The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the tag “spirituality”

The Vulture

 

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Und

Have you ever watched a vulture swooping in on carrion? They do not kill, not usually, but they can smell imminent death. They circle, waiting, ready to feast when their next meal takes its final breath.

You could say I was a human vulture. I removed corpses from various circumstances of unfortunate, unexpected death, and transported them to the morgue This was not a job many people desired, and those who did this work usually lived outside society as outcasts.  Maybe it was because humans don’t like to be reminded of their own mortality.  Or perhaps that’s putting the chicken before the egg.  Maybe it was that people like me, who’d been ostracized their entire lives, simply felt more comfortable among the deceased. The dead did not insult or bully or disappoint the way the living did.

The pay was meager. Barely enough to hold body and soul together.  Eventually I became emboldened; when the opportunity presented, I took for myself what the dead no longer needed: a jeweled ring, a gold necklace, a purse full of money.

After many years, by virtue of having been around the longest, I attained a modicum of seniority among the handful of others in my line of work. By then, I could sense which round trip to the morgue would be worth my while and which I could safely assign to the others.  I could sniff out the death of a rich man in a bed not his own; the demise of a lady of some means who happened to be in town when the Angel of Death plucked her from among the living. These poor souls did not have the good fortune to die in the comfort of their own bed surrounded by loved ones. And if they were doing something sinful or illegal, all the better.

By the time the deceased’s family claimed the body, it had been through so many hands, it was impossible to say where or when the valuables had disappeared. I was careful to travel far away to sell what I had taken, lest suspicion fall on me.

I did not get rich from this enterprise but it allowed me a few small comforts that I could not have afforded otherwise — enough fuel to keep warm in winter; it kept my belly full with meat and ale; a new pair of shoes when the old ones wore out. I survived because they had died. They didn’t need their worldly possessions any longer.  I, however, could make good use of them.

We weren’t so different, the dead and me.  I was just holding on to life a bit more tenaciously

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

 

The Harshing of the Mellow…

first published June 5, 2016

cassandra

Cas

I fancied myself a tragic Cassandra, my warnings to the world ignored and unheeded. I could recognize the birth of a killing wave long before even a ripple fluttered beneath the water. I paid attention when the stone was dropped, and could accurately calculate how long it would take before those waves engulfed the shore, There, the revelers and the workers plowed on, willfully oblivious to impending disaster.

I was not well-liked. Few wanted to be reminded that their own greed and selfishness and laziness and ignorance were contributing to an inevitable crisis.  Nobody wants to be lectured by someone who is in no better a position to stop the juggernaut than they are. The best way to get through life with any measure of happiness is to ignore the sword that hangs over all our heads.  But I could not let anyone forget.  I would not allow them the luxury of denial or ignorance.  They mocked me, condescended to me, ignored me because I could see what they refused to consider.

It didn’t matter that my predictions generally played out as I said they would. I was not sought for my advice.  Instead, I spent my life on the edge of panic, without hope, certain every moment that the end was imminent.

But of course the end is always imminent for everyone. This is the human condition. Each generation eventually dies. Society, technology, mores…they are always changing,  sometimes unrecognizably so in a very short time. What is calamitous to the parent is perfectly normal to the child. As the older generation loses its ability to adapt,  the young easily inhabit the new conditions, having known nothing else.  The human race is resilient, after all.

In the end, the pattern unspools as it was always meant to.  All the millions of moving parts conspire to weave the future in the only way possible.  My dire warnings and fears were for naught.  What did it matter that I could see further than most? There was nothing any of us could have done to have made things turn out differently.  There was nothing to do but wait for another tide.

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Living in Limbo

First published March 2, 2015


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Wir

The turning point of my life came when I was thirty one. Until then, most of my moderate expectations had been met.  I fell in love, got married,  gave birth to a beautiful, clever little girl we both adored.  We were financially comfortable and happy together. My mind was uncluttered by much introspective thought or intense emotion.

When my daughter was 7, she disappeared. She’d been playing in the park with friends, and then, they called for her and she wasn’t there. Nobody had noticed anyone or anything. She’d simply vanished.

The police looked for her. My husband and I, our friends and family, we all looked for her. But we didn’t find her. Not alive. Not dead.

