Also by D r Brian Weiss M a n y Lives, M a n y Masters I )r B r i a n Weiss h a d b e e n w o r k i n g wirli C a t h e r i n e , a y o u n g p a t i e n t , f o r e i g h t e e n m o n t h s . W h e n his t r a d i t i o n a l m e t h o d s o f t h e r a p y tailed, h e t u r n e d t o h y p n o s i s . As a t r a d i t i o n a l psychotherapist,
Dr Weiss
was sc eptical a n d a s t o n i s h e d w h e n
C a t h e r i n e b e g a n t o recall past-life t r a u m a s t h a t s e e m e d t o h o l d t h e key t o h e r r e c u r r i n g p r o b l e m s . l ) r Weiss's s c e p t i c i s m w a s e r o d e d , h o w e v e r , w h e n she b e g a n t o c h a n n e l m e s s a g e s w h i c h c o n t a i n e d r e m a r k a b l e r e v e l a t i o n s a b o u t his o w n f a m i l y a n d d e a d s o n . A c t i n g as a c h a n n e l for i n f o r m a t i o n f r o m h i g h l y e v o l v e d 'spirit e n t i t i e s ' , t h e M a s t e r s , C a t h e r i n e r e v e a l e d m a n v o f t h e secrets o f life a n d d e a t h . O v e r 1 , 0 0 0 , 0 0 0 c o p i e s o f this f a s c i n a t i n g b o o k h a v e b e e n sold a r o u n d t h e w o r l d .
Through T i m e Into in Through
Time
Healing
Into Healing
D r B r i a n Weiss s h e d s n e w light
oil t h e e x t r a o r d i n a r y h e a l i n g p o t e n t i a l of p a s t - l i f e therapy. B a s e d o n his e x t e n s i v e clinical e x p e r i e n c e , h e reveals h o w h e uses r e g r e s s i o n t o past l i f e t i m e s t o p r o v i d e t h e n e c e s s a r y b r e a k t h r o u g h t o h e a l i n g m i n d , b o d y a n d s o u l . U s i n g vivid past life case studies, D r Weiss s h o w s h o w r e g r e s s i o n t h e r a p y can heal t h e b o d y b y h e a l i n g t h e m i n d .
Messages F r o m T h e Masters Messages From The Masters is a s p i r i t u a l g u i d e b o o k t h a t s h o w s y o u h o w t o c a p t u r e t h e h e a l i n g e n e r g y of love. D r Weiss d r a w s o n t h e w i s d o m o f t h e spirit g u i d e s k n o w n as t h e M a s t e r s t o e x p l o r e a v a r i e t y of t o p i c s i n c l u d i n g : r e i n c a r n a t i o n a n d t h e n a t u r e of t h e s o u l : d e s t i n y a n d y o u r t r u e p u r p o s e in lite; i n n e r p e a c e , h e a l t h , h a p p i n e s s a n d f u l f i l m e n t . In Messages
Twin
The
Masters v o u will f i n d o u t h o w t o t r a n s f o r m y o u r lite, y o u r relationships and y o u r s e l f - t h r o u g h the ultimate p o w e r of love.
O N LY L O V E R E A L
.Veil1
book by Dr Brian i! i;-
S a m e Soul, Many B o d i e s in this a s t o u n d i n g a n d g r o u n d b r e a k i n g n e w b o o k , l ) r Brian Weiss reveals h o w o u r f u t u r e lives can t r a n s f o r m us in t h e p r e s e n t . W e have all lived past lives. All ot us will live f u t u r e o n e s . W h a t w e d o 111 this life
will
influence
our
lives
to
come
as
we
evolve
towards
immortality. l)r
Brian Weiss, t h e bestseiling a u t h o r o t
Many Lives, Many
Masters, has n o t o n l y regressed all of his patients i n t o t h e past, b u t also progressed t h e m i n t o t h e f u t u r e . H e has d i s c o v e r e d that o u r f u t u r e s are variable a n d t h e c h o i c e s w e m a k e n o w will d e t e r m i n e t h e quality ot o u r life w h e n histories,
l)r
Weiss
w e r e t u r n . U s i n g d o z e n s o f case
demonstrates
the
therapeutic
benefits
of
progression t h e r a p y t o b r i n g patients m o r e p e a c e , j o v a n d healing, just as h e has s h o w n t h a t j o u r n e y s i n t o o u r past lives can physical o r e m o t i o n a l w o u n d s in t h e present.
cure
O N L Y L O V E zs R E« J^Sl The story of soulmates reunited DR B R I A N W E I S S
GO GO
PIATKUS
IMATKUS Hirst p u b l i s h e d in (ire,it B r i t a i n in 1 9 9 6 bv 1'iatkus H o o k s First p u b l i s h e d in t h e U n i t e d States in 1 9 9 6 bv W a r n e r B o o k s , Inc., N e w Y o r k C o p y r i g h t t i 1990 by B r i a n L. Weiss. M . I ) . R e p r i n t e d 1998 ( t w i c e ) . 1 9 9 9 ( t w i c e ) . 2 0 0 0 ( t w i c e ) . 2 0 0 1 , 2< 102, 2 0 0 3 , 2 0 0 5 ( t w i c e ) . 2 0 0 6 ( t w i c e ) , 2 0 0 7 , 200,s The m o r a l r i g h t of t h e a u t h o r has b e e n a s s e r t e d All r i g h t s r e s e r v e d N o part of this p u b l i c a t i o n m a y b e r e p r o d u c e d , s t o r e d in a retrieval s v s t e m . o r t r a n s m i t t e d in a n y f o r m o r bv a n y m e a n s , w i t h o u t t h e p r i o r p e r m i s s i o n in w r i t i n g of t h e p u b l i s h e r , n o r b e o t h e r w i s e c i r c u l a t e d in a n v f o r m of b i n d i n g o r c o v e r o t h e r t h a n t h a t in w h i c h it is p u b l i s h e d a n d w i t h o u t a similar c o n d i t i o n i n c l u d i n g this c o n d i t i o n being imposed on the subsequent purchaser A CII> c a t a l o g u e r e c o r d f o r this b o o k is available f r o m t h e British L i b r a r y I S B N 9 7 8 - 0 - 7 4 9 9 - 1 (>20-6 D e s i g n e d bv ( i i o i g e t t a
McRce
P r i n t e d a n d b o u n d in t h e U K b v C I ' I M a c k a y s , C h a t h a m M E 5
Embankment
I ondon EC4Y 0DY An L l a c h e t t e L.ivre U K
Company
w w w . h a c h e ttel i vre.i o u k www.piatkus.co.;ik
T o Elizabeth and Pedro, w h o have reminded me that there are no coincidences in love
•///ly thanks for their constant love and support go to Carole, Jordan, and Amy. My deepest appreciation goes to Joann Davis, my editor at Warner Books, for her encouragement, insight, and wisdom. She's the best. I am indebted to Joni Evans, agent extraordinaire, for her boundless energy and enthusiasm. And, finally, my gratitude goes to all of my patients and workshop participants, w h o have shared their lives with me.
header's Note
c^sychiatrist-patient confidentiality is a strong and timehonored principle of psychiatric ethics. T h e patients m e n tioned in this book have authorized m e to write their true histories. Only names and other identifying details have been altered in order to protect their privacy. Their stones are true and unchanged.
