This morning I had a "past-life regression". What inspired me to get this done is a re-occuring fear that arises each time I'm presented with the opportunity, or even the concept of continuing my spiritual growth.
The first really noticeable time I experienced it was with learning yoga. When in college I had a lot of interest in going to a yoga class but was absolutely horrified of the idea of it. My college even had free classes available on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. One time I even got up the courage to bring a change of clothes with me to attend the class. I changed into the extra set of clothes and walked up to the door. My heart raced and I was so unbelievably anxious about the whole thing that I just kept walking and went home. It wasn't until about 6 years later that I actually made it into my first yoga class. The fear was strong when I
began Reiki too.
It seems lately that this fear is preventing me from even knowing (or trusting) what the next step is. In the past I've always seemed to know the next step, but I'm at a point now where the fear just won't even let me consider any possibilities. So, here we are.
Now, these aren't the exact words, but rather my re-cap of what went on. There may be some phrasing that T used that may not be exactly quite what I've written, but it's my impression. When the scene came up the first time it was vague, and we kept going back to the beginning and going through the story again and each time more information came through and there was less emotion. It all came through in bits and pieces, so the summary of it may seem choppy and all over the place, but that's sort of how it went… We were able to piece it together a little better over time.
I closed my eyes and T began with a brief guided meditation to help me relax. After a moment of grounding and breathing I was guided to tap into the feeling of fear I have that surrounds the idea of moving forward with the next step in my spiritual life. I allowed the fear to rise in my body until the point I could hardy bear it anymore, and stayed there. Tears flowed down my face and there was so much tension—pressure—in my chest. I felt like burning from the inside out.
T asked me to go back to the first time I'd felt this fear. I began by seeing a baby and thought "well, this seems cliche", but remembered from reading through a bunch of first-time past-life regression stories to just go with whatever comes up. So, there was this baby crying. It was in a cradle. The baby is less than a year old. And there was fire. There was no one around. The fire was outside and the baby was inside. That confused me. There was a wall between the baby and the fire… The baby is safe, so what's all the fuss about? Where were all the people? Outside? No. There's no one responding to the fire.
I was very overwhelmed with emotion at this point—just like the baby. I could "see" (the way a photographic memory works, like when remembering where you might have left your keys) the baby as if I was standing beside it. There was a window and outside the window I could see the building burning—it was white. The baby continued to cry and there was no one there. Because I was outside the body of the baby I didn't think I
was the baby, but I could
feel so strongly what it was feeling. It cried and cried and felt so scared, ignored and alone. No one was coming.
(In hindsight I can realize now that this first vision was ALL the information I feel like I'd been believing prior to seeing the bigger picture in the rest of the story. With a much bigger perspective, it all makes sense now… keep reading.)
T brought me back to the beginning of the scene again. So, I started again with seeing the baby in the cradle, then I looked up and out the window to the fire. I knew the baby was crying because of the fire, but it was on the floor, so I'm not sure how it saw out the window. It's dusk. I turned to see what was around me in the other directions and saw that there was a woman sitting at a table doing something with cards. She wasn't responding to the baby's cries. There were two rooms. The baby and cradle were on the floor in the living room and the kitchen was on the other side of the house. There were some stairs going up between them, but not blocking the view between baby and woman.
Somehow my perspective got inside the burning barn and I could see two horses struggling to get free. They were tied and couldn't get out of the burning barn. They cried and felt so much fear and pain. Again I was feeling terribly emotional and my chest felt like it was going to burst. I wondered if I was one of the horses? The feeling was the same that the baby felt. T asks me if the horses die in the fire. Yes. I burst into tears.
T somehow calmed me down, then we began again. At some point T asks me if I know how the fire started. I saw a lantern, but again I thought it was cliche, so didn't bother mentioning it. There was less emotion around the baby. This time I noticed a man with the woman—they were playing cards. The baby cries and cries. The horses are struggling inside the barn. They cry—no one hears them. The baby cries. The woman eventually gets up to attend to the baby. Upon picking her up the woman sees out the window that their barn is on fire and calls to the man. The man gets up quickly and rushes to the window then immediately out the door. The woman follows and comforts the child who is still crying. The adults don't know what to do. I see the man running around the sides of the barn to see if there's a way in to save the horses. There is not.
T asks me to move the scene forward. It's the next morning. The barn is burned to the ground. There are a lot of towns-people around. They all came to help tame the fire. They had been throwing buckets of water on it all night. I couldn't look at the horses. The idea of them being dead tortured me. I knew they were there, buried under the debris, but couldn't bear to look. I realize now that I am that baby. I could feel the loving caress of the woman's hands. I was scared and sad and so was she, but she loved me and it felt comforting.