And so I lived the rest of my days in a limbo.  I was filled with the kind of intense emotions I’d never felt before, and did not know how to process. I cycled through grief, despair, guilt, anger, sorrow and the occasional scintilla of hope, which was always quickly extinguished and replaced by fresh grief.

Sometimes I heard stories of children returning to their parents after many years.  Somehow, they’d remembered and found their way back.  Naturally,  I hoped for such an outcome,  but after a time, I would have been relieved to know for certain that she was dead. If I could have given her a proper funeral, I might have been able to move on.  If I knew what had happened to her, I might have been able to forgive.  As it was, however, I never could settle on a single emotion, and so this was the cycle which spun the wheel which turned my life.

My husband and I stayed together, but it was never the same. We both felt a similar range of emotions, but our moods were infrequently aligned. We rarely connected, except on her birthday when we both seemed to feel the same. For many years, we’d get a small cake with a single candle. We’d bring out the old photo albums. But then it became too awful. It made us feel helpless and hopeless.  We each tried to make our way through our pain in our own way, but neither of us had much success. Compounding our pain was that we were of no comfort to each other. Even after many years, we both suffered alone.

Her being ripped from our lives so cruelly was for a reason; for the lessons on tragedy and mourning. At the time, however, it didn’t feel like any useful lesson. If anyone had suggested to me that it was part of a greater plan, I would have lost all control and attacked them ferociously. The pain was wrapped around me too tightly to loose its bonds. What mother can ever make sense of such a thing? To come to terms with it would have be tantamount to abandoning her; to losing her again. She remained alive in my sorrow.

Now, however, I am afforded greater perspective. The unrelenting pain of that life is finally healed. She and I are together again, awaiting a next time.

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Hand of a Stranger

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Var

The trouble came when I was quite young.  My father was taken away when I was about three and he never came back. My mother cried for a long time, but I never knew where he was or why he did not return.

These were times of famine and political unrest, difficult for everyone, but especially for a widow with a small child.

Eventually, it became too dangerous to remain where we were.  Not just us, but for many, many people.  So, when I was about six, we packed up the little we had and left the countryside for a large town.  It was far away – many weeks walking.

We were a miserable lot, most of us near starving, cold, filthy, exhausted, frightened. The fields we passed were mostly bare.  Drought had destroyed the crops.  But if we scavenged carefully, we might find something still edible – a buried root, a struggling vine, insects.  If we were lucky, perhaps a small animal.

We slept outside, wrapped in blankets, huddled together for warmth, or in makeshift tents.

One morning, after many days walking, my mother could not rouse herself.  Her eyes were sunken and glazed, and she struggled to breathe.  “Go with the others,” she told me.  ” Survive. Be brave. Be strong. Be good.”

I cried and begged her get up.  I was terrified. I refused to leave her until some others pulled me away from her and folded me back into the caravan, where I was carried away in the tide.

Now, not only was I starving, filthy, exhausted, cold, and frightened,  I was also alone in my mourning,  with new things to worry and be frightened about.

A few people were kind to me but they had their own worries and they could not make my problems, theirs.  Occasionally one of them shared with me from their own meager food supply — a scrap of a scrap, here and there. But most of them had to feed their own families.  An orphaned boy was not their problem.

Finally, after many, many days, we arrived in a large town. The local people did not like us country folk. They didn’t know us, didn’t trust us, didn’t want us around to threaten their livelihoods with cheap labor and a need for charity.

Some of the people in our group had family there. They, at least, had safe places to go.  Some of them had skills that enabled them to find paying work, although it was usually grudgingly. The others only had their backs and remaining strength to offer. They struggled to survive, but at least they were adults.

But me?  I was an orphan with nobody to watch out for me, nobody to care if I lived or died.  But I’d promised my mother I’d survive and I’m sure it was that determination that kept me alive. I begged on the street,  ate discarded fruit and vegetables left on the ground after the market closed, slept against doorways to protect against the worst of the elements.  I was usually chased away from several before I found somewhere to settle in for the night.

One evening, I curled up in front of a small shop that sold pots and pans and other such housewares. The store owner came out and looked me over. I picked myself up,  sure I was about to be kicked along my way.   But he took compassion on me and brought me into his shop, which was warm!  I hadn’t been warm in months!  He give me a piece of bread and some soup that was heating on the wood stove. I was so grateful, I couldn’t say anything but thank you, bless you, thank you.

