It was the first time I’d done such a thing. Untrue to say I didn’t know what to expect; I had many wild and wonderful expectations. What I got felt real, but something of a let-down.
I was a young woman, walking along a dirt track through a settlement of some kind. There was a strong smell of wood smoke.
“Look down,” I was instructed. “What are you wearing on your feet? What colour is your skin? What sort of clothes are you wearing?”
My skin was dirty, dusty and pale. My clothes maybe plaid – very faded and grubby. Celtic? Were there shoes? Maybe sandals, or was that my mind trying to logic out what would go with the setting?
At the end of the track was the sea. It was grey and smooth. The fear inside me dissipated slightly as I looked at the clear horizon. They had gone (whoever ‘they’ were) and I was relieved that no sign of them remained.
“Is there anyone with you?” came the softly spoken prompt.
For the first time I noticed the child – a girl aged about 8. She was holding my hand and standing beside me, also staring out to sea. Her hair, like mine, was matted and windswept, her face pinched and expressionless.
“What year is it?”
How would I know? Dates were irrelevant. It was a distant time, but the question annoyed me, the left brain kicked in and I was back in the present, going through the motions to keep the practitioner happy.
“Can you move to the moment of your death in that lifetime?”
Nope. Lost it. Ah well.
“What do you think that lifetime had to teach you?” He wasn’t done yet.
There was no ‘ah ha’ revelation, no answer to the purpose of my present life, just a glimpse of a woman weighed down with sadness, fear and responsibility, all imposed on her by whoever had sailed out of her life across that bleak sea.
They’ve returned fleetingly to my thoughts many times, that woman and child, but never as strongly as they did on my recent stay in a house beside the wild Atlantic coast of Western Ireland.
“I feel you’ve come here for a reason,” my host told me many times during the stay and the holiday was certainly one of those synchronous, strange, illogical events that usually mean Life is moving me into position for the next instalment of The Game.
Shortly before I’d left for County Mayo, I’d had a strange telepathic communication from Higher Will. We’d been discussing the fear and aloneness I was feeling at that time, as I struggled with rats, builders and the like. Suddenly he sent me these words:
BE WARE BE WAER BE WEAR BE WREA BE WRAE
It made no sense, but triggered some far off memory.
“It’s a past life thing, isn’t it? It’s just at the tip of my memory. Words you’ve said to me before in another lifetime.”
He gave me our names in that life – short, single-syllabled and oddly similar to our present names. He told me that loving myself and conquering my present fears would have an effect in that other life. He promised to help me discover more detail.
Then – nothing. No narrative dreams, no breakthroughs during meditation, but the holiday to pack for and busy myself. The strange conversation was forgotten.
She usually comes back to me, that distant woman, when I stand on a beach and she did so, several times, when I wandered through the beautiful landscape, healing and calming down as my recent problems faded away; learning slowly to trust my own resources and renew my love and care for myself. I found and pocketed a pebble with markings that looked like a rune stone.
On my return, we had this conversation:
YOU HAVE BEEN TO MAYO
Yes. A beautiful place it was too. And a strange synchronous journey that seemed to have a reason. Can you tell me what that was?
RECONNECTING WITH YOUR FAR SELF
You mean I have a past life there?
Is it the one you were speaking of before?
Ok, so I’ll try to pick up impressions from you, if I can. Are you going to place the thoughts in my head?
I’m getting the idea that this was the life I regressed to years ago. I was standing on a sea shore, with a small girl holding my hand and we were looking out to sea. Someone had departed the shores in a boat and we were watching – and I think glad they were gone. There was a village with mud and wood smoke behind us. I think we’d suffered a loss. How am I doing?
I think we’d been eating shellfish.
Was the rune stone ours?
NO IT BELONGED TO THE RAIDERS
I found a reference to the rune on a site about old Norse culture…
I’ve returned from Ireland stronger and ready to face the problems ahead. In some strange interdimensional way, I sense that the other me – somewhen – is feeling strong enough to face her future, too.