Memories of the afterlife.

I don’t have many, probably because every time I get anything remotely similar to a memory of the afterlife, I have enormous doubts. I think I lose concentration thinking it must be a mere fantasy, my logical mind starts to interfere, and at the end I haven’t gained much new. Clearly I’m not like all those enlightened people who find out all their lessons, all their soulmates in their current life and their spiritual purpose in a single regression.

Nonetheless, I do have brief scenes in my mind and a couple of insights that seem to come from a “higher” part of me that I barely understand. In that state, in the few occasions I feel I’ve been there, I see things in a completely different way, it’s like you really are a different being... yes, not even a different “person”, as now you are not human. It’s hard to describe, and at least for me, hard to comprehend.

Since it’s hard for me to believe and it usually sounds too “spiritual”, I do not usually talk about these memories, but earlier today I said to myself, “Well, why not?” To do it, I’ve chosen the term “afterlife” because I think it’s better than “the time between lives” as I usually say, and of course much better than the “academic” term invented by certain researchers: “the intermission”. This, in my opinion, doesn’t say anything different to an interval of time, no matter if you’re waiting for the bus or going to the bathroom for a piss before the second part of your favorite series begins. It sounds like the only thing you can do during that time is hovering in the sky looking for a body to reincarnate. It sounds so superficial.

Michael Newton had already coined the expression “life-between-lives” (with LBL being the abbreviation) but these researchers have completely ignored him, as they may think they’re the wisest among reincarnation researchers and they’re great putting names to things that already existed. For my part, I’ve decided to use “afterlife” because it’s a wider term. It doesn’t imply you have to reincarnate, you may choose this option or not. Through my experience I’ve also come to differentiate several states of consciousness in the afterlife, a point that inexplicably most researchers miss (not Michael Newton, by the way). I just can’t see why it is so difficult to understand that ghosts are one thing and spirits in the “spiritual world” (for lack of a better term) are another. If you call all these different states of consciousness by the same general definition of “intermission”, the only thing you’re doing, as usual for “academic” researchers, is to mess up things and bring confusion.

[Note: the reason I put the word “academic” between quotation marks is because I feel that’s intended to mean they are the “serious” researchers, that is, the only ones that can be trusted. I’ve found that’s very far from the truth, so I’ve decided I’ll never use that word without quotation marks, implying they don’t deserve the respect they want for themselves].

Well, I’ll stop rambling now and tell what I meant to tell from the beginning.

Tow nights ago something strange happened to me. As I mentioned in my latest entry, I suffered a severe fall while I was skating on Maundy Thursday. I am still recovering and I need to do rehabilitation exercises to regain the mobility of my left shoulder. It aches... a lot. And though this is not something new in my life, I’ve been reflecting about how we miss things only after we’ve lost them. Those words from a Marillion song always come back to me: “You never miss it till it’s gone”. I don’t know if this was the reason, but when I was left in the sofa quiet and in the dark, I breathed deeply and all of a sudden I was overwhelmed by deep feelings of sadness and depression. It was Katrina again. It was as if a past life review passed before my eyes. I saw the main scenes like quick flashbacks: the fear in the field hospital, the German officer who scared me, the church and the sound of the airplanes above, the loss of my boyfriend, the pistol in my hand, the desperation, the flash from the machine gun in the darkest of nights, the blood staining my clothes. I wanted it so much to be over. I know how much I’m fighting now, despite the physical pain, because I want to swim again in the summer. I know how much I want to live. I knew I didn’t want any of that when I forced the soldier to kill me. I had no more hope nor strength to survive.

But then it seemed the scene went on. I was curious because I’ve never had memories of what happened right after I died as Katrina. I only knew my life ended there in the blink of an eye, as I was lying in the middle of the dark street. I had the impression I was looking from the outside now. I saw the soldier lifting me in his arms like a broken doll, so tiny and shrunken, in fetal position. And then everything started to fade. Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I was doubting as always. “I want to go further, but aren’t I imagining it all?”