He allowed me to sleep inside,  enjoying the remaining residual warmth of the fire when there was nothing left but embers. The next morning, he gave me some fresh bread and tea for breakfast, and asked me to sweep the street out front, which I did gladly, with gratitude.  He asked me to climb up the ladder to fetch things he couldn’t reach, and scoot down low to pull things out from under the counter.

He was an older man,  maybe the age of my grandfather (whom I barely remembered). I learned later that his wife and child had died many years before, and he was alone.  He seemed as happy for my company as I was for his.

As we both got older, I got stronger and he got weaker, and he came to rely on me even more.  I was there for him in his old age.  There with him when he was too infirm to leave his bed.  I sad beside him,  and held his hand as he crossed over.

The store passed into my hands.   I eventually found a wife and we had two sons, who took the business from me when I passed on many decades later.

I never forgot his kindness to me and for as long as I lived, I endeavored to pass that kindness on to others.

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

My First Regression – Part Deux

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(If you have not read the first part of the RW’s regression, you can read it here.)

After witnessing her own life and death as a powerful and opulent man, and visiting the inbetween just long enough to meet the woman who chastises him for a life of self-indulgence, RW quickly moves into another life with barely a suggestion from me. This experience,  like the one before,  is intensely physical.  She can literally feel herself inside those bodies.

[NB: during regression, subjects don’t always travel back and forth in time chronologically.  There can be a lot of skipping around. So even though RW’s next experience is probably the lifetime immediately prior to her current life, it doesn’t necessarily mean that she was in the inbetween for hundreds of human years.  There might have been other lifetimes which she just skipped over.]

As she settles in to this new body, her entire physical demeanor changes.  She sort of collapses into herself and seems to be in pain, or at least extremely uncomfortable.

“Who are you?” I ask.

She is a little girl.  She looks down and describes a pair of new, patent leather Mary Jane shoes and the skirt of a nice dress. She can move her legs but she can barely move her upper torso.

“I feel as if I’m in a cage of some kind,” she says, trying to adjust herself.  “I’m trapped in it.  I can’t move.”

“What kind of cage?” I ask. “Like a cage for a dog or a medical device, say for scoliosis?”

“Medical.  Like for scoliosis.  But that’s not what’s wrong with me.”

She goes deeper inside to get more information.

“I was in a car accident. I can see the car. It’s an old-fashioned one,  from the 1930s or 40’s.”

“How old are you now?” I ask.

“I’m six.”  She “feels” around inside for more info.  “There’s something wrong with me mentally, too. It’s hard for me to communicate. They are treating me as if I’m mentally slow.”

She ponders this for a bit and finally says,  “No. The problem isn’t mental.  I can think OK.  The problem is this contraption is making it difficult for me to talk; maybe it’s pressing against my larynx. I’m not sure. Because I can’t talk, they think I’m slow.”

She continues, “I am very well loved.  My parents take great care to dress me impeccably and get the best possible medical attention available.  But I feel like a valued object. They talk to the doctors about me with me in the room, as if I can’t hear or understand.  I am moved around by others. I have no autonomy.  I am literally in a cage.  This is my life.  I never get better.”

“How old are you when you die?” I ask.

“Eleven,” she answers quickly.

She is moving around in her chair,  as if trying to get comfortable, but cannot.

“Heal the girl,” I suggest.

And with that, RW starts “de-crinking” herself,  moving like a Transformer.  It’s as if she is putting herself back together, bone by bone.   This goes on for quite a while, neither of us saying anything.  She is completely focused on rebuilding that broken body.

RW has some back problems in her current life, which she’d mentioned to me the day before. We sat next to each other in the all-day seminars and neither of us could quite get comfortable in a basic folding chair. We both futzed around with the various seating options: cushions, Back Jacks on the floor, Back Jacks on the folding chairs, yoga blocks under our feet.  She’d mentioned that her back problems were chronic, the result of a car accident many years ago (in her current lifetime.)

Watching her fix herself was quite a sight!  She was looser than she’d been for several days I’d known her.  She was moving her neck, shoulders, and upper back freely, without pain. I certainly wasn’t going to interrupt her! However long she wanted to do that, was fine with me.  She seemed to be getting better before my eyes.

