Death by hanging.

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? 

Tear away the chains - Free me now

No one else to blame - Let me go

Tear away the chains - Free me now

Driving me insane - Let me go

Tear away the chains - Free me now

No one else to blame - Let me go

Tear away the chains - Free me now

Driving me insane - Let me go  

                                                 

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.

I am a zombie.

No, don’t get me wrong. This is not a new fiction blog about walking dead. I’m talking of real life, of decisions made, of wanting to go in a specific direction in order to fulfill your dreams or at least earn a living, and encountering a wall again and again.

I’m not afraid of hard working. I like challenges, I like my job, I have knowledge and a love for all kind of animals (yes, not only pets) beyond the average. But I’m not stupid. And I’ve already known slavery in other lives. I’m not up to go through the same for the umpteenth time.

I may have seen my actual coworker in a dream before I actually met her, but turns out I was right about not wanting to be part of the job. I was reluctant to join her for a reason. It’s a shame because she’s a very nice person and a valid professional, but I think she’s wasting her time trying to make a business work in such conditions. Maybe it is worth for her, but it is not worth for me.

So, I had my doubts if this new job meant I was still alive. I’m finding out I’m not. At most I’m prolonging the agony I already mentioned in my last blog post. I am a zombie, ready to die and this time, yes, forget about my current shitty profession. Not even until my next life. Forget FOREVER, if I can.

I need someone to kill me, quick. Cut off my head, throw a spear through my chest, whatever you think is best to prevent me from wanting to be a vet again.

Death is better than being a zombie.

Weird things happening... and musings about preplanning.

First, I’ll copy what I wrote in one of the forums I participate three days ago.

Sometimes weird things happen. Maybe the Universe is weird in itself. Or maybe it's just random and we think there is some kind of Force making them happen, who knows...

This is what I said exactly one month ago: 

    Today I had a dream I was in a vet clinic. When someone mentioned horses had a soul a coworker looked at her like she was crazy. So I started to speak to her in whispers, saying I understood, and talking about some of my theories but not everything, to make people think. The dream was much longer than that, I was feeling sad as it's as if I'd like to be there, but at the same time knowing I don't fit and I won't, no matter how much I try, at least in this life. Actually, in the dream I was saying "Every time I am inside, I'm happy at first but then it's not long before I get disappointed again, I just can't stand certain attitudes". And I think this has been triggered because of a conversation I've been having with someone who showed me exploiters and people who don't have respect for people's work exist in all professions, sadly (yesterday evening my boyfriend also pointed out to me that economists say that the way the world is going, everyone is going to have less and less good job positions). And then my rebel instincts stir and remind me I just can't deal with this kind of people and remain peaceful, as I am when I'm in the kitchen cooking or ironing while listening to music. Maybe one day I'll have to learn how to deal with them (that is, being false and pretending I give a damn for what they say), but it seems that's what I have to leave for another life. They'd kill me in this one. Maybe they did long ago, and that's what I'm fighting really, maybe that's the reason I seem to be in an eternal agony. 

This is not the first dream of this kind I have. I remember another one where I also was in a clinic filled with people, everyone working and complaining of the disorganization, work conditions, etc. But the last one was a bit different as I was talking to a particular person, and it seemed there was a bit of understanding between us.

While I was concentrating on my writer's career I began to feel like I was ok with forgetting about my vet career. Had I been killed? Well, it's ok, who cares... I can always come back in my next life, when I don't have to fight so much just to have a decent job after so much effort. I was having fun creating my own business cards as a writer, and the prospect of entering a contest for the first time is quite exciting. Then someone phoned. I couldn't even remember the job position I had applied to. I've been doing that almost every week for the last four years and a half, and most of the times they didn't even bother to phone. But then the interview was even more surprising. I met someone and things seemed to click instantly. She wasn't my boss, she'd be my coworker. I even thought I had met her before... not in this life, though later I discovered she had been doing an internship in the same place I had been working for the last time, but four years after I quit. She didn't accept the job she was offered after the internship because the pay was ridiculous.

Now I know there was a lot of competition to get this job (it just shows the desperation we're living in), but after we talked and then she saw me working she quickly made the choice, though her boss kept doubting and doubting. But sometimes it seems the Universe conspires to clear out all the obstacles so that you obtain what you need... when you need it (even when you think it's not the right moment).

When I think about her, I have the impression she was the one in the dream. It felt like I was debating with myself, as it's clear I have conflicts in this respect. But now it also feels I could have been talking to her, as if she was trying to convince me to join her, and I was telling her my reasons not to.

Now I will add a few words. At this point of my past life journey I still don’t know whether we plan our lives or not. I’d say we don’t. Some people love to believe everything is carefully planned and everything is right. Whatever happens, there’s a God up there who allows every death, every disgraceful event, someone who looks after our souls and makes sure there is a reason for everything. I always disagree. If that were true, we wouldn’t return with past life traumas, unresolved issues or fears to be judged again. While in Heaven, we would understand everything was planned and everything was for the better. We'd learn what we had to learn, and then we’d come back searching for new lessons. I do believe our human minds can’t grasp the intention of our soul wanting to go through certain experiences, and I do believe that what we think is wrong, could be right from the spiritual perspective. But I think there can be “deviations” from the script. We can make decisions we thought we’d never make. We can react in a different way when we encounter in reality those challenges we wanted to face. I don’t think we’re just puppets unconsciously living what was already planned. I think our lives are a dynamic process where anything can happen. I’m sure that’s the reason living is so “fun” most of the times.