What happened next? Did the depression state I was in send me to a temporary hell with other depressive souls in the lower astral planes? Who knows, but certainly that’s not what I saw. I tried to forget about my negative thoughts and just go deeper into the trance. Then I felt as if I was waking up. I was also in a fetal position, but everything was light around me, a bright and dark yellow light. I was also light, it seems. I was “bigger” now, but lighter, ethereal, almost transparent... I was going to say immaterial, but I don't think this is exact, as I was somehow corporeal. I still felt "feminine", something I consider strange, as I think I have more masculine traits. I still could feel some of Katrina’s sadness and depression, but it was as if those emotions were just impregnating me, adhering to my being like some kind of dirtiness I hadn’t washed away yet. I no longer felt I was Katrina. Katrina was just a thin layer of skin I had left behind, like snakes do when they molt.

I’m not sure if there was someone else there helping me reflect and understand, but I do know I was wondering what Katrina’s life had meant. I’ve had the same thought in other occasions, and here it came back again: “To experience the absence of love”. There wasn’t love in Katrina’s life. There was no one who cared, except her boyfriend, taken away by war. I wasn’t surprised of the outcome: suicide was one of the likeliest options, and probably not the worst. I wasn’t concerned about that in the slightest. It was as if I was just evaluating my decisions and thinking: “Well, that was to be expected, given the circumstances”.

Basically, that was all. I went to bed still feeling emotional, but not giving too much weight to those memories that probably are imagination. But the truth is that at the following morning they were still clear and strong in my mind. They indeed have the “texture” typical of past life memories. They’re weird, different, hard to describe, as it’s not a physical world as we know it, you’re not even “you”. But they feel just as real. I just can’t know if they’re fantasy as I don’t have a way to verify it. I only have my intuition to judge. And it’s long since my intuition tells me we are so much more than flesh and bone, so much more than we can't even imagine. 

A hairpin and a bathtub.

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.

THEN is when you want to cry your heart out.   

Related posts:

Hopeless.

Soul-killing.

  

Beliefs and facts (again).

Curiously, I was speaking about this in my Spanish blog just a few days ago. Not anything directly related to beliefs and facts, but I was saying the life of a hardcore reincarnationist like me is tough... quite tough. One of the reasons is you have to spend 99% of your time fighting against people with ridiculous beliefs. People who don’t remember past lives, have only fragments of a few past lives, haven’t researched reincarnation in deep, but want to convince everyone that you will suffer endless torture in dark places, surrounded by creatures that will feed of your energy during death and beyond, if you do something evil like... let’s say, committing suicide. This, in case someone doesn’t know, is comparable to being a murderer. So, yes, once more, imagining someone like Hitler having a wonderful life this time around, faraway from any kind of suffering, without being whipped or chained in a dark hole, or eaten by astral monsters, is just impossible for their little minds. Go figure.

The worst of it all is that they will ignore, misinterpret (with conscience), adapt, twist and even change what they read just to keep believing what they want to believe about the matter. Yes, this could be the following chapter to my two latest entries (one and two) where I talked about suicide. As everyone was expecting, the original poster insisted on his question, as he hadn’t received a proper answer before the thread was deleted. This second thread was full of nonsense, but for some strange reason this one hasn’t been deleted (so far). I replied again, not because I wasn’t bored of it all, but because I think people has the right to know... and also, because other people were trying to derail the thread, leaving the question unanswered again, or even worse, answering with personal beliefs and not facts. I just can’t take it.

Some reincarnation books were mentioned. I read those books decades ago, so I usually talk from memory. But then I searched in those books, and also did a quick research on the internet. I just couldn’t believe my eyes: everything is clear there. People who tried to commit suicide and lived an NDE say more or less the same thing than people who did commit suicide in a past life, were regressed and taken to the period between lives by Dr. Michael Newton: there’s not any kind of punishment on the other side. Suicide is not the best of choices, but love and compassion are there for you anyway. You are not forced to reincarnate quickly if you don’t want. Rather, you go to a place where you can be alone and reflect about what you did, and then, when you feel ready, you return to physical life. This is not a dark, damp, prison-like place somewhere in the spiritual world. It can be a bright, green, nice place, not different than any other place in “Heaven”, though quite dull and silent. There are no "critters” anywhere, torturing your soul or feeding on your bad energies, as someone else said. Almost everyone who knows a bit of this type of creatures (and I know a few), knows they are in the astral realm... and some of them even know how to handle them. Saying they follow you to your next life to keep feeding on the bad energies of evil people or suicide victims is one of the greatest nonsensical claims I have ever heard in all my years researching reincarnation (and believe me, I’ve heard many of them). 