After about ten minutes, she opened her eyes and spontaneously came out of trance,  still working out the kinks.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Amazing.  My back actually feels better!  That suggestion to heal the girl was perfect.  And I know I can go back to her, on my own, in my own time, and continue to repair her injuries. And as I do, I think I will repair my own back problems.”

All in all,  it was quite a successful session in that she got information and lessons from both lives that were pertinent to and useful in her current life.

I suppose now I’ve been spoiled by having had such a good first client and productive first regression.  I know that not everyone is able to go so deep or see so much.  But I am looking forward to working with others.  I am confident that the more I do it,  the better I will become at asking the right questions to help them find the lessons inside.

Even if one is does not believe in reincarnation,  they can still benefit from such a regression.  Whatever comes up is still significant information from the unconscious mind. Thus, even if these past life memories are purely metaphorical or allegorical, they still have tremendous value in the pursuit of self-knowledge and personal growth.  They can offer new perspectives and paths to understanding our fears, our ingrained habits,  the psychological reasons why we may be susceptible to certain illnesses.

 

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

Some Notes from RW

Hi All,

I’m still working on the second half of the regression but I wanted to share the comments RW made on the previous post.

“I just read your blog;  you captured the session beautifully.  I want to mention something else about the regression.  It’s a small thing but it is fascinating to me. When I was regressed to the opulent man and I was looking at my red robe, I heard the fur trim being described as a particular word – ermine. I didn’t know the word,  and so I thought that maybe I had misheard and he was saying, vermin. But it didn’t seem right that I had vermin trim on my robe. I Googled ermine a few days later and saw that it was indeed used to trim the robes of royalty.  Fascinating!”

This kind of thing comes up often both in regressions and in the kind of “hearing the dead” type readings that I do.   You get some bit of specific info and you don’t know what it means because you’ve never heard it before, but when you research it,  you discover that the info is correct.  Now, I suppose it can be argued that this info was deep in our brains already (maybe we read about it or heard about it and forgot that we knew it) and with hypnosis,  it comes to the surface.   But even if that is so, it just proves that we can access a lot of deep info while in trance.

***

For those of you in the US,  wishing you a relaxing &/or meaningful Memorial Day Weekend. Stay safe!

I send thanks and appreciation to all who have nobly served and given their lives for their country. Thanks to them and their families for their sacrifice.

Back atcha next week!

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

My First Regression

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Hey all,

As promised,  a report on a session I did on one of my fellow attendees at Dr. Brian Weiss’s Past Life Regression workshop at the Omega Institute last week. Sorry for the delay in posting.  It was a lot harder than I thought to write this up.  There was a lot of detail and I didn’t want to forget anything.  As a matter of reference,  the entire regression lasted about 45 minutes to an hour.

I will preface this by saying that my subject, RW, is, herself, a trained hypnotist so she was able to go into trance quickly and easily.  That’s half the battle right there.

Once the subject is under, there are many way to regress, which I will not go into here.  However Dr. Weiss taught us one technique which appealed to me very much.  I used it on RW and I suspect it will be my  first ‘go to” tool that I use when regressing future clients.

For those of you unfamiliar with hypnosis, I should point out that when in trance, one is deeply relaxed but not unconscious. The subject is able to talk, to follow instructions, and respond to questions. RW and I even were able to joke and laugh a bit, while she was still in trance. A trance is just focused attention, either on a task or inwards.  It is a way to release the critical mind and allow the unconscious to come to the surface.  You’d be amazed what’s down there!

***

Once RW is in trance,  I ask her to think back to a happy or meaningful memory from childhood. I like this method because most everyone can recall their own childhood easily. There’s nothing mysterious about it.  This state of mind, this remembering something distant but familiar, is both relaxing and pleasant for the subject, and most important, it leads them backwards, down memory lane. It puts them in just the right frame of mind to go deeper into their memories as they go deeper into trance.

RW quickly pulls up a memory of being a young child, playing “horsey” on her family farm in Australia, with her brother and sister. They take turns, straddling the fence, riding the “horse.” She can see many details of her surroundings, in part because she spent her entire childhood on that farm. This is a happy but neutral recollection.

