In the original ROOTS I mentioned visions. Let’s go back to that.
During one period of my life I was shown a few previous lives. We have so many lifetimes, but they should be seen as one Life. I saw these through my eyes at the time they were happening. If it was far in the past it seemed like I was looking through a tunnel. If the more recent past the tunnel was shorter. Though tunnel doesn’t really say it well. My point of view is, I think, from farther back in my brain. Once I looked into the future.
I saw myself on Atlantis a couple of times. I was in a temple once. I danced in Atlantis. The architecture was different – sort of like a melding of modern and Oriental. Perhaps it was only the building I was looking at. Small vehicles, long and narrow, were parked on a black pavement. Big enough for just one person and I think when they were in operation they moved a short distance above the ground.
In Egypt I wore one of those beautiful headdresses that cover the head and rise up. I walked through the coolness of what seemed to be some kind of tomb.
Somewhere I lived on a little farm in a weathered house. I saw the farm, then was inside the hot kitchen cooking the noonday meal on a wood-burning stove. A teen-age daughter, who reminded me of my daughter in this life, was helping me. I took a pan of biscuits from the oven and then to the table. It was like a picnic table with benches on either side, one end of the table shoved against the wall. Some small children sat with their backs to me. On the other side of the table, facing me, sat a man that I didn’t look at. The young boy beside him looked to be sort of chunky, or stout maybe the word, but not overly so. He looked up at me and when I looked into his eyes I recognized my older son of today who is 6’6” tall.
The first life I saw I was tied to a huge post, more like the truck of a tree that had been cut down. I was looking at a soldier wearing armor, even his face was covered. I knew it was me tied to the post as I was looking out of her eyes, and wondered what I looked like. Instantly I was seeing the picture from in front of her. I thought of her as ‘her’ because she was so magnificent. She was barefoot, with some kind of cloth or skin falling from one shoulder down to just below the top of her thighs.. Her hair was wild. I could see in her face that she was me, and geez, was she angry! If she could have gotten loose she would have had the soldier for breakfast. I thought she was truly magnificent. I still smile when I look at her.
When I lived in the San Gabriel Valley there was an old house from the 18th or 19th Century that was in need of repair. A group was trying to get it declared a historic monument so it was still standing there for awhile. Tracts of houses and a small shopping center had sprung up around. There was also an old one-room school which had been moved to another location nearby so it was being preserved.
We were at the market one day and the gates to the house were open so we drove in to get closer look. It had two floors with a narrow staircase against one wall. We didn’t go inside as it was locked. How do you explain a strange feeling as you walk around a place? I walked along a path that led to a wooden bridge across a moat to a small island but the bridge had fallen in. As I retraced my steps suddenly I was wearing a long orange gown. I was actually wearing a grey flannel pantsuit with a boxy jacket. I was not wearing a long orange dress. There were not flowers and greenery everywhere. I reached down and grabbed my pants legs to make sure I knew where I was and the spell was broken. I re-entered the here and now.
An odd feeling stayed with me that I couldn’t shake. It had captured my daughter as well. Finally she asked, “Are we going to move into that house, or what?” I told her, “I think we have already lived there.”
The house wouldn’t go away. On this day I had sent the little ones to school and was doing chores. Had just made the bed and was adjusting the pillows. Finished, I straightened up. From that point of view I was standing in the middle of a sea of tall grass, blowing gently in the wind. I was looking at that house in it’s heyday. The tall grass was everywhere. I looked to my left and there was the little school in it’s original place. I turned back, past the house and looked behind. There were the foothills, looking the same, except the trees looked a bit different. As I turned back toward the house I noticed a fence alongside a narrow lane. With my eyes I followed it till it reached the place to turn into the house. There was a man on a huge horse, just turning into the driveway. He moved along a short distance, then stopped. He bent over, reaching down the ground. I couldn’t see what he was doing because the grass was so high. The he straightened up with a little tyke in one hand, sat it in front of him, and kept moving toward the house. One of the windows in the house claimed my attention but it was at an angle so I could see nothing. Suddenly it was all gone and I was standing beside the bed looking at the wall.
Only a few of many. Walt Whitman once wrote, “I, Myself, have died 10,000 times before.”
This makes racism look like the thing it is – the stupidest thing on the planet.
We’ll get back to that old house….
UPDATE: I have since learned that the house was saved. It was moved to another location.
Ojai22: Lessons Learned 