The problem usually comes when someone who has experiences in “the spiritual realms” mixes those with their religious beliefs. I’ve seen it so many times, I’m quite tired of it. Not in vain most religions have been founded after an “enlightened guy” who could see astral entities and what have you started to claim he knew exactly what they were and what they were doing. If there are “spiritual guides” giving messages, it gets even worse, as everyone believes that they must be right if they are disincarnate. It’s almost as if you’re talking straight to God. And as you were “chosen” to be the recipient of those messages, you must be “divine” too. And this happens over and over and over again in the history of humanity... Everyone chooses what they want to believe, listens to the one they choose to believe, takes whatever facts they like and ignore the other two hundred different accounts, quotes the Bible because everyone knows everything there is true and well-thought, and everyone happy!   

Of course, I have my own beliefs. But mine are always changing and they are always constructed by everyone’s experiences, not just mine. I try not to interpret things. Facts are facts. People interpret all the time, so when you read something you always have to separate beliefs from facts. And if you achieve this, you find the Truth is really so simple, unique and singular. Unfortunately, many people still think they can manipulate the Truth and treat other human beings as if they are kids growing up. They still think they can control them through fear, lies and partial truths. They think that they can deceive a child that is looking for answers. They think they will make this child do what they want him to do, when most likely this child will know they are lying and despise their advice. They will lose his trust, he will keep looking for convincing answers elsewhere, and make his own choices anyway. Wrong or right, it doesn’t matter, we are here for that, to live and learn (if we want). It is so ironic: this is one of the most accepted views within the reincarnation world (that we are here to learn), but it seems some people haven’t got it yet. I wonder how many of them think they are old and wise, without realizing they are the kids instead, still clinging to stupid little childhood tales they just can’t forget. 

By the way, all this reminded me of just another of my struggles regarding the astral, "demonic entities" and sleep paralysis. Incredibly, many people still believe sleep paralysis is caused by beings like the one shown in the picture. The other day I read a quote from one of my favorite authors: "Graveyards are the maximum expression of our ignorance". In this case, we could say something similar: "Astral monsters are the maximum expression of our blindness". Most of the times those monsters are created by our thoughts and negative emotions, yes. Believing we can be controlled by them to the point of committing suicide or killing someone because they were whispering in our ears is blaming someone else for our misdeeds. The day we understand WE ALL ARE RESPONSIBLE OF OUR DECISIONS, maybe we will get rid of all those "monsters". The problem is in our minds, nowhere else. Now try to explain this out of here. I won't be doing it again, as then I do feel like killing myself... and never come back.   

Related entry:

Beliefs and facts.

UPDATE 7-DEC-15

Surprise, surprise. The second thread about suicide was also deleted. I don't know what happened after my post saying nothing happens when you commit suicide. I also put some links to interesting NDE accounts where people who attempted suicide describe how they reached a "heavenly place" and were halted by spiritual beings saying it wasn't their time and they must come back to go on with their lives. This is no different from any other NDE, but for some reason it scares the forum admins. I am so happy to have my own place to talk freely (a few of them really). As it may interest readers, this is just one of those links. There are hundreds of similar accounts. I also clarified what Michael Newton says in his books: he talks of "isolation places" for people who killed themselves. They are not dark places where you are chained and whipped for all eternity, like I said above. They are just normal places but you will be alone for a while, reflecting about what you did, until you understand you lost some good opportunities to grow (if this applies, of course).

And, just as I was saying about treating people as kids, now I have a private message from the OP saying he would like to talk to me. I bet he could perfectly discern who was being honest here and who was trying to deceive him with silly lies. He even tried to start a new thread which of course was also quickly deleted. What a waste of time. 

More on suicide...

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.

What happens to people who commit suicide?

[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.

Original entry: ¿Qué pasa con los suicidas?]

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.

More information:

Suicide (The Great Escape).

ADDITIONAL COMMENTARY (18-11-2015).

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?

Is this blog useful?

Drugs.

I’ve been avoiding this matter for days. After a hectic short period in my life, where I couldn’t do much past life work, apart from the book on children who remember I was writing, I have plenty of leisure time to spare again. I guess one day I’ll tell what happened with my great “premonition dream” and the “wonderful” job I got and quit, but right now I need to talk about serious stuff... really serious stuff.

I’ve talked about drugs before in this blog, but when past life scenes repeat again and again, it usually means there’s something that still needs to be processed. And this is the only place I can do it safely. Drugs are a very delicate matter, and also have a morbid component that causes attraction and revulsion at the same time. But most of all... it brings me to the darkest side of human nature, to the darkest side of... myself. Talking about it is always hard. But keeping silent doesn’t help.

June has always been a strange month for me. It’s not as tough as May, but it often makes me feel uneasy, not completely down, but unbalanced... as if I’m walking on a tight rope knowing I’m going to fall into the abyss. These words have reminded me of this Supertramp album cover that reflects so well what I mean:

Coincidence or not, the other day I was feeling weird like that. I meditated, and the images I got were very similar to what I described in that other entry I’ve mentioned above. I was in my old and dark flat in Köln, in the 60’s. Car lights shine through the window and reflect on the walls. I see the coffee table in the living room, the threadbare sofa where I sleep, rather than in the bed (actually, I think I don’t remember any bed, save the hotel beds where I took the women). I see the cigarettes and matchbox on the table. Though I don’t have a clear image, I know there are other drugs too (the flash of a spoon). I feel the anxiety, the inner rage, the hole in my heart. But I can’t understand why.

I don’t remember much of my college years, though I have the inkling my friends were some kind of extremists who loved to protest against our Government, and I even suspect we considered to take some kind of violent action at some point. I don’t know if I ever got involved in that. I only know I was very angry. And though I had a few personal problems, they were not enough to create so much anger inside me. And my only wish was to forget all that darkness, to escape the emptiness of my soul.

It wasn’t the first time I saw how I did it, but it was the first time I saw myself in front of the bathroom mirror, bare-chested, syringe in hand, ready to inject the heroin. “It’s easy”, were the words coming to my mind. Looking at yourself in the mirror is like doing it to another person, so the first times it was easier that way. There was less pain, more distance. It was easier to control the trembling of the hands. And the relief was immediate. Dreamless sleep and sweet oblivion... that was all I needed. Death was all I wanted.

I felt like shit afterwards, of course. Not because the effect of the drug (or not only because of that), but disappointed with myself, perfectly knowing I might not wake up again one of those nights... and not caring at all.

Now, looking in retrospect, I can understand. I see Katrina inside the man I was in the 60’s. I see the same desires of killing myself, of ending so much suffering. It was as if I had been in Hell before, and that Hell still attracted me strongly, like a giant magnet stealing me the will to live. Coincidence or not, my age then was very close to the age Katrina was when she died. It’s the same age I was when depression reached its maximum peak in this life. The same old patterns were repeating again.

The positive part of all this is somehow I decided “No more” and left all that darkness behind, to make something good of my days and become a real man who fought for freedom and justice. I still wonder how I made it, but I guess this proves light and darkness always go hand in hand.

The last dawn.

That dawn was not like any other dawn. The Sun barely could be seen far away in the horizon as an orange-coloured ball partially covered by the clouds, some sponge clouds of a grey cotton which didn’t let the blue of the sky be seen. The wind was blowing as never before in the mist of times, and pushed the clouds until they disappeared in the distance, being replaced for others as grey as them. The sea waves, boisterous like they had not been from years ago, brutally charged against the rocks.

There were no seagulls soaring through the air in search of food. Nor swam fish in the rough sea waters, nor there were crabs buried in the sand. There was not a living being to be seen anywhere. That morning the beach sand had appeared totally clean and pure. No shells, no seaweeds... only sand.

The scream of the waves crashing against the rocks was the only sound in that silence, and the wind was now the master of Nature, making the sea angry and dragging the clouds after him. Only the Earth was left.

But then in the immensity of the beach a point that moved getting close to the seashore turned up. Who or what could still be alive? It soon reached the water, and went on walking along the shore. She barely could stand. Her body, almost naked, was covered by the tatters of what had been a simple but beautiful dress. Her long and dark hair was battered by that horrible wind which was becoming more and more violent with each passing minute. She had her shoes hanging from her shoulder, tied up to walk comfortably on the sand. Her legs failed her with each step, and she fell to the sand, nearly fainting, fearing she wouldn’t be able to get up ever again. But the last thing she would lose would be her hope.

