Posted 22 February 2010 - 10:48 AM
Here is one of mine.
I met some new people and in this group there was a man that I felt I "knew". I had never met him in this life, I just recognized his soul. After meeting with these people and getting to know them socially and spiritually, I had some aversion to getting close to this person. I didn't know why. Something made me not want to be near him. I even said this to him. I said that eventually we would figure it out. I have and still have very good friends from this group except for this one man.
We all attended a Reiki share. It was a very different night and the energy seemed off. Two of my friends afterwards said that while they were working on me and sending me energy that they also had to protect me. They said that there was energy being taken from me. This man was in the group working at the table. He was going through some issues and needed to deal with these and should not have been working on anyone. It was brought to the attention of the Shaman and he had to be spoken to most especially since he was in training. It was not me that had spoken to anyone but my name was mentioned because of the protection that had to be put out there for me. He became very angry and directed that anger towards me. He said very nasty and hurtful things. I felt his anger even thru the text msgs that were sent. I sent him only love and light. It did not help and even made him much more angry. I felt over the next few days that I was being spiritually attacked and had to protect myself in other ways besides enlisting the help of friends. I ended up in Borders and was guided to a CD for past lives. When I got home I immediately listened to it and found the answer to his anger and my aversion to not wanting to be near him.
I was a small girl and lived with my family near Jerusalum. It was back in the times that the soliders patroled and governed. I saw myself running on a path and new that I had a job to. I ended up in a meadow tending sheep and my brother was with me. He was gathering wood at the edge of the meadow and all the while watching over me. My brother and I had a tremendous bond and love for each other. He loved his little sister. The feeling of love between us was something I cherish to this day. This was the good part of the experience.
Then we skip to the end of my life and what happened.
I was in the same meadow and alone. My brother was not with me. I must have been 15 or 16 years old. I was tending the sheep and heard horses as I turned around I saw three soliders. They grabbed me. One of the soliders hit me in the head with a rock and another stabbed me in my chest. I was beaten and raped by all three. At the end of their attack my throat was slit and that is how I died. It's hard to describe the feelings while I was in this life since I was an onlooker to this during this experience. I was seeing it from a different perspective so when I asked who are they, one turned around and it was the face of the man I knew now in this life.
After coming back I realized that this is why I had an aversion to being near him and why he directed his anger towards me. I now understood and could release the feelings of the hurt I carried in my heart from his angry words and actions. I have dealt with this and am glad of the release. To this day I do not know if he has dealt with it but it is HIS path that he needs to clear on his own as I am doing with mine.
Posted 22 February 2010 - 01:26 PM
mine was alittle weird since ive been little ive always kind of excluded myself from people, i guess im a loner but by doing that i spend alot of time reading and thinking alot. but a while ago i went to a titanic museum and i felt soooooo comfterble there then i ever felt in my life. as if i belonged there, later watching the movie and understanding what really happend. i get so emotional everytime i watch it, and i need to watch the movies almost every day and i never get tierd of it.
or at least just see something of the titanic, it might sound weird but i really do feel like i have a connection to the ship.
Posted 11 April 2010 - 09:52 AM
Posted 17 April 2010 - 06:37 PM
Posted 17 April 2010 - 11:35 PM
I believe the camp to have been Auschwitz-Birkenau. I was shoved into a tiny red cattle car with a huge group of other people. The ride was unbearable. There was no room to move, you couldn't sit down, there was no food, and sleep was impossible. When we got to the camp, we were split into two groups. A man came and looked at each one of us individually...then he decided whether we lived or died. I had the odds against me, due to gender (female), race (Half Romani, half Turkish), religion (Muslim), and profession (prostitute). However, fate chose to spare me of death. The man who judged us examined my hands, where I had developed calluses from years of playing the cimbalom without hammers. (It's an instrument that sounds like a dulcimer.) They looked remarkably like the calluses one would get from working with a loom. From that point on, I worked in some sort of shop, repairing garments that the SS had filched from the new "imports."
During my stay in the camp, I met a Nazi named Christoph. He was 22 years old, blonde haired, blue eyed, and fresh-faced. However...he wasn't very popular among his fellow Nazi-men. Christoph loved military life, but he didn't agree with what Hitler was doing. He hated of working in a camp where he saw people die by the hundreds every day.
Sure, he was respectable, but he was white, so I decided I didn't like him much either.
Finally, the day came when I had worn out my welcome at Birkenau. It was a typical inspection day at the garment workhouse and my work was being heavily criticized, along with my ethnicity. When the inspector turned to leave, I went back to my station and called him a string of obscenities in Russian....which I didn't know he understood. Bad idea. I was grabbed by the hair and drug outside, where he grabbed a pistol from his belt and prepared to kill me...but he was stopped from doing such.
"Stop! Don't shoot! You know we are running low on supplies. Wait until tomorrow, when the gas vans come."
I specifically heard that sentence in my dream. Every word. It was Christoph who said it too. The SS man agreed not to kill me (tonight at least,) but I had to stay in the same spot outside the workshop all night until he could "personally escort me" to the vans tomorrow.
To make a long story short, Christoph helped me escape that night. I did some research on the history of Birkenau and a total of 300 prisoners escaped successfully from the camp from 1941 to 1945. Eventually I fell in love with Christoph, though I didn't admit it for several years. We moved to Amsterdam in 1944, where we lived peacefully in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. (Imagine the little village in Fiddler on the Roof and you've got the idea of how we lived.) Neither of us really had "jobs." We just lived off the land. Christoph was an excellent craftsman and he sold his carvings at a local market. I grew vegetables and fruit and sold what we didn't consume. Christoph proposed in the summer of 1945, at the end of the war. I immediately accepted. We were married in December of 1946 in a little chapel while it snowed. I became pregnant in 1947 and had twin boys named Xander and Xerxes in October. I nearly died though. I was a small woman at 5 feet, 2 inches and my pregnancy wasn't "right." My belly never distended like it should have, so the babies were compacted inside me and pressed against my vital organs as they grew. The doctor suggested that I have no more children....which we didn't take seriously, because in 1959, I became pregnant again, but the child, (a daughter), was stillborn and I was in critical condition. I went crazy with grief...it was a horrible time for Christoph and I.
Time went on, the boys grew older and moved out. Xerxes was often in and out of jail and Xander started a little business and got married. As the years passed, we lost contact and eventually never heard from either of them again. Christoph died in 1976 from a heart attack and I was deeply affected by his loss. The pain of losing a spouse is a heartache that I cannot describe. Over the 14 years before my death, I suspect I started to lose my mind. I reverted back to my Romani ways. The people in the town thought I was a witch and some of them were afraid of me when I came to town.
I died in 1990 at the age of 68 from pneumonia. It was more of suicide than illness. I knew how to make myself better...I just didn't want to. I was ready to go to heaven.
Posted 18 April 2010 - 12:51 PM
Posted 18 April 2010 - 07:45 PM
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