Pitch black.

No, I am not gone, just busy with other projects. As I am getting used to speak of my darkest side and deepest thoughts everywhere, the bitter and long night watches are becoming less frequent. In the future I will probably save this place for musings (well, it was intended right for that), ramblings, wandering thoughts and ideas, everything that goes through my mind before I can finally put it into fine words... But I love it too much to leave it abandoned.

The other day I was reading Song of Ice and Fire, Book 5, and tears came to my eyes when I read the descriptions of what is like to be aboard a ship and travel long days and nights. Since I went to the Naval Museum of Madrid around two weeks ago, my past life as James has become very present. I have always said that my life in the Royal Navy is one that I would live over and over again. It had its downsides, but it makes me so proud to know how much I learned, how much I fought, how much I enjoyed each and every moment. No wonder I feel so nostalgic when I think about it. All our past personalities are part of who we are today, one way or the other, but probably James is the strongest one, even when it might not seem so. I want more memories, that is for sure, there are so many blanks to fill yet, pieces that I can’t seem to reach, both good and bad. I had a new one the other day and I treasure them like jewels. But, as we reincarnationists know, even the best of memories is just a brief glimpse of the past, blurred and distant, like echoes that whisper in the dark (this reminds me of another past life song I have to post one day).

I entitled this entry “Pitch Black” because I have always loved that English expression. These days it is hard to see a real “pitch black” something. Undoubtedly the only time I could see nothing, that is to say, NOTHING AT ALL, with my eyes opened, of course, was when I visited a cave and at the bottom of it we were told to turn our helmet lights off, only for five minutes. It was impressive. Disturbing. Scary. Even maddening, after a while. Or so they said, because I loved it all the same, and though in these cases people start to talk or make japes, I would have stayed there much longer. Maybe I would have started to see better than ever before, even meditating.

Other “pitch black” place I have known is the beach at night, if there is no moon and you are far enough off the town. But usually you have a light or two at the sea, maybe a ship passing, a beacon... It is also a bit scary, but you are near the land, quite safe, so it is not the same as sleeping in a boat or a ship.

When I was small and my family got up at 4:30 a.m. in the morning to drive to the coast, I would stare at the dark sky and felt so, so happy being a witness of such beauty, of such immensity up there... In moments like this I have always been so grateful of being alive. And now, knowing all I know of my past lives, I wonder if I felt just the same when I was James and breathed the salt air every night, as we were crossing the Atlantic Ocean, after a hard day’s work. I wonder what I thought then, what I feared, what I hoped, what I missed... Or maybe all my concerns disappeared and I would be enchanted beholding the pitch black sky above me or the stars shining, guiding me at night?

While I was reading that book, these words resonated to me as never before:

“On moonless nights the water was as black as maester's ink, from horizon to horizon. Dark and deep and forbidding, beautiful in a chilly sort of way, but he looked at it too long Tyrion found himself musing on how easy it would be to slip over the gunwale and drop down into that darkness”.

And even with all that darkness, they whispered to me: PEACE. Maybe it is because I knew that no one would attack in the middle of the night. Maybe it is because we would stop sailing and rest peacefully for a few hours. Maybe because those were the moments I yearned for when I was inland, attending boring sessions at the Parliament. Maybe because that was my dream come true, all that I had wished for before I became a sailor trained to kill the enemy.
Reading those lines I get clear images in my head, it is one of those instances when you can suspect it is not just your imagination creating a scene from the written words, but something else that comes from deep within you. Tears keep welling in my eyes when I think about it, it is as if my heart still longs for the sea, or maybe just for that long-forgotten peace, where a man like me could just sit and watch, be proud of his crew, and dwell in the illusion that the sea was all mine to sail... if only for a while.

Pride.

We often talk about bad memories associated to our past lives. Traumas are frequent, also feelings of nostalgia and all kind of unresolved issues we must deal with sooner or later. Does this mean there are no good memories? No, not really, but it seems it happens like in real life: for some reason human beings like to focus in the negative part of everything, and we easily forget the good moments we have lived with friends or relatives.

Lately a curious thing has occurred to me in two different occasions. The situation was almost identical. The emotion attached to the particular situation was more intense the second time. I wouldn’t say it is a real trigger, as I don’t get clear memories. If I wasn’t so aware of my past lives, I would probably let it go or just say I am especially dreamy that given day. In both occasions I was leaving my home to go somewhere else. Flocks of hair partially covered my eyes, and though I am a woman this time around, I had the feeling I was a young man with long, light brown hair. I take a handbag I recently bought, with a strap over the shoulder and of a greenish color. I don’t know why but every time I take it I feel like a soldier who goes to war, not a normal soldier, but one that has to embark in a wooden ship docked in the harbor. I am a sailor and I don’t know when I will return.

I leave. The weather is cloudy, as if it is about to rain. As I walk I see my feet striding fast, but in my mind I don’t see my usual shoes, but black boots. I like to adopt a martial rhythm, as if I am marching along. The ground is wet, and if I am stepping on a cobbled street, the flashback gets even clearer. It brings a feeling of pride and I can’t get enough of it. I am happy of being where I am, of being who I am. I am young and feel strong, and above all, I feel that what I am doing is honorable and worthy. I carry just what I need to survive in my bags, and I am fine with it. I also get a glimpse of a huge ship looming over me as I get closer to the decks, and I am so proud I am part of the crew and I know how to sail. Crossing the ocean doesn’t sound dangerous, and though I will miss my home I am not bothered to be abroad for so long, doing what I most love.

The memory is gone in a few seconds. Past and present seem to become one, but you only need a word or something catching your attention to be back in your current body, in your tedious current life. The emotion lingers a bit longer though. Tears were in my eyes as I typed the above lines, just evoking the scene and feeling it so close, as if it had happened yesterday. I started to remember my Royal Navy life because I felt as disappointed with my job as I felt in 18th century, but that doesn’t mean there is no other kind of feelings. Maybe I am recovering the same enthusiasm I had when I was young and eager to travel the world, and that’s fantastic.

Age and time become so weird when you remember past lives...