Triggered (2).

So, this is how it goes:

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...

Denial.

It's always interesting to relive one of my "walks to death", especially when it's the first time for this past life... but wow, since then (a day ago more or less) I seem lost in memories and emotions. It wasn't fun. Not at all.

And though I'm trying to behave like a grown-up woman and accept what I did to reach such end, I can't resist to try and deny everything (like that old episode of The X Files).

No wonder denying is one of the stages of mourning, according to Dr. Kübler-Ross. No wonder that must have been my attitude in the last year of that life, while I stayed in prison claiming I was an innocent woman, hoping they would be as blind as they were the last time...

Among the lawyers, I remember a young man who believed in me. I also remember an older one who always had that look in his eyes, the one that said "You're an evil monster and you're going to burn in Hell". The first time I could talk about mistreatment, even when I wouldn't be believed. Husbands are always more reliable than hysterical women. But now that young woman was also dead, I would deny any relation with her, I went into hiding and anyway I managed to kill all the innocence that was left in her along the way. So my only excuse to behave like I did was also gone. It sounds a bit ironic while I write.

I can't stop wondering when exactly I became that monster... if I ever was, of course. I'll also deny that. I'll deny everything. I'll deny I ever killed someone just out of scorn, or only because someone told me he was like my first husband. I'm not sure about the reasons, anyway. But I'll deny all those reasons just because I'll always deny I ever killed someone. Let them prove it if they can. Surely the poison got there by accident.

I know I destroyed myself. But right now I don't want to say that. I prefer to say he destroyed me. My guide reminds me the truth, but I tell him "fuck off" (no worries, we get along overall). He's not the one who got unjustly hanged. For now I'll deny that was a fair trial. And I'll keep denying what I did was wrong.

Call me mad if you want to.

Justice.

I have noticed that I tend to be quite intolerant when it comes down to talk about things I have seen with my own eyes in previous lives. I mean... especially when my interlocutor is someone who doesn’t remember past lives and therefore they don’t know how past life memories feel, how real and present past life emotions are, how talking about them hurts more than anyone can say. You think they will understand better if you choose a real example of your own past life memories, and then you expose yourself, showing the world how evil you were in the past, or how much you went through. Long ago I learned it isn’t worth doing it... at least not if they don’t have memories of their own. They seem to think it’s all an invention, maybe they think you are mistaken or a liar, but the funniest thing is they will believe much easier someone who claims to have done a thousand regressions to his patients and he is sure karma is a universal law. Of course, it sounds more “spiritual” to say you have learned your lessons than saying you were a murderer and you don’t understand yet why you had to die for your crimes. And hey, my life is not perfect but it’s not bad, I’ve had a lot of fun!

So, you thought maybe it would do good to them, but at the end you gain nothing, so you come to the conclusion it’s better not to talk. Let them talk, let them chatter, let them be blind to the truth, let them tell everyone you’re a really close-minded person... Let them think reincarnation is just a game.

Well, the day after a second argument about karma, this time in Spanish and in my own forum (proving there’s not much of a difference really between continents, here we’re talking of human behavior), I had some new memories coming to me. I guess this is because karma deals with justice, and I know that justice is an important topic for me, though I don’t have a lot of details. I do know I once was an Arabian judge and I studied a lot about Laws, but I can’t say much more. The other life where I was closely related to justice was as a praetorian guard somewhere in the Roman Empire. It’s still quite dark too, but coincidence or not, I got clearer memories after that argument. Maybe is that the reason I’m so opposed to any “universal” system of punishment and reward? Because I do know it’s anything but just, and I also know good and evil are only human concepts, so the idea of a “Universe” stalking you to make you pay or bring you beautiful presents depending on how good or bad you are, is plainly absurd. But go on and tell people just that... I feel that most of them are not ready to hear anything like this, so I’d better keep quiet and only whisper in this discrete blog, or I might get hanged... again.

I was an executor of the Law. And probably this is also the reason why I loved so much Eddard Stark's attitude in the book Song of Ice and Fire. Men making laws should be also the ones executing the sentence. I was not so lucky to do both. In my case the rules were written on a parchment and my only duty was to make sure people got what they supposedly deserved, that is: to receive a number of whips, to lose their tongues, fingers, hands or any other part of their bodies the Law determined, according to the size of their crimes, to be sent to a work camp, to be publicly humiliated, or, in the best of cases —some would say it would be the worst, from my perspective it was the best— to die. I’ll spare you the different methods of execution.

I was taught to do it from a very young age. But due to my position at the time, in these memories I only had to make sure others did a good job. That didn’t mean I could choose not to be there and witness how these men and women (and children) were punished. A punishment I often considered disproportionate, but my position was not high enough to disobey orders or tell anyone the Law was unjust and should be changed. After all, I had my own house and family to provide for.

People love to trivialize about everything, and that includes justice. Somehow I’ve always known that being a judge is one of the most complicated professions in the world... well, maybe only if you want to be a good judge and be fair. A wrong decision can make you a murderer... alright, call it homicide if you prefer, but you are killing someone anyway for whatever reason, which too often is not too clear. I also know this because I’ve been unfairly judged (obviously this is a biased opinion) in at least a couple of occasions. Justice is like trying to stand on a tight rope, it is a delicate balance too easy to break, and when you do you irremediably fall into the abyss, becoming a criminal just like those you sent to the gallows time and time again, just because a paper said so. Only, people rarely see this. They assume a judge is honest and fair just because he is wearing a black robe and a white wig. People assume all kind of things, and they get angry if you say they’re blind.

So, yes. Tell me again someone who died in the Holocaust is because they did something wrong in the past and they deserve it or they need to learn a lesson. Tell me about how the Universe plans this kind of things so that we all get what we deserve. Tell me who decides what you deserve saying that. I was a judge and I don’t know, that’s for sure. Probably not a tongue being cut off. But surely you deserve something like this: