Remembering Past lives helps…

But of course, I can’t prove anything with the ‘elites’ having buried all the real history and planting their own fake version, since almost the dawn of man. They’ve made sure as possible to leave no trace that might blow their con. And by doing pretend ‘research’ to ‘prove’ all spirituality is bogus, but carefully propagandize the sheeple to feel persecuted and being kept from their faith which makes folks dig their heels in, and believe in it more, they effectively canceling out the real spirit realm. Any believing the ‘research’ won’t even look, and those in some religion will believe that it’s real but only what their masters say it is. Just the way they wanted it.

If everyone knew about past lives and the spirit realm, their con wouldn’t work, and they considered it vital to keep the con going, just not for the money (which they stole in spades), but people being even deaf, dumb and blinder to the spirit realm and past lives and the real answers there. And of course to stop anyone from ever making full enlightenment, the most important part.

The trick I’ve found for remembering past lives is to take an experience of some time, person, or place that feels so very familiar, but you’ve never lived it, meet them or been there before. Then, relax and just think, how if you had, what would it have been like. What part might you play it, what you and they might say, or maybe take an imaginary walk around that place, thinking of what you might see.

It may take a couple of efforts, but you often find-yourself actually involved, in your mind’s eye.  So at that point, sorta sit back and watch it unfold, as it will if it is a past life. It’s what’s behind most of our yearnings to visit some place, our fascination with some event, like a war (you were probably killed in it and want to know what happened to you), or that feeling of knowing a newly met person far better than you’d expect.

I, for example, have always in this life, had a huge desire to see the ocean, smell it’s air, maybe splash my fingers in it. It was puzzling since I lived right by Puget sound, could drive to the ocean in an hour or so, but still I craved it. If I couldn’t see it at least every 6 months or so, I was miserable.

Then I remembered my most recent past life.

As a child, I lived on the beach edge in an Victorian style 3 story house where I could run out and watch and play in the waves anytime I wanted. My dad was a doctor, and we were well to do. I however fell in love with this fellow who wanted to go west. My parents thought I was making a huge mistake, since there were far finer gents paying court to me. I think it wasn’t him I fell in love with though. It was his dream of going west. And off we set—it was before the railroads so the journey was difficult. I imagined Oregon as our final destination. I guess we never really discussed it though, and he fell in love with Nebraska, and claimed a farmstead there instead. I’m pretty sure I ranted and raved, but he wouldn’t budge.

So, being the dutiful wife, I stayed with him for the next 35 years, on those prairies of waving grass that so looked like the waves I loved back home, but so were not. I was miserable. We had 3 sons, who grew up well (3 day wagon ride to town helped keep the bad influences at bay) and I talk incessantly of my lost dream. When my sons came of age, they left as fast as they could. 2 went back east where my then aged parents welcomed them and got them jobs. My oldest finished my dream by going out to Oregon, where he started working the summer fishing boats, ending up with a fair sized fleet of his own, doing well.

My husband  finally died, and I had my bags packed ready at the train station for the next train to Oregon after his funeral. I wanted nothing more to do with that land, and I guess it went wherever abandon farm sites go. I never went back to find out. I moved out with my son, who bought me a cottage down near Gold coast Oregon, that over looked the ocean for winter, And summers, I’d stay in Astoria with him. But that 35 years of longing to see the ocean never left me. Not even in this one, until I did some emotional healing around the grief, loss, and rage I felt from my husband’s betrayal of settling for Nebraska.

 

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