… in a past life. Though I had a dress like the one she’s wearing in that photo of the subway ruffling her. Except it was navy with white polka-dots. And it never wafted up on me though it attracted a bit of attention.
And I only just recalled that right this minute, which is why a post from me on my past lives is such an oxymoron. I can barely recall events that happened in my current life.
Though I defy most people to remember any piece of their college wardrobe twenty-five years after the fact.
I have a friend whose past lives currently beckon.
She’s writing a book with a reincarnation theme and in her research found Michael Newton’s Journey of Souls. This led her to past lives regression therapist and to the idea of virtual time traveling via hypnosis herself.
My self’s past incarnations aren’t that personally alluring. I know I’ve existed before, but I don’t need to know the details. They are for the times when I am “offline” and have the leisure and guidance to reflect. When I am engaged in a life, I am afraid that knowledge of my former selves might distract me or mislead me.
You wouldn’t find me lurking in the pages of history at any rate. I was never notable. I was just a girl. Always a girl though why that sticks out, I can’t say. Never a queen or adventuress or the woman behind the man as most people with claims to past lives seem to always be.
Being famous in a past life, in my opinion, is a sign that one needed remediation of some kind. Why else throw a soul into high profile, larger than life should be situations that require so much support staff? I think the bigger your soul-tourage; the more lessons you might have not mastered the last time around. Something to ponder the next time you’re envying Lady Gaga or Prince William.
Abby is in consultation with the regression therapist. You can’t just stare at an open flame and 1, 2, 3, find yourself at Hampton Court celebrating Mid-summer’s Night with the Tudor court. It’s a bit more work than that. And now you know.
Newton’s book struck a chord and clarified some of my thoughts on the subject of living and re-living. I didn’t pick the book up looking for that however. I was looking for a more plausible afterlife in the wake of my first husband’s death.
Curlicue clouds and fluffy robes? I had a difficult time imaging my flannel-clad, shaggy bearded man in wings and a white starched choir robe.
What I found was not heaven in my reading. I’m from Iowa, which is not heaven either but a portal,* so I know of what I speak**.
Newton talks of soul groups, debriefings, and lesson/life plans. It’s work. Not the alluring stuff of the salvation vs damnation lottery.
I am following Abby’s adventure with interest however. I’ll keep you apprised.
*FYI/dumb fact: My cousin’s daughter’s in-laws own part of the Field of Dreams.
** Over the course of 12 years of Catholic school, the subject of heaven comes up a lot.
One thought on “I was not Marilyn Monroe”
There’s been a lot of talk recently in my meditation class about reincarnation (as you could imagine). I dunno. I think that each culture, each religion, thinks they know what happens to you after you die. All are equally convinced that their take is correct. Personally, I think these are just stories to comfort the living and that nobody, truly, knows what happens to you after you’re gone.