I admit, I never thought I would be broaching this subject on a blog about family history. But since I started with the premise that all of the lives on a family tree are “relative” and that our relativity to each other passes the veils of time and circumstance – meaning, we are all interconnected – I got to thinking…. if this is true, does it matter if this perspective is coming from my current life or a past life?
Let’s assume for a moment, that there is such a thing as a past life. If I existed prior to my birth, and existed in time and history before this time, is that not relevant to who I am today? And am I not still connected to this memory, this moment in history? My purpose in bringing this up here is to include it in my vast quest to understand where I come from, and where I’m going – and to appreciate my relation to all others who share the path.
So I went to do a past life regression…
She was a professionally trained hypnotist/past life regression therapist, so not a tarot card reader or party game host. It was the real deal. I lay on a couch with a blindfold over my eyes. We did all the prep work: My current family history, relationships, needs and desires. Certainly nothing prior to my birth. Then she put me under. I won’t go into how she did it, you can look that up elsewhere.
Here’s what I remember: I was standing in the most beautiful countryside of a nearby village. I approached a stone house that I decided was mine and went in. She asked me to look at my hands. I told her, or asked her, “Am I old?” And then I laughed, “I’m old!” I saw an old man sitting at a kind of bench-like table by the window, and a boy to my left sitting at a different table. Neither was speaking or moving, kind of like a picture in time. I got a sense that the man was my husband, and the boy was my grandchild.
Later she asked me to explore what was happening and I got the impression there was a war going on. I saw or felt a large rush of men riding by the house on horseback or in carriages. She asked me why and asked me to go the village and find out. I saw men yelling and slamming down their cups, and got the impression they wanted to fight, go to war, up North somewhere. I didn’t know the details of why or what. All I could come up with was: Austria 1836. Village name? Something that sounds like, “Silvenvost”. I could not verify the spelling.
Then she asked me about my family. And as I answered questions more specifically, I began to cry. I was afraid I wouldn’t see my son again; and I was left to raise my grandson without any help. His mother had been burned in a fire. I was 80 and my husband was useless since he lost all his animals and ability to work the land. I died reasonably peacefully at the age of 82-3. I was cold and my hands buzzed numbly. Then she brought me back “home”.
Well, I can’t tell you if all of that is true. I can’t prove that I existed at that time, or that the events I refer to really happened. All I can tell you is that emotionally, there was resonance. In those moments I was “Barbara”, my secret identity that came to me through this deliberate but elusive process. And the tears were real. So was the voice, which sounded a bit Scottish, but I could not decipher my accent. I did not speak a foreign language. Does it matter?
Sometimes reaching through the veils of the past is the only way to heal it.
I felt the boy in the picture I was receiving was like my son now. And whether he existed prior to this life as well, and whether we have met before or not, I knew that the message of trusting and letting him grow was enough. I had something to learn.
Whether the war and the village and the little stone house were real to me then, I don’t know. Between the annals of history and subconscious make belief, there is a very thin line. What matters is how does it affect me now? Can I learn from this? Can I grow?
I’m happy I did it. And of course I’m curious to know more. I googled like a mad woman when I got home and couldn’t confirm a thing. Other than Austria exists and there were many a war going on at the time. But what I do know is, I feel richer for having the experience, and the story that it brings to my life now. It makes me hungry for more: more knowledge, more understanding, more experience. And whether it’s mine, yours, or someone else’s, I guess I have to conclude… That’s Relative!
That's Relative! 