I then ask her to go back further, to her earliest memory. It only takes her a few seconds for her to find herself in a pram, being pushed by her mother along the shopping street, on her way to errands.  There is another woman walking with them but RW can’t quite place her. She thinks it might be her grandmother who is so much younger here in this memory than she remembered her as an adult that she’s unrecognizable. She is wearing a brown coat.

We are not in that memory for very long when, without any prompting from me, this woman morphs into a man in a brown coat, and then into a man in a white wig and clothing that seems to be from the time of the French Revolution. RW is also surrounded by women in white. Nuns, perhaps?  She isn’t sure.  But she knows that the man is powerful and malevolent, and they are afraid of him.  They step away in trepidation.

The imagery and emotions are powerful but this memory is nebulous.  She is not sure if these entities were living beings she knew in a previous lifetime or she was seeing them in the “in between” – after death/before birth. We waited a while to see if she could get any more info on them, but nothing else came.  She could not say who they were, or what their purpose was, or what their relationship to her or each other was.

Then she notices three men dressed in long black coats, with heavy black beards, wearing  tall black hats.  Perhaps Russian or Eastern Orthodox clergy?  That feels right to her.  Slowly, she feels herself in her “then” body – sitting on an ornate golden throne richly upholstered in lush red velvet.

Her eyes are closed, but in her head, she is looking all around this room. I can see her eyes moving behind her lids as she scopes out all corners of this vision. “I’m in very opulent surroundings. Everything is gilded, ornate… like Versailles but that’s not where I am.”  She can even describe the intricately patterned marble floor.

“Look at yourself,” I say. “Who are you?”

Eyes closed, she scopes out her own body and a slight look of disgust crosses her face.  “I am really fat.  Bloated. I’m dressed in velvet robes. I think there is fur trim.  Sort of like Henry the Eighth, but that’s not who I am.”   She looks at her hand, curiously, and reports a heavy gold ring with large gemstones.  It’s very clear to her.  Once again, she uses the word “opulent” to describe herself and her surroundings.  She keeps coming back to this word.  In this lifetime, she is a person of great power.

“How old are you now?” I ask.

“Forty” she says, checking in the corners of her mind to be sure. “Yes. Forty.”

“Who are these men?” I ask.

“They are religious elders but I’m not afraid of them. They cannot make me follow their will.  I am more powerful than they are. I am perfectly confident that no one and nothing can challenge my authority. Not at all worried about my position.”

“How did you attain this power?”

“Combination of birthright and manipulation. I played the game very well.  I got rid of all my enemies.”

“Let’s go ahead to the end of your life. How old are you now?”

She gave me a specific age in her 50s (fifty-two, I think) and I was surprised that she knew exactly how many years into the future she had gone – not a general estimate of “several” or “a decade or so”  She actually did the math. “Yes. I live for twelve more years.”

“How do you die”? I ask.

She is again in her body, just before she passes. A look of discomfort and self-disgust spreads across her face. “I feel sick. I’m even fatter than I was before. I can’t even bend over to see my own feet. I feel awful. Seriously ill.”

“Have you been poisoned?” I ask, curious.

“No. It’s just that all these years of decadence and indulgence and laziness have caught up with me.  I have all the diseases one might get living like that  – gout, diabetes, liver and kidney problems.  I’m at the end.”

“Let’s move ahead to your death, without feeling any pain.”

“I see a large room with two rows of female entities in white. Nuns, maybe. Or nurses. They are all around me.”

“Are you in the in-between or are you witnessing your own funeral?”

“I’m not sure.  Could be either.”

And then, “Oh. There is a woman here with me on the other side.  She is sort of laughing at me, scolding me, saying ‘I told you so!’

“Who is she?”

“I’m not sure.  Somebody I knew in my lifetime.”

“What had she told you?”

“She warned me that I was too opulent, too self-indulgent. I had the power to make people’s lives better but I did not. I took it all for myself. I did not learn my lesson. And now I’m going to have to do it again.”

“Who do you think she is?  If she could speak to you like that in your lifetime, she must have been somebody who had your ear, someone you respected, whose advice you generally valued.  If you were as powerful as you say, there could not have been many who’d have been comfortable talking to you that way.”

