam when he thinks he has lost Frodo (scene that always
made me so emotional). Only, my kin were really dead, and they were not coming back.
Some people use this expression to describe that “state of mind” where you can easily access past life memories, like many children do when they are riding in a car, having a bath or getting ready to go to sleep. But adults can experience it too. It can happen when you are doing a task that requires a bit of mental concentration but not a lot of effort, like ironing for example, so that your mind can wander. Other times you just get triggered by something you saw or a slight emotion, and if it strikes hard, it can send you straight to past life mood. I would say this is a step further than being “in the zone”, as past life mood is also a deep emotional “state of mind” where past and present seem to merge into one. You feel as if you are living in two worlds (or more) at the same time, and you don’t know how long it will last. Sometimes it is really difficult to shake it off.
Last week the death of a Spanish soldier on duty bothered me a lot, but it stayed in the background as there were other things occupying my mind. But when last Friday I watched his funeral on the news, I found out his wife was pregnant and due to give birth, and while I saw her there, completely devastated, I felt like I was being stabbed in my heart. I felt the wound, the shift of energy in my whole body, like a bolt of lightning. I had just had lunch and I was getting ready to go out, but I couldn’t. Even before remembering past lives I always knew I was very sensitive to this kind of events. I knew it was strange as I had never had any relation with the military, but back then reincarnation was very far from my mind. Now, that I do know I was involved in the military, but in other lives, the intensity of the reaction still felt strange. “How many more?”, I thought. That is my question now, and that was my question then, when I was a British Navy officer, tired of fighting in wars and watching young men falling one after the other. I have stopped wondering if this means there are still past life emotions that need to be “healed”. I don’t think there is anything to be healed. The only thing that remains is the same soul that lived through war and the loss of so many fellow soldiers, the same disappointed captain who witnessed how powerful, well-dressed men, safe in their offices, gave orders and sent young, innocent people, to fight and die for them, never caring how many families would be broken or how many fatherless boys would have to grow up alone. Feeling sad and angry, I had to sit down on the floor of my bedroom for a while, with tears in my eyes, suddenly remembering my own death in a war ship, my last thoughts about my wife and child I was leaving behind. It is long since I suspect I haven’t remembered everything. From the historical data I have, I know I was quite aware my end could be a bitter end, my job was quite dangerous after all, and I had even written my will a few years before. But I am sure my death wasn’t as peaceful as it seems. It wasn’t just my family, there must have been a lot of bitterness towards my superiors and the way things went those last days of battle. My actions may have been labeled as heroic, but the truth is a lot of those men dying with me were my men. My dear men.
Wars keep happening, and stupid deaths too. I don’t know who is to blame, I don’t even know there has to be someone to blame. We are all human beings, and we are here to live as human beings. We are killed today. But tomorrow we will kill. And no, nothing guarantees we won’t. The thing is that funeral sparked a flame on me and I couldn’t shake off the past life mood in a few hours. I grabbed my bags (heavy with stuff for my new home) and while I was walking to catch the bus I was feeling like the young sailor filled with dreams I was over two centuries ago. I could almost see the wet, cobblestoned ground under my feet as I was heading for the harbor, to get aboard a ship, not knowing what kind of adventures were waiting for me or when I would be back home again. The lock of hair falling over my eye felt like my old blonde curls caressing my cheeks when I was a young English man longing to be at sea and feel the breeze on my skin. I almost could hear the sound of the wooden planks my shoes would make as soon as I walked up to the deck.
Then past life memories from my last life, during the Cold War in West Germany, came to my mind too, as I had been wondering about my strong feelings about the Wall and my family’s past for days. It is weird, overwhelming, but at the same time so incredible, and wonderful, to feel nothing is past, to feel you are still the same person, the same soul, but living in a different country and in different circumstances. Nothing is lost. Not me, nor the other souls you met. There is continuity in life, there is always hope. You write to people who live in the other side of the Atlantic, but you still feel them so close, so close in your heart. Even people you don’t know like that Spanish soldier who lost his life, his wife and baby in a foreign country, you also feel them in your heart, as they are all brothers and sisters.
Sometimes I wish I could be always “in the zone”. It makes me feel so alive, it makes me feel I am so much more than what I apparently am now, much more than the rest of people can see. And it reminds me: separateness is an illusion. If it is true I am doing kind of a course on attachment/detachment, that would be my conclusion in my final thesis.
I can’t get the song “I see fire”, from the movie The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, out of my head. The lyrics are quite simple, the melody is restrained, it evokes impending danger, and loss. And death. It brings past life memories, but not one or two... plenty of them.
Death is constantly in my mind. I am also feeling a bit blocked lately: like I said in my previous entry, there are emotions brewing in my inside, but it seems they don’t want to come out. I have a few scenes playing in my memory like a video player that got stuck. I know there are things missing there, but the pieces remain lost. They all are scenes of death.
If this is to end in fire Then we should all burn together Watch the flames climb high, into the night
This part reminds me of France. I have had to die alone in many of my lifetimes, but in this one we were a whole town fighting for our rights. There is something romantic about dying together, though most (normal) people would think there is nothing romantic about death. Well, I think there is kind of an intimacy when you are dying that makes it a very special moment to share with those who really care. I will emphasize “those who really care”, as that is something you do when you really love someone. That is what my soulmate did for me in Norway. But that was a peaceful death, and we were romantically involved. Dying in a fight is also romantic, but in a different way. It is a feeling soldiers know very well, and so, so hard, to find in real life. In France we were not even soldiers, but there was union among us. There was pride. Maybe there was desperation too, and we knew we were going to lose. But we fought anyway.