Her green eyes gazed at infinity, and now and then they let a tear, half courage, half sadness, run down. She wouldn’t stop until her last drop of strength fell down and broke in a thousand pieces. She had to reach that place... only a few metres were left. She had waited for that encounter since she was a child, and finally the day they would meet had arrived.

A spark shone in her eyes, and her rosy lips let out a sad smile. Then she stopped, and stared at the line where sky and sea joined together.

Suddenly the clouds calmed down and disappeared abandoning their grey color in the sky. The sea became still and the waves transformed themselves in a layer of smooth and uniform water. Silence filled everything. Her heart beat slower. The Sun disappeared, and with it the light. From afar a thunder boomed and from the depth of the sea a muffled murmur started to surge, like a cascade falling into the space.

She fainted due to the fear, the joy and the exhaustion. The murmur grew... grew even more, and then the sea waters were pierced by a huge blinding moon that illuminated a hundred times more than the Sun. That light filled everything: the beach, the sky, the sun... She disappeared first. Then the light swept everything else. And afterwards the void carried the light away. Silence and darkness reigned for evermore.  

  

I wrote this when I was 13 or 14, according to my notes, though I wasn’t sure then and I’m not sure now. I’ve translated it for this blog and I’m amazed at how past life memories get unconsciously reflected on all we do... More than thirty years have passed for me to realize where this short story was coming from. Now I’m trying to work through the emotions and to remember in detail the events that led me to that day in the beach where darkness threatened to take away my life... and eventually did. When I started to write this blog I said I wanted to go inside, there where it really hurts... well, this hurts more than I can say, but if I force it I feel it slips through my fingers and I can’t do anything. I mean, emotions don’t come out when I want them to come out. I wish I could sit down, do some self-reiki like the other day, and let all the stuck emotions flood and get me like a tsunami, but it looks like it doesn’t work that way. They come just when they want: when I’m listening to a certain song with certain lyrics, when I’m with my boyfriend and something triggers something, when I’m typing on my laptop and suddenly I can see the same images in my mind, playing over and over again, making me feel sad and wretched.

Yesterday I listened to some binaural recordings again but it didn’t feel as right as before, I could gather some fragments together because I wanted to relive it all again, to the very second of what happened, but I wonder... do the details matter so much? When do emotional wounds exactly occur? What makes the deepest wound? The fear, the helplessness, the realization you just can’t fight and you have to let the man do with you whatever he wants, the nausea, the weakness, is it all at the same time? Is it the stab in itself, or the bleeding through days and weeks, piercing your soul like a sword through your heart that stays there making a zombie out of you? The only thing I’m sure of is that I killed myself while I was still paralyzed, I chose death to get rid of all that suffering, never knowing the pain follows you to the next lives, until you learn to deal with it, until you learn to get over it.... if you ever do.

For some minutes rage wanted to go out as well, but then it subdued and went into hiding again. I was going to write some words about it and then I just couldn’t, but I know it keeps being there somewhere in the inside... Sometimes I am told I have a lot of accumulated anger, but they don’t know to which extent... My theory is that anger comes from pain that goes beyond words, but once again, what can you do with that anger? I could have killed whoever was around me back then, they surely believed me nuts anyway, and I wouldn’t have been the first one to go mad during a war, but once I had the gun in my hand I only killed myself... And now the only way to get that anger out is through music, tears and... once more, writing. But honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll ever get somewhere...

Suicide (The Great Escape).

(As I promised in my latest blog entry, here is the piece I have translated regarding sexual abuse and suicide. It contains the Marillion song in full).

Sometimes I get surprised of the superficiality some talk about suicide and how some judge people who have committed suicide or have been about to do it. “Everyone gets what they deserve” or “Killing yourself is cowardice” are phrases I’ve had to hear more than once and I hope they are only a consequence of not reflecting or not knowing how to put oneself in the others’ shoes. And there are people who still think that killing yourself is equivalent to being an undefined number of years lost in the astral or facing some kind of trial in the other side for having committed an unforgivable sin.