I now get another glimpse of how the fire began. There's a boy—about 8 or 9. He was carrying a lantern but tripped and fell. Some hay beside the barn ignited from the lantern and the barn was in flames quickly. The boy was frightened he'd be punished for starting the fire, so he ran, and didn't tell anyone. I don't believe he ever told anyone it was he who accidentally began the fire that night.
From this story I surmised that I could feel the horses pain. I cried because of the intense pain and fear that was coursing through me from the horses. I didn't see the fire. I felt the pain of the horses. They were crying for help and I seemed to be the only one who could understand them. I cried and no one was listening, and I had no idea what was going on, all I could do was feel and cry.
T brought me through some healing processes to help me to have a better acceptance of what had happened and to forgive everyone involved. She reminded me that it was my crying that did alarm the adults to the fire, and catching it when they did may have prevented it from spreading.
The neighbor boy who accidentally began the fire kept coming to mind very strongly during the forgiveness processes. Then I got the image of someone I know from this life, lets call that person X, and the boy overlapping as if they are the same soul.
I remember a glowing orb of yellow light surrounding the whole scene of the farmhouse and the burning barn, and it shrunk down into a little glowing orb—the size that could fit into my hand.
We walked through some more healing practices to remove any unnecessary cords between myself and X and the glowing orb, to really ingrain in the forgiveness and love. Of all the people there, I feel the deepest connection with this boy, and forgive him with all my heart.
T asked if there were any other times that I felt a deep bond with animals and I'm brought to the same farm, about 6 or 7 years later. I see a young girl with fire-redish blonde hair. It's in pigtails. She has freckles. She's wearing something that reminds me of overalls. I look down and I see chickens. The girl is running around chasing the chickens. The chickens are playing back with her. They're not afraid. The girl and chickens are best friends. The girl feels like she's one of them and the chickens love her.
I see an adult woman on the porch of the farmhouse. She's standing there with her hands in her apron pockets admiring the fun the young girl is having. So much love. Big smiles on both of them.
T and I went through some more grounding, and during that I kept hearing the phrase "Who's Sam?"
Let me preface by sharing with you that Sam is a nickname I've adopted in college, and have used with my earthy-spiritual friends for many years now. When I was little I'd name all my barbie dolls Sam whenever I was playing with others and needed to use a name. I remember there being a loving presence named Sam nearby when my parents were going through their divorce… so, Who's Sam?
With T guiding, I'm surrounded by light and there are a bunch of guides and angles surrounding me, sending me reiki. They expand into a larger circle making more room inside. Then a dog appears. Remember
this post. Yeah. That's the dog. He's sitting in front of me staring into my eyes so lovingly.
Meet Sam. Sam is one of my guides.
He's a dog spirit. This makes so much sense to me.
T guides me into a lifetime with Sam. There's a boy, about 10 or 11 throwing a stick and there's Sam running after it. They're in a big field. There's a lake or pond at the edge of the field. I get a glimpse of the boy splashing in the water. He fell off a dock and into the water. It's just him and Sam there. Sam jumps into the water after the boy and grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him up to shore. Just like Lassie would have… Sort of makes me wonder if I totally just pulled this out of one of their episodes. I dunno.
So, from all this I've determined that it's safe for me to feel the
feelings that come up in my body. I've avoided such things as yoga and Reiki, and Focusing because I've been afraid to let myself feel. The experience this baby had with feeling the intensity of the torturous, fear and pain these horses went through as they died is something no one would ever want to feel. I've been so afraid of opening up and allowing myself to feel because I don't ever want to feel that again. As a baby, that experience was traumatizing, and I believe that first impression I had from just the feeling and the fire was all I knew before now. I really feel as though it explains a lot for me, and being able to see the bigger picture, and not just to be limited to the crying experience and feeling alone, has really helped me to let go of a lot of repressed tension.
And, it seems that I can now accept the idea that I'm empathic—that I can feel the
feelings of the people and animals around me; and that I can trust the impressions I get to be accurate. Like, when my cat's meowing and I get a vision of ground beef. Kitty's hungry, and really enjoys eating beef.
My dad used to tell me the story of when my sister was a baby. I would
come out of her crib room and tell my dad specifically what she wanted. My
sister wasn't making any sounds yet, but soon after I'd told my dad,
she'd start complaining. When they tried giving her the thing I
suggested, it was just what she'd wanted.
This is a gift. It's something I can influence and control through intention (with practice), and I'm feeling pretty open to the idea of allowing this to unfold naturally now. I guess I can only be patient and loving to myself and see where this goes. I'm okay with that.
