I’m going to start out by saying that while I’ve always believed in reincarnation, it’s always been something that made sense to me, I never really put a lot of thought or energy into wondering about my particular past lives and what they mean to me now. An experience a few weeks ago changed that.
Hubs and I attended Hay House’s I Can Do It! conference in Austin earlier this month. The conference was filled with dynamic speakers- Wayne Dyer, Christiane Northrup, and Carloyn Myss, to name a few. The last speaker Hubs and I decided to attend was Brian Weiss. He’s a scientist and psychotherapist who ended up doing past live regressions after some experiences with his clients. He talked for a bit, and then walked us and the other attendees through a meditation and an attempt at past life regression.
Here’s where it got weird.
I’m going to report this exactly as it happened to me, exactly as I saw it. I wrote detailed notes for a very long time after this experience, so I could be sure to record it in detail as it happened. I still don’t know what to make of this experience, but I wanted to relate it here because it was so life-altering, so mind-blowing, I wanted to share with others.
I began the meditation. I was cozy and drifted off pretty easily. Dr. Weiss took us to the point of our birth in this life. I could feel how loved I was as my mom welcomed me into the world, how much my other family loved me and was excited to meet me. It was a stunning feeling of overwhelming unconditional love all around me. He then took us back further, he walked us through a door, through a garden (at least that’s where I was- a beautiful garden) and into a past life.
I opened the door, which was green, and stepped into who I once was. Dr. Weiss had us take notes of our hands and clothing and the buildings and life around us. I became aware of my hands being dark, my skin the same color as many Middle Eastern people. I felt the weight of my black hair on the back of my head, how it was coiled around the crown of my head and its weight pulled my head gently back. I was wearing simple sandals, and a woven cloth robe. I became aware of a baby strapped to my back, of a deep sense of girlish pride at my baby and my handsome husband standing next to me. I felt like I was perhaps 15 or 16 years old.
My husband was tall, and I remember feeling for some reason like he was unusually tall for his time. He was older than me by several years and had a long beard and beautiful warm eyes, the same skin and hair tones as me. We were standing in a small square, the buildings made of stone blocks, the same material as the street. The buildings were squat and short, the rooflines maybe six to eight feet tall. The fellow members of the town were out on the street, and I remember one ragged and toothless old crone with a cackling laugh.
Then, a flash of giving birth by myself on a pile of straw. I was alone, and hurting and sweating, with blood on my hands and my legs as I attempted to give birth to my child. I remember feeling like I needed to be quiet, that crying out wasn’t allowed.
I then flashed forward to what I felt was later in my life. I was in my home, and three children came running towards me. Two boys with golden skin and eyes and sandy hair, ages maybe 8 and 10, and a younger girl, perhaps five, small and dark like me. They were laughing and happy and healthy. Our home was modest, with a cooking fire and simple furnishings with a swept packed dirt floor.
The next scene is the hardest to make sense of, as it is something that was so upsetting to me that to took me several days to shake the feelings that came with it, and I still don’t understand what it means and what I experienced. I was kneeling on the ground, feeling small pebbles press into my knees from the rocky ground, with a small basket of food next to me. In the basket was something that looked like a plantain, and something similar to an orange, along with a rough oat cake type bread. I became aware of being so deeply heartbroken that I could barely breathe. It literally felt as if I’d been shot in the chest. My grief was so intense that it was beyond tears, beyond anything I’ve experienced. I raised my eyes, and saw a pair of feet, nailed to a cross. I at once realized it was Jesus, and was unable to raise my eyes and look up at him any further. All I felt was the pebbles pressing into my knees, and the agony of horror of what was being done to this man before me, and my complete inability to help him.
Quickly, like a flash, I was shown that I was with a group of women, preparing a body for burial. I assume that it was the same man on the cross, although I can’t know this for sure. As I speak of knowing, I feel that I must add that there is no way I could know 100% for sure that it was Jesus on the cross before me, but somehow, there was this deep impression that it is exactly who it was, and that I was there mourning his torture and loss, and that he was someone very close to me, like a very close family friend or perhaps cousin.
The last thing Dr. Weiss did was lead us through the end of that life, having us experience our death and end of life experience. I knew that I was very old, as the eyes I now saw through were cloudy and hazy. My body was weak, my hands had little grip. I had the sensation, while lying on my death bed, of my lungs being very full, perhaps with pneumonia. I was aware of who I knew to be my daughter in law, lying across my body, weeping at losing me. It was just the two of us, in the same simple type of home, with a fire burning, as I died. Dr. Weiss had us hover over our bodies and view the scene, and I was able to feel that I was deeply loved and had a long and satisfying life as I slipped away.
The next thing I knew, we were brought out of the meditation, and I became aware of still having tears on my cheeks. I was completely distraught by what I’d witnessed, still feeling traces of the grief I’d experienced at the death of Jesus. I took notes as quickly as I could, and attempted to process what I saw, the pain and the sadness and the experience as a whole.
I still am not sure what happened. It is hard for me to say that somehow, I was a witness to the Crucifixion of Jesus. It is also hard for me to say that I was not. I do know that I intend to do more research on past lives and regression, and on life in those times. Hubs had additional interesting experiences that are not mine to write here, and he is also doing more reading on what he saw. It was unsettling and uncomfortable, while thrilling and exciting, for both of us. Overall, I’m just grateful for the gift I’ve been given of having experiences like these, that stretch the boundaries of comfort and what I think I know, and to take them as I move forward into this crazy life I’ve been given, this time.