She agreed with this logic but wasn’t getting any specific information on what the relationship was.

“She is older than me.  Old enough to be my mother, but it’s not my mother.  Maybe my wife?”

“Like an arranged marriage?” I asked.

“Maybe…” but still, she wasn’t sure.

We discussed whether such a powerful man would take advice from an arranged wife, and agreed probably not. So she went back inside to see if she could get an answer.

“Perhaps she was your nurse or nanny that you knew from childhood. She might have felt comfortable enough to talk to you that way,” I suggested.

She agreed that a nanny would sort of fit the energy, but still, she wasn’t certain. It was somebody who was not concerned that she’d receive his wrath for giving him unsolicited advice.  (Maybe, I realized later, it was an older sister or other relative.)

[note: some might think this is leading the subject, but as Dr. Weiss pointed out, subjects are not so easily led.  They know what they are seeing and feeling and experiencing.  As you have read, RW and I discuss only logical possibilities based on the information she is giving me. If that doesn’t feel right to her, she rejects it. I am not leading her anywhere.]

“She was right” she continues.  “I gave in too easily to my desires.  I was opulent and ungenerous. I took it all for myself and didn’t care for anyone else.”

She took a while to digest all that, later explaining to me how this lesson had relevance to and resonance in her current lifetime. (It’s personal, so not sharing.)

She was still in trance and seemingly moving around quite well in the realm on the other side, so I suggested we move forward into another lifetime.

And she did.  Into one more recent.  It was quite vivid with an even greater impact on her current life.  But that will have to wait for my next post.

 

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

I’m BAAAAAAAAACCCCCKKKK!

 

NEW

Dr Brian Weiss, Omega Institute, May 17, 2019

Hey all!

Back from the most wonderful workshop with Dr. Brian Weiss and his lovely wife, Carol — five days at the glorious Omega Institute,  learning about Past Life Regression.   Dr. Weiss and Carol were so generous with their huge stores of knowledge on the subjects of hypnosis,  past life regression,  reincarnation, energy work,  and more.  I am still processing everything I experienced and promise to write more in a few days, but for the moment, I just want to enjoy my happy little bubble of bliss.

For those who don’t know,  the Omega Institute for Holistic Studies offers seminars from one day programs to weekend intensives to five day workshops,  on a variety of  spiritually-related subjects.In addition to the one I just attended, there were classes on meditation, yoga, energy work, mindfulness,  Buddhist studies.  In fact,  I was excited to run into Pema Chödrön on campus yesterday. (She’s teaching this weekend.)   As we passed each other on one of the well-tended paths,  she looked right at me and gave me a huge smile!  I admit to being a bit star-struck!  I suppose I shouldn’t have taken her smile toooo personally since at Omega, EVERYBODY smiles! All the time.  I don’t think I saw a grumpy expression all week!  There is literally nothing to harsh your mellow — even the fact that it was damn cold for May (low 50s!) and raining most every day.  People were friendly and supportive and loving.

The grounds were once a summer camp and the familiarity of the setting brought back a lot of happy childhood memories for me. I admit, however,the accommodations are considerably better than the bunks I slept in as a kid.   Although the rooms and cottages are spartan, they are fresh and clean (i.e. not covered in decades of chipped paint with spider webs in every corner!) They have been upgraded with modern amenities such as air-conditioning,  heat, and handicapped accessible bathrooms.  And the grounds are heaven on earth!  There are magnificent plantings, flowering trees, and lovingly tended grounds.  Meals (mostly vegetarian) are provided in a big, friendly dining hall. (Although I’ll tell you honestly, if I never see another piece of kale in this lifetime,  nor hopefully in my next, I’m OK with that.)

Truly, it was like spiritual sleep-away camp for grownups. I met lots of “campers” who return year after year, from far-flung corners of the planet —  Australia, Japan, Uganda, Chile,  Scandinavia, Italy,  the Caribbean, Mexico and of course Canada and the U.S.  I feel I have found my people — folks who speak intelligently and knowingly about the same esoteric “woo” subjects which have long fascinated me but may have marked me as “weird” among non-believers.  They were spiritual yet grounded,  intelligent and serious about the subject matter but funny and willing to laugh at themselves.  I think — I hope — I made some friends for life. (Just like camp!)

