|University Of Life?
||[Mar. 16th, 2005|10:43 am]
I knew a woman once who reckoned that she'd had lots and lots of incarnations and every one of them had ended in suicide.|
Most she had forgotten, but there was one especially vivid one where she was a trembling young thing who had been married off, by way of alliance, to the bearish chieftain of one of thoise tribes where they eat with their hands then throw the bones about. She could still picture the dribbled food in his big red beard.
That life ended with her jumping off a cliff.
But she reckoned that this time round she finally had it in her to make old bones.
The underlying philosophy is that we have lessons to learn- and every life gives us another crack at the current problem. If we solve it, we get to move on to the next. If we don't solve it we keep coming back to take the same exam over and over again.
Do I believe in this? Well, no, of course not, but I'm willing to entertain it as a theory.
So who devised the curriculum?
And don't say the Great White Brotherhood, because I utterly refuse to be doing with any Great White Brotherhood.
The Great Black Sisterhood?
Now that's more like it!
I am pretty sure that I either died as a child or in childbirth more times than I want to imagine. I've been male and female, and one life I remember was that of a Native American holy woman who met her untimely and violent end at the hands of a French trapper.
This life is unique because I have all my teeth, as well as my health and good food to eat, am able to choose whether or not I would marry or have kids (not this time!) could study all the deep esoteric occult stuff I want without fear of death (by church or because of being female) and have my own life, home, and job.
And... while I am not Native American in this incarnation, I still consider myself a holy woman. Or something close.
I've never remembered anything from a past life. If I've had any, I must have been some kind of troubador...a not so good one to judge from the way I do things now. Or perhaps a story teller, further back in ancient times. Or a seer...
It is nice to think about. I have periods of time where I feel quite literally like a lost soul, casting about for something to hold onto. But I also have that hopeless feeling, that I will never ever find it.
I don't believe in "never ever".
As it says in the Bible, "seek and ye shall find."
That makes statistical sense. What with the child mortality rates being what they were, we must all of us have died in childhood many times.
I envy you your memories. Or is that naive of me?
Are they a blessing or a burden?
Do you remember spontaneously or have you had to dig?
The memories are spontaneous, and I've had that one since I was a child. It was triggered by a particular sounding voice that would bring up these images- of me gathering plants and stones, and of this man with a wheezy voice speaking in a language I did not understand raping and strangling me. I had no idea about the rape part- I just knew he'd flung me violently around, jumped on me, then strangled me.
For the longest time during my childhood, I thought that my hair should be straight and black, and I was supposed to be a boy and I was deathly afraid of certain men.
Now I think that I may have been a 'two souled' person- a hermaphrodite who played a special sacred role in that culture (I've researched this), and the killer's violent reaction was because he discovered that the woman was not a woman at all.
For a while, the memory was a burden because the violent part was triggered by certain words, people, and situations. I carried fears from that life a long time into this one. I've overcome most of the fears and have explored some of the drives that might have 'bled over' into this life. My study and practice of sacred things is a direct result of the unfinished life I had before. I now have dreams of the Teaching Place, and how things were before the Europeans came. I think that this is why I am living in this particular state, too. The land is strangely familiar- even with the city on top of it. And the river is still here, although it has changed, too. Manataka, now known as Hot Springs, no longer has the mists that fill the entire valley because the springs are capped. But this is home. I'm just in a different container.
This is fascinating. Thank you for sharing.
And here's something I've hardly ever shared before.
I feel a strong bond with the English poet Sidney Keyes who was killed (aged 20) in North Africa in 1943. I don't have any memories, but ever since I was first introduced to his work I've felt that I was him and he was me and that this present life of mine was a continuation of his. I have a proprietorial attitude towards his work and think of it as "mine".
Of course this may be a complete delusion, but even if it is, it has nevertheless helped sustain and shape me.