It is likely that 90% of these people think I am insane, but I use to reply to them: “Do you remember having killed yourselves? Have you ever considered it some time? Have you fallen into such a deep depression you couldn’t see another way out? Because I do remember to have committed suicide. And I know many people who also did it. And not all of us remember what happened afterwards, between one life and the next, but obviously we came back and we didn’t burn in Hell, nor we were condemned to wander in the astral”.

Others think it is a matter of mental illness. Perhaps it is, or at least, there are electrochemical changes in the brain, that’s true. But I think circumstances are the most influential. No one can know in which circumstances a person was to decide to kill themselves. And therefore, no one, save ourselves, can judge.

The circumstances for which I decided to kill myself have to do with war, the death of a loved one, and also sexual abuse. No, it is not easy to say it. But it is much worse to live it. In a society where we are used to violence in distant countries, and bombs, shrapnel or executions of people guilty of rape accompany us while we’re having lunch, we don’t know what this really means. It is as unreal as the latest Disney animation movie. And however, it exists, it existed, and it will keep existing. And it is very likely many of us have been in similar situations and have made exactly the same decision which we are quick to judge now.

I always say it and I’ll never get tired of saying it: if we all recalled our past, the world would be very different. Because when we are talking of yourself or your relatives, then it is not so easy to speak lightly. And we’d be talking first-hand, not for what we are told by the different religions, philosophies or belief systems. 

Now I’ve got over it a bit more and it’s not so hard to talk about it, but when the feelings were burning in my inside and flooded in until they exploded, it was very useful for me to listen to a Marillion song called “The Great Escape”. This song is the culmination of a full album entitled “Brave”. This album begins with a scene which is based on a real piece of news published in the British press: a young woman standing on a bridge, about to throw herself into the space. When a police agent asked her name, the girl couldn’t even answer. Once I told a friend sometimes I had the same face that is displayed in the album cover.

A movie was filmed too, in case someone is interested.

THE GREAT ESCAPE

Heading for the great escape
Heading for the rave
Heading for the permanent holiday

Heading for the winter trip
Heading for the slide
Heading for the dignified walk away

Heading for the open road
Goodbye to all that
Heading for the automatic overload

Standing in the open boat
Standing in the swing
Waiting for the ringing and the bright light

Waiting to be recognized
Quiet applause will do
They shower you with flowers when they bury you

You're holding on, you're holding on ...

(i) the last of you
Just when I thought I'd seen the last of you
You come here scratchin' at my door
Your pain and anger's in the howling dark
Of every corridor I walk

So tell me more about the love that you rejected
Tell me more about the trust you disrespected
I still don't know, why did you hurt the very one
Why did you hurt the very one that you should have protected?

(ii) fallin' from the moon
Don't ask me why I'm doing this
You wouldn't understand
You're asking the wrong questions
You couldn't understand

A bridge is not a high place
The fifty-second floor
Icarus would know
A mountain isn't far to fall

When you've fallen from the moon

There's murder on the street
I'm ashes on the water now, somewhere far away

I have fallen, fallen from the moon

The lyrics seem to reveal the one who should protect her betrayed her trust and abused her. And the music and especially Steve Hogarth’s voice keep helping me get rid of the pain and the rage accumulated by something that should have never happened. Although, maybe, if it happens, it is down to some reason I haven’t got to understand yet.

The consequences, who knows how often, no doubt can affect you in the following lives, due to the deep emotional trauma that implies.

ADDITIONAL WORDS.

I believe three months passed since I decided to put an end to my life until I actually did it. The scene where I’m standing on an empty beach, a cloudy and windy day, though not too cold, comes back over and over again. I’m quite sure it was the day I woke up from the sedation and went out to take some fresh air. Johann was dead. And I was paralyzed. I just couldn’t talk, couldn’t cry, couldn’t shout. We had dreams. We often talked about our future together, “when the war is over”. Now I was utterly alone, hopeless, scared to death. Didn’t want to live in a world where I could get killed any moment, and not only by the enemies, but also by the hand of people who had invaded my dear Prague. I was nothing to them. They had forced me to join the Army. But I didn’t want to be there, shouldn’t be there, in a strange country where they looked at me the same way I had looked at the Germans in their tanks, with their rifles and their threats.  

I was just a shadow, a ghost. I was already dead, long before I was shot in the belly.