So, dear readers, please indulge me for a couple more days, and I’ll tell you about a fascinating regression I did on one of my fellow workshop attendees.

But for now….namaste, bitches!!!

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Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

The Lure of the Jungle

Original publication date Feb 23, 2015

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I once had a pet monkey.  I loved him but he did not stay long.

He was just a baby when I found him. He was hurt and frightened. He’d been orphaned or perhaps abandoned. People believe that every mother has a biological drive to protect her child, but I can tell you this isn’t always so.  So I took him as my own child. I nurtured him and taught him as best I could.

After some time, he began to run away.    The first time, he was gone for a whole day. I looked for him everywhere! I called his name through the trees until my throat was sore.   I was mad with grief and panic! I was sure I would never see him again. But then, the next morning, there he was in his favorite spot on the porch. He greeted me as always. I was so happy to see him, I forgave him for putting me through all that.

As he got older, he began to run away more often. Each time, he stayed away longer and longer. Each time, I was sure I’d seen the end of him but he always came back. For a long time, each time he ran away, I would cry and worry but after a while, however, he was gone more than he was with me. When he went away, I simply shrugged my shoulders and went about my days, without giving him much thought.  I stopped looking for him.

He would return when he returned.

When he did, I let him inside, but I did not hold him close. I stopped feeding him. He didn’t need that from me anymore. I did nothing to keep him bound to me.  I did not allow my emotions to be stirred. I knew he would be gone again soon.

Until a year passed and I realized he was gone for good.

Eventually I moved away from that place. If he ever returned, he did not find me. He could no more stay with me than I could have lived in the trees in the jungle.

I soon forgot the pain of loving that monkey but I remembered the lesson: no matter how much somebody loves you,  if it suits them better to be elsewhere, they will leave. Sooner or later, everyone seeks to exist in the place where they are most comfortable; to live in their natural habitat.

 

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Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne</e

J’Accuse!

NEW!!! 

 And more  new ones coming!!!  Thank you for your patience over these past 8-9 months, while I was difficulty focusing and finding the time to get into the right frame of mind.   But my friends (and my focus) seem to be back!  So hang in there!  There are a bunch of new stories in the pipeline. -a

 

Par

When I was a child, I accused a man of rape. In truth, he had not touched me at all. But my own belief that I had been violated was so strong; my description of the incident so vivid, so full of the kinds of details a young girl would not know, that people believed me and became outraged on my behalf.

I did not tell a deliberate lie.  It was not an immature display of power. I did not misidentify my attacker.  I understood, on some level, that he had not harmed me yet I could not let go of the compulsion, deep inside me, that he was guilty and needed to be punished for this crime. That was my greater truth.

He was dragged off to prison, all the while proclaiming his innocence, where he spent the rest of his days.

As I got older, as I thought about the incident, I wondered occasionally if I’d fabricated these accusations.  Sometimes, in going over the details in my head, I’d find holes in my own story which made me realize that things could not have possibly happened as I remembered them. And yet even in those moments of doubt, it never occurred to me to felt guilty for destroying the life of an innocent man.  It was my unwavering belief that prison was exactly where he belonged regardless of what had transpired between us.

Later, after I passed over, I understood.

In the lifetime before that one, with both of us in different bodies, he had beaten and raped me, and left me for dead. I was found a few breaths away from my last, and was nursed back to, if not health, at least a condition which was compatible with life. I was never again right in the body or right in the head.

Meanwhile, he forgot the incident entirely. He was guilty of a horrible crime — the ruination of another human being — yet he continued to live his life free, as an innocent man, never suffering the consequences of his actions.

When I encountered his spirit in the next lifetime, without ever understanding why, I was overcome with the need for revenge. This was part of our karmic agreement, that he live as a guilty man, though he was innocent, and I should be the instrument of that punishment.

Sometimes,  trauma takes several lifetimes to be resolved.

——————

Buy the book!

If you are enjoying this blog,  please click the link above to subscribe and receive posts via email (new posts every three days).  When you think of others who might enjoy it too,  it’s easy enough to help spread the word! Post your favorite stories to social media.   Email a particularly apt link to a friend.   Even better,  talk about the concepts with others (whether you agree or disagree. )
Also,  I have just started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey!
-Adrienne

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