What I can say now is that there’s indeed a higher self who knows better than our “lower self” (for lack of a better word) what we have to do next. I do believe we have “coworkers” who are part of the team and help us make the right decisions, depending on what we need. I also believe in free will, so I’m sure the final choice is always ours, no matter what advice they give. I think this is what we call “Destiny”. We think it’s something we can’t control, something outside of us. But it’s only we are not aware of how our consciousness works in higher levels, communicating with our guides and finally making us do what is better for us... IF the message gets through. I believe this is not always the case, as sometimes we are blind and deaf to the messages we get from our coworkers. We can get impatient, we can get stubborn, and pursue something we know is not for us, wasting time that maybe we won’t be able to recover. If we lose our head, things can certainly go wrong, and the end is all of our making, it’s not “carefully and divinely planned so that we learn something”. We learn from our own choices.

I feel so lucky to have the line open, to feel I’m not alone in this journey. I feel like I called three years ago, and they instantly replied to my cry of help, giving me the answers I sought. Now that I’ve resolved most of those issues that were affecting me, I can go back to work... and they unlocked the doors. Even before I felt ready, I was intuitively doing things to start this new stage in my life. I moved to my new flat, and brought my work clothes with me, though the prospect of finding a job kept looking quite bad. It seems magic, but it’s just... LIFE!

Empathy

I have been told recently by a reincarnation researcher (or that’s how he calls himself) that most past life memories coming in adulthood are, literally, rubbish. I had a pretty long conversation with him, as I had asked for help to get children’s cases for a project I’m working on. He first told me he’d gladly do, then he found out we disagree in certain points, and he decided I wasn’t worthy of his help. My three years of recalling past lives were nothing compared with his thirty years of research, a research that apparently led him to the conclusion that most adult memories are rubbish. And, of course, as he couldn’t assess mine because I wasn’t up to give him the details, along with all the verifications I claim to have, I guess he thought I was also one of those persons with shitty recollections, probably a crazy person that has nothing better to do than saying in a private message in Facebook that I’ve killed, been killed, executed, and also committed suicide in a few of my past lives. He also thinks that memories obtained by self-hypnosis are as unreliable as those obtained by hypnosis, just because both techniques include the work “hypnosis”. This is a curious claim, as I had to explain to him what self-regression or self-hypnosis is. On the contrary, he takes memories obtained through meditation as valid, as he considers those as spontaneous memories.

And this is one of the most serious researchers I’ve ever found, one of the few who is a paying a little attention to adult memories...

God save us all.

At least, he assured to me, he has an ability to empathize. He has a daughter who started to remember past lives at three years old, and he can understand people who remember because he’s talked to dozens of people (wow, I’m impressed) and interacted with a lot of them. But he has no memories of his own and he doesn’t know what self-hypnosis is.

Please God save us all.

I’m not sure if my feelings were hurt when he threw all my memories and experiences (and the memories and experiences of hundreds of people, some of them very dear to me) to the garbage just because he felt like it, or if I’m more disappointed than hurt. But I know who I am, and I am a better researcher than he. I don’t have preconceived ideas about certain techniques, and I don’t throw anything to the garbage without analyzing and studying it properly. I also try to experiment myself, as I’ve done with astral projection too, so that I can see with my own eyes if certain people’s claims can be true. As a real scientist, I have to take into account all data, I can’t ignore what I don’t like.

I was deeply disappointed as it seems he’s just reciting by heart what he has learnt in who-knows-what studies, instead of listening to people. I did feel scrutinized and dissected as a dead lab rat, being unfairly judged just because I think all people can remember if they try. I felt he was looking at me from his tall tribune, I almost could see his condescending smile as he was trying to educate me and lecture me about statistics and facts I’m so tired of hearing. This is another curious thing, as I have access to information that no researcher will ever find, especially if they keep being like that. Information I’m so glad is secret, as if I were the keeper of sacred knowledge too important to be contaminated by unworthy eyes (something I also did in the past). My desire to talk I had not long ago is slowly becoming into a desire to remain safe and silent, enjoying the insights and company of those who really know, those who really understand how it feels to kill, be killed, be executed or commit suicide in past lives.

I didn’t need empathy when I started to remember, I needed people who really knew what I was going through, because they had also experienced it. No cold researcher in the world can do that without memories of their own. But I, as a reincarnationist and a researcher, I can and must go further. I’ve already come a long way, but I’m sure better times are coming for reincarnation. We, the ones who remember, not that kind of researchers, are the ones opening the way. We are the vanguard. We have the wits, the strength, the wisdom, the experience, and science is on our side. We will win. One day our voice will be heard. And that day we will win.

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...  

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...