And if we should die tonight, Then we should all die together Raise a glass of wine for the last time
More of the same. Only... the words “for the last time” are not exact. I would add “for the last time... in this life, with these bodies”. The chapter is over, but not the book. We will meet again in the future. And this, that may sound quite romantic too, a plain illusion, might surprise certain people when you find out it is totally true. It also reminds me of Cloud Atlas, and how blind we are to the Truth. It is a bittersweet feeling, because even when you know the Truth, sometimes you don’t have clear memories, so knowing the Truth is not too useful or practical.
It also makes me reflect about the meaning of time. Our lives are so short, but we keep wasting our time. We think death is still far, but it can be around the corner. The last time can be any moment. Death may come unexpectedly, in an accident, in a murder in the street, in a battle. You get up one morning hoping you will return home to hold your wife and kiss your boy goodnight, and that moment may never come. All my life I have thought words can’t remain unsaid, but thing is, it is quite likely some words will always remain unsaid. Why, I don’t know. I could say it doesn’t matter, because we will all meet again in the other side. But even when death is not the end of everything, death means the end of a physical life, where there are others connected to you one way or the other. And as most of them live unaware of the Truth, words unsaid can do a lot of harm. There is another song I love as well, Marillion’s “Dry land”, that says “You’re so violent with your silence”. And yes, I have come to know you can indeed be very violent without saying a word. I even learned to use it as a weapon. Not anymore. But still, we human beings are like this. We can be talking about the weather for a couple of hours, but never say what is important to your own mother or sister, for years.
It is also true that sometimes words are needless sometimes, especially when you are going to die and you know it.
And I see fire, Hollowing souls I see fire, Blood in the breeze
And I hope that you remember me
This reminds me of my son. The one I left in France, I don't know if dead or alive. I said to him "Remember this day". I knew we were not going to make it into History, but I wish we had. I am proud some of my countrymen did, and they should not be forgotten. Victims —from either side— should not be forgotten. But too often they are. In no other life I saw more deaths than in this one. And I have no memories of the aftermath, but I wonder what all those hollowing souls do when massacres happen.
And if the night is burning I will cover my eyes For if the dark returns Then my brothers will die And as the sky is falling down It crashed into this lonely town And with that shadow upon the ground I hear my people screaming out
My brothers and my people. These are the words that stand out the most from this verse. It takes a lot of love to call “brothers” people who haven’t grown up with you, but when you feel that’s the kind of love that binds you to people you haven’t even met in real life, only online, you wonder whether you have gone crazy or suffer a certain psychiatric syndrome still to discover. And if, in addition to that, you share some past life memories with them, then it’s clear: you have lost it.
Or maybe not. If I have unexplained paternal instincts towards a person even before remembering a past life together, and then it turns out she was indeed my son, then reincarnation might be the explanation. But there are not only paternal instincts, it turns out you also were brothers, and it is quite likely you were also friends... So, what are we really? Many people think motherly love is the best. I’ve always thought that is not true, I think it is very influenced by hormones and nature, it is just a survival behavior. I have always thought that real love is the one that happens when you can love people outside your family, outside your race, outside your town, outside your own species... It is expected you love your kin, otherwise you would be a traitor. Loving someone different, that’s “real love”. And if I have to choose human love, I would choose the love among brothers, as that means it doesn’t matter how you are, or how well you get along, you will be there for me and I will be here for you. We are a team. We may be apart for years, leading different lives, but the bond is always there. Of course I am talking of true brothers, this doesn’t mean there has to be necessarily a blood relationship. That’s what real friends become. That’s the feeling that arises when you spend twenty-four hours a day living with someone and afraid of bombs. Or crossing the Atlantic Ocean back and forth, getting sick on deck, wondering what you will do when you have to shoot someone from the first time, not knowing what the future might bring. Fearing death approaches brings people together, even when you just can’t bear each other. And it is people like this you would love to die with, if you had no other option left.
Brothers. I know I had lots of them in that ship that got awfully burned down. I also have something about fire, but I don’t know exactly what. I don’t remember fire, but there must have been. I don’t remember their faces, but I am sure they were there, and they lost their captain. Sometimes I think I took them to their deaths, but probably they were fighting for the same reasons than me... and we all had hopes to return home safe. Only we didn’t. We died. Together.
I SEE FIRE
Oh misty eye of the mountain below Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls
And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke Keep watching over Durin's sons
If this is to end in fire
Then we should all burn together
Watch the flames climb high, into the night
Calling out father, oh
Stand by and we will,
Watch the flames burn auburn on
The mountain side...High
And if we should die tonight,
Then we should all die together
Raise a glass of wine for the last time
Calling out father, oh
Prepare as we will
Watch the flames burn auburn on
The mountain side
Desolation comes upon the sky
Now I see fire, Inside the mountain
I see fire, Burning the trees
And I see, fire, Hollowing souls
I see fire, Blood in the breeze
And I hope that you remember me
Oh should my people fall then
Surely I'll do the same
Confined in mountain halls
We got too close to the flame
Calling out father, oh,
Hold fast and we will
Watch the flames burn auburn on
The mountain side
Desolation comes upon the sky
Now I see fire, Inside the mountain
I see fire, Burning the trees
And I see fire, Hollowing souls
I see fire, Blood in the breeze
And I hope that you remember me
And if the night is burning
I will cover my eyes
For if the dark returns
Then my brothers will die
And as the sky is falling down
It crashed into this lonely town
And with that shadow upon the ground
I hear my people screaming out
And I see fire
Inside the mountains
I see fire
Burning the trees
And I see fire
Hollowing souls
I see fire
Blood in the breeze
And I see fire (Oh you know I saw a city burning) (fire)
And I see fire (Feel the heat upon my skin, yeah) (fire)