The soul of man is like to water; From Heaven it cometh To Heaven it riseth And then returneth to earth, Forever alternating. GOETHE
^ / u s t before rnv first b o o k , Many Lives, Many Masters, was published, I visited the o w n e r of a local bookstore to see if he had ordered it. W e checked his computer. " F o u r copies," he told me. " D o you w a n t to order one?" I wasn't very sure that sales of the b o o k w o u l d ever reach the modest a m o u n t that the publisher had printed. After all, this was a very strange b o o k for a respected psychiatrist to have written. T h e b o o k describes the true story of a y o u n g patient of m i n e whose past-life therapy dramatically changed b o t h our lives. H o w e v e r , I k n e w that my friends, neighbors, and, certainly, m y relatives would buy m o r e than four copies, even it the book didn't seil anywhere else in the country. "Please," I said to him. " M y friends, some of my patients, and other people I k n o w will be c o m i n g here looking for my b o o k . C a n ' t you order m o r e ? " I had to personally guarantee the one hundred books
Preface he reluctantly ordered. T o m y utter shock, the b o o k has b e c o m e an international bestseller with m o r e than t w o million copies in print, and it has been translated into m o r e than twenty languages. M y life had taken another unusual twist. After being graduated with honors f r o m Columbia University and completing my medical training at the Yale University School of Medicine, I also completed an internship at N e w Y o r k University's teaching hospitals and a residency in psychiatry at Yale. Afterward, I was a professor on the medical faculties at the University of Pittsburgh and the University of Miami. For the following eleven years, I was chairman of the Psychiatry D e p a r t m e n t at M o u n t Sinai Medical C e n t e r in Miami. I had written many scientific papers and b o o k chapters. I was at the apex of an academic career. Catherine, the y o u n g patient described in m y first b o o k , then walked into m y office in M o u n t Sinai. H e r detailed memories of past lifetimes, which I did not initially believe, and her ability to transmit transcendental messages while in a hypnotized trance state, turned m y life upside d o w n . I could n o longer see the world as I had before. After Catherine, m a n y m o r e patients came to m e for past-life regression therapy. People w i t h symptoms resistant to traditional medical treatments and psychotherapies w e r e being cured. Through Time into Healing, my second b o o k , describes what I have learned about the healing potential of pastlife regression therapy. T h e b o o k is filled with true case stories of actual patients. T h e most intriguing story of all is in Only Love Is Real, m y third b o o k . This b o o k is about soulmates, people w h o are b o n d e d eternally by their love and w h o c o m e around
Preface together and together again, life after life. H o w w e find and recognize our soulmates and the life-transforming decisions we must then m a k e are a m o n g the most m o v i n g and important m o m e n t s in o u r lives. Destiny dictates the meeting of soulmates. W e will meet them. But what w e decide to do after that meeting falls in the province of choice or free will. A w r o n g choice or a missed chance can lead to incredible loneliness and suffering. A right choice, an opportunity realized, can bring us to p r o f o u n d bliss and happiness. Elizabeth, a beautiful w o m a n f r o m the Midwest, began therapy with m e because of her p r o f o u n d grief and anxiety after the death of her m o t h e r . She had also b e e n having problems in her relationships with men, choosing losers, abusers, and other toxic partners. She had never f o u n d true love in any male relationship. W e began the j o u r n e y back to distant times, with surprising results. At the same time that Elizabeth was u n d e r g o i n g pastlife therapy with m e , I was also treating Pedro, a charming Mexican w h o was also suffering f r o m grief. His brother had recently died in a tragic accident. In addition, p r o b lems with his m o t h e r and secrets f r o m his y o u n g e r days seemed to be conspiring against him. Pedro was b u r d e n e d w i t h despair and doubts, and he had n o o n e with w h o m to share his troubles. He, too, began a search into ancient times to seek solutions and healing. Although Elizabeth and Pedro were in therapy with me during the same time period, they had never met each other, as their appointments w e r e scheduled on different days of the week. O v e r the past fifteen years, I have often treated couples
Preface and families w h o have discovered present-day partners and loved ones in their past lives. Sometimes I have regressed couples w h o simultaneously and for t h e first time have f o u n d themselves interacting in the same prior lifetime. These revelations are often shocking to the couple. T h e y have not experienced anything like this before. T h e y are silent while the scenes unfold in m y psychiatric office. It is only afterward, after emerging f r o m the relaxed, hypnotic state, that they first discover they have been watching the same scenes, feeling the same emotions. It is only then that I also b e c o m e aware of their past-life connections. B u t with Elizabeth and Pedro everything was reversed. T h e i r lives, and their lifetimes, were unfolding i n d e p e n dently and quite separately in m y office. T h e y did n o t k n o w each other. T h e y had never met. T h e y w e r e f r o m different countries and cultures. Even I, seeing t h e m both separately and having n o reason to suspect a link between them, did n o t m a k e a connection. Y e t they seemed to be describing the same past lifetimes w i t h stunning similarity of detail and e m o t i o n . C o u l d they have loved each other and lost each other across lifetimes? In the beginning, n o n e of us was aware of the gripping drama that had already b e g u n to unfold in the unsuspecting serenity of my office. I was the first to discover their connection. But n o w what? Should I tell them? W h a t if I w e r e wrong? W h a t about patient-doctor confidentiality? W h a t about their current relationships? W h a t about tinkering with destiny? W h a t if a current life connection was n o t in their plans or even in their best interests? W o u l d another failed relationship u n d e r m i n e b o t h the therapeutic gains that they had made as well as their trust in me? It had been ingrained in m e during m y medical school years and subsequent
Preface psychiatry residency at the Yale University School of Medicine to do n o harm to patients. W h e n in doubt, do no harm. Both Elizabeth and Pedro w e r e improving. Should I just let it go at that? Pedro was finishing his therapy and w o u l d soon leave the country'. T h e r e was an urgency to m y decision. N o t all of their sessions, particularly Elizabeth's, are included in this b o o k , as some sessions w e r e n o t pertinent to their stones. S o m e were completely devoted to tradiiional psychotherapy and did not include hypnosis or regression. W h a t follows is written f r o m medical records, transcripts of tapes, and m e m o r y . O n l y names and m i n o r details have been changed to ensure confidentiality. It is a story of destiny and of hope. It is a story that happens silently every day. O n this day, s o m e o n e was listening.
/
/
chapter
1
Know, therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return. . . . Forget not that I shall come back to you. . . . A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me. KAHLIL G I B R A N
ere is s o m e o n e special for everyone. O f t e n there are two or three or even four. T h e y come f r o m different generations. They travel across oceans of time and the depths of heavenly dimensions to be with you again. T h e y come from the other side, from heaven. They look different, but your heart knows them. Y o u r heart has held them in arms like yours in the moon-filled deserts of Egypt and the ancient plains of Mongolia. Y o u have ridden together in the armies of forgotten warrior-generals, and you have lived together in the sand-covered caves of the Ancient Ones. Y o u are bonded together throughout eternity, and you will never be alone. Y o u r head may interfere: "I do not k n o w y o u . " Y o u r heart knows. H e takes y o u r hand for the first time, and the m e m o r y of his touch transcends time and sends a jolt through every atom of y o u r being. She looks into y o u r eyes, and you see a soul c o m p a n i o n across centuries. Y o u r stomach 1
2
Brian L. Weiss
turns upside d o w n . Y o u r arms are gooseflesh. Everything outside this m o m e n t loses its importance. H e may n o t recognize you, even t h o u g h you have finally m e t again, even t h o u g h you k n o w him. Y o u can feel the b o n d . Y o u can see the potential, the future. But he does not. His fears, his intellect, his problems keep a veil over his heart's eyes. H e does not let you help him sweep the veil aside. Y o u m o u r n and grieve, and he moves on. Destiny can be so delicate. W h e n b o t h recognize each other, n o volcano could erupt with m o r e passion. T h e energy released is t r e m e n dous. Soul recognition may be immediate. A sudden feeling of familiarity, of k n o w i n g this n e w person at depths far b e y o n d w h a t the conscious mind could k n o w . At depths usually reserved for the most intimate family members. O r even deeper than that. Intuitively k n o w i n g what to say, h o w they will react. A feeling of safety and a trust far greater than could be earned in only o n e day or one w e e k or one m o n t h . Soul recognition may be subtle and slow. A dawning of awareness as the veil is gently lifted. N o t everyone is ready to see right away. T h e r e is a timing at w o r k , and patience may be necessary for the o n e w h o sees first. Y o u may be awakened to the presence of y o u r soul c o m p a n i o n by a look, a dream, a m e m o r y , a feeling. Y o u may be awakened by the touch of his hands or the kiss of her lips, and y o u r soul is jolted back to life. T h e touch that awakens may be that of y o u r child, of a parent, of a sibling, or of a true friend. O r it may be your beloved, reaching across the centuries, to kiss you once again and to remind you that y o u are together always, to the end of time.
Chapter 2 My life as I lived it had often seemed to me like a story that has no beginning and no end. I had the feeling that I was a historical fragment, an excerpt for which the preceding and succeeding text was missing. I could well imagine that I might have lived informer centuries and there encountered questions I was not yet able to answer; that I had to be born again because I had not fulfilled the task that was given to me. CARLJUNG
rV^all, thin, and attractive w i t h long blonde hair, Elizabeth had sad blue eyes w i t h specks of hazel in t h e m . H e r melancholy eyes o v e r p o w e r e d her loose navy blue business suit as she sat nervously in the large white leather reclining chair in m y office. Elizabeth felt compelled to see me, searching for h o p e after reading Many Lives, Many Masters and identifying with Catherine, the b o o k ' s heroine, on m a n y levels. "I d o n ' t k n o w m u c h about w h y y o u ' r e h e r e , " I c o m mented, breaking the usual impasse at the beginning of therapy. I had briefly glanced at the information sheet all new patients fill out. N a m e , age, referral source, chief complaints and symptoms. Elizabeth had listed grief, anxiety, and sleep disturbance as her major maladies. As she began to talk, I mentally added "relationships" to her list. " M y life is such a mess," she stated. H e r history began to p o u r out, as it it w e r e finally safe to talk about these things. T h e release of p e n t - u p pressure was palpable. 3
4
Brian L. Weiss
Despite the drama of her life's story and the depths of e m o t i o n lying just u n d e r the surface of her telling it, Elizabeth quickly minimized its importance. " M y story is n o t nearly as dramatic as Catherine's," she said. " T h e r e w o n ' t be any b o o k about m e . " H e r story, dramatic or not, flowed forth. Elizabeth was a successful businesswoman with her o w n accounting firm in Miami. T h i r t y - t w o years old, she was born and reared in rural Minnesota. She grew up on a large farm w i t h her parents, an older brother, and many animals. H e r father was a hard-working, stoical man w h o had great difficulty expressing his emotions. W h e n he did display e m o t i o n , it was usually anger and rage. H e w o u l d lose his t e m p e r and lash out impulsively at his family, sometimes striking her brother. T h e abuse Elizabeth received was only verbal, but it hurt her greatly. D e e p within her heart, Elizabeth still carried this childh o o d w o u n d . H e r self-image had been damaged by her father's condemnations and criticisms. A p r o f o u n d pain enveloped her heart. She felt impaired and s o m e h o w defective, and she worried that others, especially men, could also perceive her shortcomings. Fortunately her father's outbursts w e r e infrequent, and he quickly retreated to the stern and stoical isolation that characterized his personality and behavior. Elizabeth's m o t h e r was a progressive and independent w o m a n . She p r o m o t e d Elizabeth's self-reliance while remaining w a r m and emotionally nurturing. Because of the children and the times, she chose to stay on the farm and to tolerate reluctantly her husband's harshness and emotional withdrawal. " M y m o t h e r was like an angel," Elizabeth w e n t on. "Always there, always caring, always sacrificing for the
Only Love Is Real
5
sake of her children." Elizabeth, the baby, was her m o t h er's favorite. She had m a n y f o n d memories of childhood. T h e fondest of all w e r e times of closeness to her m o t h e r , of the special love that b o n d e d t h e m together and that maintained itself over time. Elizabeth grew up, was graduated f r o m high school, and w e n t away to college in Miami, w h e r e she had been offered a generous scholarship. Miami seemed like an exotic adventure to her, and she was lured away f r o m the cold Midwest. H e r m o t h e r reveled in Elizabeth's adventures. T h e y w e r e best friends, and even t h o u g h they mostly c o m m u n i c a t e d by p h o n e and mail, their m o t h e r daughter relationship stayed strong. Holidays and vacations were happy times for t h e m , as Elizabeth rarely missed a chance to go back h o m e . D u r i n g some of these visits, Elizabeth's m o t h e r talked about retiring to South Florida to be near Elizabeth. T h e family farm was large and increasingly difficult to run. They had saved a considerable a m o u n t of m o n e y , an a m o u n t augmented by her father's frugality. Elizabeth looked forward to living near her m o t h e r again. Their nearly daily contacts w o u l d n o longer have to occur by telephone. So Elizabeth stayed in M i a m i after college. She started her o w n accounting firm, w h i c h was slowly building. C o m p e t i t i o n was keen, and the w o r k absorbed great chunks of her time. Relationships with m e n added to her stress. T h e n disaster struck. Approximately eight m o n t h s prior to her first appointment with me, Elizabeth was devastated because of her mother's death f r o m pancreatic cancer. Elizabeth felt as it her o w n heart had been torn apart and ripped out by
6
Brian L. Weiss
the death of her beloved mother. She was having an enormously difficult time resolving her grief. She couldn't integrate it, couldn't understand w h v this had to happen. Elizabeth painfully told m e about her mother's courageous battle with the virulent cancer that ravaged her body. H e r spirit and her love remained u n t o u c h e d . Both w o m e n felt a p r o f o u n d sadness. Physical separation was inevitable, quietly but persistently approaching. Elizabeth's father, grieving in anticipation, grew even more distant, wrapped in his solitude. H e r brother, living in California with a y o u n g family and a n e w business, kept a physical distance. Elizabeth traveled to Minnesota as often as possible. She had n o o n e with w h o m to share her fears and her pain. She did not want to burden her dying m o t h e r any m o r e than was absolutely necessary. So Elizabeth kept her despair inside, and each day felt increasingly heavy. "I will miss you so m u c h . . . . I love y o u , " her m o t h e r told her. " T h e most difficult part is leaving you. I'm not afraid of dying. I ' m not afraid ot what awaits me. I just d o n ' t want to leave you yet." As she grew weaker and weaker, her mother's resolve to stay longer gradually diminished. D e a t h w o u l d be a w e l c o m e relief f r o m the debility and the pam. H e r last day arrived. Elizabeth's m o t h e r was in the hospital, the small r o o m crowded w i t h family and visitors H e r breathing became erratic. T h e urine tubes showed no drainage; her kidneys had ceased to function. She lapsed into and out of c o n sciousness. At o n e point Elizabeth f o u n d herself alone w i t h her m o t h e r . At this m o m e n t her m o t h e r ' s eyes w i d ened, and she became lucid again.
Only Love Is Real
7
i w o n ' t leave y o u , " her m o t h e r said in a suddenly firm voice. "I'll always love y o u ! " Those were the last words Elizabeth heard f r o m her mother, w h o n o w lapsed into a coma. H e r respirations became even m o r e erratic, with long stops and sudden, gasping starts. Soon she was gone. Elizabeth felt a deep and gaping hole in her heart and in her life. She could actually feel a physical aching in her chest. She felt she w o u l d never be completely w h o l e again. Elizabeth cried for months. Elizabeth missed the frequent p h o n e calls w i t h her mother. She tried calling her father m o r e often, but he remained w i t h d r a w n and had very little to talk about. H e would be off the p h o n e within a minute or two. H e was not capable of n u r t u r i n g or comforting her. H e also was grieving, and his grief isolated h i m even m o r e . H e r b r o t h er in California, w i t h his wife and t w o y o u n g children, was also devastated by his mother's death, but he was busy with his family and career. Her grief began to evolve into a depression with increasingly significant symptoms. Elizabeth was having problems sleeping at night. She had difficulty falling asleep and she w o u l d awaken m u c h too early in the morning, unable to fall back to sleep. She lost interest in f o o d and began losing weight. She had a noticeable lack of energy. She lost enthusiasm for relationships, and her ability to concentrate became increasingly impaired. Before her m o t h e r ' s death, Elizabeth's anxiety consisted mainly o f j o b stresses, such as deadlines and difficult decisions. She was also anxious at times about her relationships with men, with h o w she should act and what their responses w o u l d be.
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Brian L. Weiss
Elizabeth's anxiety levels increased dramatically after the death of her mother. She had lost her daily confidante and adviser, her closest friend. She had lost her primary source of guidance and support. Elizabeth felt disoriented, alone, adrift. She called for an appointment. Elizabeth came into my office h o p i n g to find a past life in w h i c h she had been together w i t h her m o t h e r or to contact her in a mystical experience. In books and lectures I have talked about people in meditative states having such mystical encounters with loved ones. Elizabeth had read m y first book, and she seemed aware of the possibility of these experiences. As people o p e n up to the possibility, even the probability, of life after the death of the physical body, of the continuation of consciousness after leaving the physical body, they begin to have m o r e of these mystical experiences in dreams and in other altered states of consciousness. W h e t h e r these encounters are real or n o t is difficult to prove. B u t they are vivid and filled w i t h feeling. S o m e times the person even becomes aware of specific information, facts or details that were k n o w n only to the deceased. These revelations f r o m spiritual visits are difficult to ascribe solely to imagination. I believe n o w that such n e w k n o w l e d g e is obtained, or visits are made, n o t because people wish this to happen, n o t because they need it, but because this is the way contacts are made. O f t e n the messages are very similar, especially in dreams: I'm all right. I'm fine. T a k e care of yourself. I love you. Elizabeth was h o p i n g for some type of reunion or contact with her mother. H e r heartache needed some balm to ease the constant pain.
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M o r e of her history emerged during this first session. Elizabeth had been married for a brief period of time to a local contractor, w h o had t w o children by a previous marriage. Although she was n o t passionately in love w i t h this man, he was a g o o d person, and she t h o u g h t that this relationship w o u l d bring some stability into her life. But passion in a relationship cannot be artificially created. There can be respect, and there can be compassion, but the chemistry has to be there f r o m the start. W h e n Elizabeth discovered that her husband was having an extramarital affair with someone w h o could provide m o r e excitement and passion, she reluctantly left the relationship. She was sad about the breakup and sad to leave the t w o children, but she did not grieve because of the divorce. T h e loss of her m o t h e r was m u c h m o r e severe. Because of her physical beauty, Elizabeth f o u n d it easy to meet and date o t h e r m e n after the divorce. But n o n e of these relationships had fire either. Elizabeth began to doubt herself, to try to find w h e r e within herself the fault lay in her inability to establish good relationships with men. " W h a t is w r o n g with m e ? " she w o u l d ask herself. And her self-esteem w o u l d dip another notch. T h e barbed arrows of her father's painful criticisms during her childhood had left w o u n d s in her psyche. T h e tailed relationships w i t h m e n rubbed salt in these w o u n d s . She began a relationship w i t h a professor at a nearby university, but he could n o t c o m m i t to her because of his o w n fears. Even t h o u g h there was a strong feeling of tenderness and understanding, and even t h o u g h the t w o communicated very well, his inability to c o m m i t to a relationship and to trust his feelings d o o m e d that relationship to a quiet and unspectacular ending. Some months later Elizabeth met and began dating a
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successful banker. She felt secure and protected in this relationship even though, once again, the chemistry was limited. H e , h o w e v e r , was strongly attracted to Elizabeth and became angry and jealous w h e n she aid not reciprocate w i t h the kind of energy and enthusiasm that he expected. H e began to drink more, and he became physically abusive. Elizabeth left this relationship, too. She had b e e n quietly despairing of ever meeting a man with w h o m she could have a g o o d and intimate relationship. She had t h r o w n herself into her w o r k , enlarging her firm, hiding behind the numbers and calculations and paperwork. H e r relationships primarily consisted of busi ness contacts. A n d even t h o u g h f r o m time to time a man would ask her out, Elizabeth w o u l d do something to discourage that interest before it grew into anything serious. Elizabeth was aware that her biological clock was ticking, and she still hoped to meet the perfect man some day. but she had lost a great deal of confidence. T h e first therapy session, devoted to gathering historical information, formulating a diagnosis and therapeutic approach, and sowing the seeds of trust in our relationship, had ended. T h e ice had been broken. I decided not to use Prozac or other antidepressants at this rime. W e would aim for a cure, not just the covering over of her symptoms At the next session, one w e e k later, w e w o u l d begin the arduous j o u r n e y back through time.
So long ago! And yet I'm still the same Margaret. It's only our lives that grow old. We are where centuries only count as seconds, and after a thousand lives our eyes begin to open. EUGENE O'NEII.I
- / r i o r to my experiences with Catherine, I had never even heard of past-life regression therapy. T his was not taught w h e n I was at Yale Medical School, nor anywhere else, I was to learn. I can still vividly r e m e m b e r the first time. I had instructed Catherine to travel backward in time, h o p i n g to discover childhood traumas that had been repressed, or forgotten, and that I felt were causing her current symptoms of anxiety and depression. She had already reached a deeply hypnotized state, which I had induced by gently relaxing her with my voice. H e r concentration was focused on m y instructions. During her therapy session the week previously, w e had used hypnosis for the first time. Catherine had remembered several childhood traumas with considerable detail and emotion. Usually in therapy, w h e n forgotten traumas are r e m e m b e r e d w i t h their accompanying e m o tions, a process called catharsis, patients begin to improve. 1 1
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Catherine's symptoms remained severe, however, and I assumed that w e had to uncover even m o r e repressed childhood memories. T h e n she should improve. Carefully I t o o k Catherine back to the age of two, but she recalled n o significant memories. 1 instructed her firmly and clearly: " G o back to the time f r o m w h i c h y o u r symptoms arise." I was totally shocked by her response. "I see white steps leading up to a building, a big white building w i t h pillars, open in front. T h e r e are no d o o r ways. I ' m wearing a long dress . . . a sack m a d e of rough material. M y hair is braided, long b l o n d e hair." H e r n a m e was Aronda, a y o u n g w o m a n w h o lived nearly four thousand years ago. She died suddenly in a flood or tidal wave, w h i c h devastated her village. " T h e r e are big waves k n o c k i n g d o w n trees. There's no place to run. It's cold, the water is cold. I have to save m y baby, but I cannot. . . . Just have to hold her tight. I d r o w n ; the water chokes me. I can't breathe, can't swallow . . . salty water. M y baby is torn o u t of m y arms." Catherine had been gasping and having difficulty breathing during this tragic m e m o r y . Suddenly her body relaxed completely, and her breathing b e c a m e deep and even. "I see clouds. . . . M y baby is w i t h m e . And others f r o m m y village. I see my b r o t h e r . " She was resting. T h a t lifetime had ended. Although neither she n o r I believed in past lives, w e had b o t h been dramatically i n t r o d u c e d to an ancient experience. Incredibly, her lifelong fear of gagging, or choking, virtually disappeared after this one session. I k n e w that imagination or fantasy could not cure such deeply i m b e d ded, chronic symptoms. Cathartic m e m o r y could.
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Week after w e e k , Catherine r e m e m b e r e d m o r e past lives. Her symptoms disappeared. She was cured, w i t h o u t the use of any medicines. Together, w e had discovered the healing p o w e r of regression therapy. Because of m y skepticism and rigorous scientific training, I h a d a difficult time accepting the concept of past lives. T w o factors eroded my skepticism, o n e rapid and highly emotional, the other gradual and intellectual. In one session, Catherine had just r e m e m b e r e d her death in an ancient lifetime, a death f r o m an epidemic that had swept t h r o u g h the land. She was still in a deep hypnotic trance, aware of floating above her body, being drawn to a beautiful light. She began to speak. " T h e y tell m e there are many gods, for G o d is in each of us." She then began to tell m e very private details about the lives and deaths of m y father and m y infant son. T h e y had both died years previously, far away f r o m Miami. Catherine, a laboratory technician at M o u n t Sinai Medical Center, k n e w n o t h i n g at all about them. T h e r e was no person w h o could have given her these details. T h e r e was no place to look up this information. She was stunningly accurate. I felt shocked and chilled as she related these hidden, secret truths. " W h o , " I asked her, " w h o is there? W h o tells you these things?" " T h e Masters," she whispered, " t h e Master Spirits tell me. They tell m e I have lived eighty-six times in physical state." Catherine later described the Masters as highly evolved ouls not presently in body w h o could speak to me through her. From t h e m I received spectacular and profound information and insights. s
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Catherine had n o background in physics or metaphysics. T h e k n o w l e d g e the Masters transmitted seemed far b e y o n d Catherine's capabilities. She k n e w n o t h i n g about dimensional planes and vibrational levels. Yet, deep in the trance state, she described these c o m p l e x p h e n o m e n a . B e y o n d that, the beauty of her words and thoughts and the philosophical implications of her uttenngs far transcended her conscious abilities. Catherine had never before talked in such a concise, poetic manner. W h e n I listened to her as she relayed concepts f r o m the Masters, I could sense another, higher force struggling with her m i n d and vocal cords to translate these thoughts into words so that I could understand t h e m . D u r i n g the course of her remaining therapy sessions, Catherine relayed m a n y m o r e messages f r o m the Masters. Beautiful messages about life and death, about spiritual dimensions and the purpose of our lives on the earth. M y awakening had begun. M y skepticism was eroding. I r e m e m b e r thinking, "Since she's correct about m y father and m y son, could she also be correct about past lives and reincarnation, about the immortality of the soul?" I believe so. T h e Masters also spoke about past lives. " W e choose w h e n w e will c o m e into our physical state and w h e n w e will leave. W e k n o w w h e n w e have accomplished w h a t w e were sent d o w n here to a c c o m plish. W e k n o w w h e n the time is up, and y o u will accept y o u r death. For y o u k n o w that you can get n o t h i n g m o r e out of this lifetime. W h e n you have time, w h e n y o u have had the time to rest and re-energize y o u r soul, you are allowed to choose y o u r re-entry back into the physical state. Those people w h o hesitate, w h o are n o t sure of their return here, they nught lose the chance that was
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given them, a chance to fulfill w h a t they must w h e n thev're in physical state." Since my experience w i t h Catherine, I have regressed m o r e than one thousand individual patients to their past lives. Very, very f e w of t h e m could reach the level of the Masters. H o w e v e r , I have observed amazing clinical improvement in most of these people. I have seen patients remember a n a m e during the recall of a recent lifetime and subsequently find old records that validate the existence of that past-life person, c o n f i r m i n g the details of the m e m ory. Some patients have even f o u n d the graves of their own previous physical bodies. I have observed a f e w patients w h o while in regression are able to speak portions of languages they have never learned, or have never even heard, in their current lifetime. 1 have also studied some children w h o have spontaneously exhibited this ability, w h i c h is k n o w n as xenoglossy. 1 have read the findings of other scientists w h o are independently practicing past-life regression therapy and w h o are reporting results extremely similar to mine. As described in detail in m y second b o o k , Through Time into Healing, this therapy can benefit m a n y types of patients, especially those with emotional and psychosomatic disorders. R egression therapy is also extremely useful in recognizing and stopping recurrent destructive patterns, such as drug or alcohol abuse and problems in relationships. Many of my patients recall habits, traumas, and abusive relationships that n o t only occurred in their past lifetimes but are again occurring in the current life. For example, ° n e patient r e m e m b e r e d a violently abusive husband in a past lite w h o has resurfaced in the present as her violent
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father. O n e warring couple discovered they had been killing each other in four previous lifetimes together. T h e stories and the patterns go on and on. W h e n the recurring pattern has b e e n recognized, w h e n its causes have b e e n understood, it can be broken. T h e r e is no sense in continuing the pain. N e i t h e r the therapist nor the patient has to believe in past lives for the technique and process of regression therapy to w o r k . B u t if they try it, clinical i m p r o v e m e n t often results. Spiritual g r o w t h almost always results.
I once regressed a m a n f r o m South America w h o r e m e m b e r e d a guilt-ridden lifetime as part of the team that helped to develop and ultimately drop the atomic b o m b on Hiroshima in order to end W o r l d W a r II. N o w a radiologist in a m a j o r hospital, this m a n uses radiation and m o d e r n technology to save lives rather than to erase them. H e is a gentle, beautiful, caring m a n in this life. This is an example of h o w a soul can evolve and be transformed even through the most ignoble of lifetimes. It is the learning that is important, n o t the j u d g m e n t . H e learned f r o m his W o r l d W a r II lifetime, and he has applied the skills and k n o w l e d g e to help other souls in the current lifetime. T h e guilt f r o m the first lifetime is n o t important. It is only i m p o r t a n t to learn f r o m the past, n o t to ruminate and to feel guilty about it.
According to a USA T o ^ y / C N N / G a l l u p Poll c o n ducted on D e c e m b e r 18, 1994, belief in reincarnation is increasing in the U n i t e d States, a country that lags behind most of the rest of the world in this belief. T w e n t y -
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seven percent of adults in the U n i t e d States believe in reincarnation, up f r o m 21 percent in 1990. There is m o r e . T h e n u m b e r w h o believe that there can be contact with the dead has risen f r o m 18 percent in 1990 to 28 percent in D e c e m b e r 1994. N i n e t y percent believe in heaven, and 79 percent believe in miracles. I can almost hear the spirits clapping.
r 4 So the idea of reincarnation contains a most comforting explanation of reality by means of which Indian thought surmounts difficulties which baffle the thinkers of Europe. ALBERT SCHWEITZER
E l i z a b e t h ' s first experience with regression occurred the following w e e k . I quickly put her into a deep state of hypnosis by using a rapid-induction m e t h o d in order to bypass the blocks and obstacles that the conscious m i n d often constructs. Hypnosis is a state of focused concentration, but the ego, the mind, has the ability to interfere w i t h this c o n c e n tration by bringing up distracting thoughts. In using a rapid-induction technique, I was able to p u t Elizabeth into a deep hypnotic state within a minute. I had given her a relaxation tape to play at h o m e during the w e e k b e t w e e n her appointments. I had recorded this tape to help m y patients practice the techniques of selfhypnosis. I f o u n d that the m o r e they practice at h o m e , the deeper they seem to go in the office. T h e tape also helps patients to relax, and it often helps t h e m to fall asleep. Elizabeth t n e d listening to the tape at h o m e , but she 18
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couldn't relax. She felt m u c h too anxious. W h a t if something happened? She worried that because she was alone there was n o b o d y to help her. Her mind "protected" her by allowing everyday thoughts to crowd in and distract her from the tape. Between her nervousness and her thoughts, she couldn't concentrate. As she described her experience at h o m e w i t h the tape, I decided to use a m o r e rapid m e t h o d of hypnosis to m o v e her b e y o n d the obstacles that her m i n d and her fears were creating. T h e most c o m m o n technique used to induce the h y p notic trance is called progressive relaxation. Beginning by having the patient slow her breathing, the therapist then talks the patient into a deeply relaxed state by instructing the patient to gently and sequentially relax her muscles. T h e n she is asked to visualize or imagine beautiful and relaxing scenes. By using techniques such as counting backward, the therapist helps the patient go even deeper. By this time, the patient is in a light to moderate hypnotic trance, w h i c h the therapist can t h e n deepen if desired. T h e w h o l e process takes about fifteen minutes. D u r i n g this fifteen minutes, h o w e v e r , the patient's mind can disrupt the hypnotic process by thinking or analyzing or debating instead of relaxing and flowing with the suggestions. Accountants and other people w h o have b e e n drilled to think in a logical, linear, highly rational pattern frequently allow the chatter of their minds to disrupt the process. Even t h o u g h I felt Elizabeth could go u n d e r deeply n o matter w h i c h technique I used, I decided to use a m o r e rapid m e t h o d anyway, just to be sure. I told Elizabeth to sit forward in her chair, to keep her
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gaze fixed on m y eyes, and to press d o w n w i t h her right hand, w h i c h was palm to palm w i t h mine. I was standing in front of her. As she applied the pressure to m y hand, with her body tilted slightly forward in the chair, I talked to her. H e r eyes w e r e fixed on mine. Suddenly and w i t h o u t any warning, I pulled away m y hand, w h i c h was underneath hers. H e r body, n o w u n s u p ported, lurched forward. At this precise m o m e n t , I said "Sleep!" very ioudiy. Instantly, Elizabeth's body collapsed back into the chair. She was already in a deep hypnotic trance. While her conscious m i n d had been preoccupied w i t h the sudden loss of balance, m y c o m m a n d to sleep traveled directly and w i t h o u t any interference to her subconscious. She w e n t directly into a state of conscious "sleep," which is the equivalent of hypnosis. " Y o u can r e m e m b e r everything, every experience y o u have ever h a d , " I told her. W e could n o w begin the j o u r n e y backward. 1 wanted to see w h i c h of her senses predominated m her recollections so I asked her to go back to her last pleasant meal, and I instructed her to use all of her senses as she r e m e m b e r e d the meal. She r e m e m b e r e d the smell, the taste, the sight, and the feeling ot a recent dinner so I k n e w she had the ability for vivid recall. It seemed, in her case, that the visual sense was the most predominant. And then I took her back into her childhood to see if she could retrieve a memory from a placid p e n o d in her Minnesota childhood. She smiled a little girl's contented smile. " I ' m in the kitchen with my m o t h e r . She looks very young. I'm young, too. I'm little. I'm about five. A n d we're cooking. W e ' r e making pies . . . and cookies. It's
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fun. M y m o t h e r ' s happy. I can see it all, the apron, her hair up. I can smell the smells. T h e y ' r e w o n d e r f u l . " "Walk into another r o o m and tell m e w h a t you see," I instructed her. She walked into the living r o o m . She described the large dark w o o d furniture, the w e l l - w o r n floors. A n d then a portrait of h e r m o t h e r , a p h o t o g r a p h that was on a dark w o o d e n table next to a big comfortable chair. "I see my m o t h e r in the picture," Elizabeth w e n t on. "She's beautiful . . . so young. I see the pearls around her neck. She loves those pearls. T h e y ' r e for special occasions. T h e beautiful w h i t e dress . . . her dark hair . . . her eyes are so bright and so healthy." " G o o d , " I said, " I ' m glad you r e m e m b e r her and that you can see her so clearly." T h e virtual certainty of remembering a recent meal or a childhood scene helps build the patient's confidence in his or her ability to recall memories. These memories show the patient that hypnosis works and that it is not frightening, that the process can even be pleasant. T h e patient sees that recalled memories are often more vivid and more detailed than the memories of the conscious, waking mind. After emerging f r o m the trance, patients almost always consciously r e m e m b e r memories recalled during h y p n o sis. O n l y rarely are patients in such a deep state that they have amnesia for w h a t was experienced. Although I frequently tape-record regression sessions to ensure accuracy and to refer to w h e n necessary, the tapes are m o r e for me than for the patients. T h e y r e m e m b e r vividly. ' N o w we will go even further back. D o n ' t worry what is imagination, what is fantasy, what is metaphor or symbol, actual memory or some combination of all of these," I told ber. Just let yourself expenence. Try not to let your mind
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judge or criticize or even comment on the material you are experiencing. Just experience it. This is only for the experience. Y o u can critique it afterward. You can analyze it later. But for n o w just let yourself experience. " W e ' r e going back into the w o m b n o w , into the inutero period, just before you w e r e born. W h a t e v e r pops into y o u r m i n d is fine. Just let yourself experience it." And I c o u n t e d back f r o m five to one, deepening her state of hypnosis. Elizabeth felt herself inside her mother's w o m b . It was warm and safe, and she could feel her mother's love. A tear trickled d o w n from the corner of each of her closed eyes. She r e m e m b e r e d h o w m u c h her parents had wanted her, especially her mother. T h e tears w e r e tears of happiness and of nostalgia. Elizabeth could already feel the love that w o u l d greet her birth, and this made her feel very happy. H e r experience in the w o m b is not positive proof that the m e m o r y is accurate, or that it is indeed a complete m e m o r y . B u t to Elizabeth the sensations and emotions were so strong and so p o w e r f u l that they were real to her, and this made her feel m u c h better. While u n d e r hypnosis, a patient of m i n e r e m e m b e r e d being born as a twin. T h e other baby was stillborn. H o w ever, the patient never k n e w that she had a twin sister. H e r parents had never told her about her stillborn sibling. W h e n she told her parents about her experience u n d e r hypnosis, they confirmed the complete accuracy of her recall. She was indeed a twin. Usually, h o w e v e r , memories f r o m the w o m b are difficult to validate. " A r e you ready to go further back now?"' I asked,
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hoping Elizabeth had n o t b e c o m e frightened by the intensity of her emotions. " Y e s , " she answered calmly. " I ' m ready." " G o o d , " I said. " N o w w e ' r e going back to see if you can r e m e m b e r anything f r o m before birth, either in a mystical or spiritual state, in another dimension, or even in a past life. W h a t e v e r pops into y o u r m i n d is fine. D o n ' t critique it. D o n ' t w o r r y about it. Just experience. Let yourself experience." I had her imagine herself walking into an elevator and pushing a b u t t o n as I slowly c o u n t e d backward f r o m five to one. T h e elevator traveled back t h r o u g h time and through space, and the d o o r o p e n e d w h e n I said " o n e . " I instructed her to step outside and j o i n the figure, the scene, the experience on the other side of the door. But it was not w h a t I expected. "It's so dark," she said, with terror in her voice. " I ' v e . . . I've fallen off the boat. It's so cold. It's terrible." "If you b e c o m e u n c o m f o r t a b l e , " I quickly interrupted, "just float above the scene and watch it as if you are watching a m o v i e . B u t if y o u ' r e n o t uncomfortable, stay with it. See w h a t happens. See w h a t y o u experience." T h e experience was frightening to her, so she floated above. Elizabeth could see herself as a teenage boy. H a v i n g fallen off a boat in a storm at night, this b o y had d r o w n e d m the dark waters. Suddenly her breathing slowed noticeably, and she seemed m o r e peaceful. She had detached from the body. "I have left that b o d y , " Elizabeth said, almost matter of factly. This had all h a p p e n e d extremely rapidly. Before I had time to explore the lifetime, she was already out of that
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body. I wanted her to review w h a t had happened, to tell m e what she could see and understand. " W h a t w e r e y o u doing on the boat?" I asked her, trying to back up in time even t h o u g h she was already out of her body. "I was traveling with my father," she said. " A n d a sudden storm came up. T h e boat began to take on water. It was very unstable and rocking wildly. T h e waves were huge, and I was swept over the side." " W h a t happened to the other people?" I asked. "I d o n ' t k n o w , " she said. "I was swept over the side. I d o n ' t k n o w w h a t happened to t h e m . " " A b o u t h o w old are you w h e n this happens?" "I d o n ' t k n o w , " she answered. " A b o u t twelve or thirteen. A y o u n g teenager." Elizabeth did n o t seem eager to volunteer any m o r e details. She had left that life early, b o t h in that lifetime and in r e m e m b e r i n g it in my office. W e could not get any m o r e information. A n d so I awakened her. T h e following week, Elizabeth seemed less depressed even t h o u g h I had prescribed n o antidepressant medication to treat her symptoms of grief and depression. " I feel l i g h t e r , " she said. " I feel freer, and I find I ' m n o t as u n c o m f o r t a b l e in the d a r k . " Elizabeth h a d always been s o m e w h a t uneasy in the dark, and she avoided g o i n g o u t alone at night. At h o m e , she o f t e n kept all the lights o n . But in the past w e e k she had n o t i c e d i m p r o v e m e n t w i t h this s y m p t o m . U n b e k n o w n s t to m e , s w i m m i n g m a d e her feel uneasy and s o m e w h a t anxious, b u t in t h e past w e e k she was able to spend t i m e in the pool and jacuzzi in her c o n d o m i n i u m c o m p l e x . A l t h o u g h these w e r e not her m a m
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concerns, she was pleased that these s y m p t o m s w e r e diminishing. So many of o u r fears are based in the past, not the future. O f t e n the things w e fear the most have already happened either in c h i l d h o o d or in a past life. Because we have forgotten or only dimly r e m e m b e r , w e fear that the traumatic event may b e c o m e real in o u r future. But Elizabeth was still very sad, and w e had not found her m o t h e r except in a childhood m e m o r y . T h e search would continue.
Elizabeth's story is fascinating. Pedro's is similarly so. Yet their stories are n o t completely unique. M a n y of my patients have suffered f r o m p r o f o u n d grief, f r o m fears and phobias, f r o m frustrating relationships. M a n y have f o u n d their lost loved ones in o t h e r times and o t h e r places. M a n y have been able to heal their grief as they r e m e m b e r past lifetimes and reach spiritual states. Some of the people I have regressed are celebrities. Some are seemingly ordinary people w i t h amazing stories. Their experiences reflect the universal themes embodied in the unfolding j o u r n e y s of Elizabeth and Pedro as they approach the crossroads of destiny. W e are all walking along the same path. In N o v e m b e r of 1992 I traveled to N e w Y o r k City to regress J o a n Rivers as part of a segment for her television talk show. W e had arranged for the regression to be taped in a private hotel suite several days prior to the live taping of Joan's show. J o a n arrived late, delayed by H o w a r d Stem, the radio host w h o was her uninhibited guest on that day's show. She was not very relaxed, still in her television m a k e u p , jewelry, and a beautiful red sweater.
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As w e talked prior to the regression, I learned that she was still grieving the deaths of her m o t h e r and her husband. Although her m o t h e r had died years earlier, their relationship had been very intense, and Joan continued to miss her greatly. H e r husband's death was more recent. Joan sat stiffly in a plush, beige-patterned chair. T h e cameras began to record an extraordinary scene. Soon Joan slumped d o w n into the chair, her chin resting precariously on the palm of her hand. H e r breathing slowed and she w e n t deeply into the hypnotic state. "I w e n t under very deeply," she later said. T h e regression began, and w e w e n t backward through time. H e r first stop was at the age of four. She remembered stress at h o m e caused by a visit f r o m her grandmother. Joan could see herself vividly. " I ' m wearing a checked dress w i t h Mary Jane shoes and white socks." W e left for a m o r e distant time. T h e year was 1835, and she was in England, w h e r e she was a w o m a n of the gentry. "I have dark hair, and I ' m taller and slim," she observed. She had three children. " O n e is definitely m y m o t h e r , " she added. Joan recognized that one of her children in that lifetime, a six-yearold daughter, had reincarnated as her present-day mother. " H o w do y o u k n o w it's her?" I asked. "I just know it's h e r , " she responded emphatically. Soul recognition often transcends verbal description. T h e r e is an intuitive k n o w i n g , a k n o w l e d g e of the heart. Joan Rivers knew that this little girl and her m o t h e r were the same soul. She did not recognize the Englishwoman's husband,
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who was also tall and slim, as someone in her present life. •'He's wearing a beaver top hat," she elaborated. H e was formally dressed. " W e ' r e walking in a large park with gardens," she noted. Joan began to cry and wanted to leave that time. O n e of her children was dying. "It's her!" she sobbed, meaning the daughter w h o m she recognized as her m o t h e r in her current lifetime. "Terrible . . . terribly sad!" T h e y o u n g girl died, and we left that time and place. W e m o v e d even further back in time, back into the eighteenth century. "It's seventeen [hundred) something. . . . I'm a fanner, a man.'" She seemed surprised at the change of gender, but this was a happier lifetime. " I ' m a very g o o d f i r m e r because I love the earth so m u c h , " she observed. In her current life, Joan loves to work in her gardens, w h e r e she finds peace and a respite from her hectic show-business life. I gently awakened her. H e r grief was already beginning to heal. She u n d e r s t o o d that her precious mother, w h o was her y o u n g daughter in 1835 England, was a soul companion across the centuries. Even t h o u g h they were now once m o r e separated, Joan k n e w that they would be together again, in another time and another place. Elizabeth, w h o did not k n o w about Joan's experience, came to me seeking a similar healing. W o u l d she, too, h n d her beloved mother? Meanwhile, in the same office and in the same chair, separated f r o m Elizabeth by only the minuscule gulf of a tew days, another drama was in progress.
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Pedro was suffering. His life was b u r d e n e d with sadness, unshared secrets, and hidden longings. A n d the most important meeting of his life was silently but rapidly approaching.
Chapter 5 And still her grief would not abate. At last she bore another child, and great Was the father's joy; and loud his cry: "A Son!" That day, to thus rejoice—he was the only one. Dejected and wan the mother lay; her soul was numb. . . . Then suddenly she cried with anguish wild, Her thoughts less on the new than on the absent child. . . . "My angel in his grave, and I not at his side!" Speaking through the babe now held in her embrace She hears again the well-known voice adored: "Tis I,—but
do not tell!" He gazes at her face. VICTOR
HUGO
cv^edro is an extraordinanly handsome Mexican man, more fair than I had anticipated, w i t h sandy b r o w n hair and w o n d e r f u l blue eyes that at times seem almost green. His charm and easy wit hid the grief he was feeling at the death of his brother, w h o had died ten m o n t h s p r e viously in a terrible automobile accident in M e x i c o City. Many people suffering f r o m acute grief reactions c o m e to see me, h o p i n g to understand m o r e about death or even to e n c o u n t e r their deceased loved ones again. T h e meeting might occur in a past lifetime. It might occur m the spiritual state f o u n d i n - b e t w e e n lifetimes. O r the reunion might take place in a mystical setting, beyond the contines of the physical body and physical geography. W h e t h e r the spiritual meetings are real or imaginary. 29
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they possess a p o w e r that is vividly felt by the patient. Lives are changed. T h e delicate and often detailed recall of past lifetimes is n o t a wish fulfillment. Images are n o t merely conjured up because a patient needs t h e m or because they might make h i m feel better. W h a t is r e m e m b e r e d is what has happened. T h e specificity and accuracy of r e m e m b e r e d details, the depth of e m o t i o n displayed, the resolution of clinical symptoms, and the life-transforming p o w e r of the m e m o ries all p o i n t to the reality of the recall. T h e unusual aspect of Pedro's story was the ten m o n t h s that had elapsed since his brother's death. By this time, grief is generally resolving. T h e long time span of Pedro's grief suggested an underlying, even deeper despair. His sadness actually extended far b e y o n d his brother's death. W e w o u l d learn in subsequent sessions that he had been separated f r o m his loved ones over many lifetimes, and he was acutely sensitized to the loss of a love. T h e sudden death of his brother reminded him, in the deepest unconscious recesses of his mind, of losses even greater, even m o r e tragic, over millennia. In psychiatric theory, each loss w e experience stirs repressed or forgotten feelings and m e m o r i e s of previous losses. O u r grief is magnified by the cumulative grief of earlier losses. In m y research w i t h past lives, I was finding that the arena in w h i c h these losses occur needs to be enlarged. W e cannot go back only to childhood. Earlier, past-life losses n e e d to be included. Some of our most tragic losses and our most p r o f o u n d grief happened before we w e r e born.
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Before anything, I needed to k n o w m o r e about Pedro's life. I needed landmarks to navigate the flow of future sessions. •'Tell m e about yourself," I asked. " Y o u r childhood, your family, and whatever else you feel is important. Tell me everything you think I should k n o w . " Pedro sighed deeply and sank back into the large, soft chair. He loosened his tie and u n b u t t o n e d the top button of his shirt. His b o d y language told m e this would not be easy for him. Pedro came f r o m a very privileged family, both financially and politically. His father o w n e d a large business and several factories. T h e y lived in the hills above the city, in a spectacular house within a secure, gated community. Pedro had attended the finest private schools in the city. H e had studied English since the early grades, and after living in M i a m i for several years, his English was excellent. H e was the youngest of three children. His sister was the oldest child, and even t h o u g h she was four years older than he, Pedro was extremely protective of her. His b r o t h e r was t w o years older and very close to Pedro. Pedro's father w o r k e d very hard and usually didn't come h o m e until late at night. His m o t h e r and the nannies, maids, and o t h e r staff ran the house and cared for the children. Pedro studied business in college. H e had several girlfriends, but no serious relationship. " S o m e h o w m y m o t h e r was never very fond of the girls I dated," P e d r o added. " S h e always found some particular fault and never let m e forget." At this point, Pedro looked around uncomfortably.
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" W h a t is it?" I inquired. H e didn't respond immediately, swallowing several times before beginning. " I had an affair w i t h an older w o m a n d u r i n g m y last year at t h e u n i v e r s i t y , " he slowly told m e . " S h e was older . . . a n d m a r r i e d . " P e d r o paused. " O k a y , " I responded after a f e w m o m e n t s , mostly to fill the silence. I could feel his discomfort, and despite m a n y years of experience, I still didn't like the feeling. " D i d her husband find out?" " N o , " he answered, " h e d i d n ' t . " " T h i n g s could have been w o r s e , " I pointed out, stating the obvious, trying to comfort him. " T h e r e is m o r e , " he added ominously. I n o d d e d , waiting for Pedro to fill m e in. "She b e c a m e pregnant. . . . T h e r e was an abortion. M y parents d o n ' t k n o w about this." His eyes were cast d o w n w a r d . H e was still ashamed and feeling guilty, years after the affair and the abortion. "I understand," I began. " C a n I tell y o u w h a t I have learned about abortions?" I asked him. H e n o d d e d his assent. H e k n e w about m y research into hypnosis and past lives. " A n abortion, or a miscarriage, usually involves an agreement b e t w e e n the m o t h e r and the soul that w o u l d enter the baby. Either the baby's b o d y w o u l d not be healthy e n o u g h to carry out its planned tasks in the c o m i n g life," I continued, " o r the timing was n o t right for its purposes, or the outside situation had changed, such as the desertion of the father w h e n the baby's or mother's plans required a father figure. D o you understand?" " Y e s , " he n o d d e d , but he didn't look convinced. I k n e w that his strong Catholic b a c k g r o u n d might make
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the resolution of his guilt and shame m o r e difficult. S o m e times our old, fixed beliefs interfere with the acquisition of new knowledge. I w e n t back to the basics. "1 will tell y o u only about m y o w n research," I explained, " n o t about what I have read or heard about from others. This information comes f r o m m y patients, usually w h e n they are deeply hypnotized. Sometimes the words are theirs, and sometimes they seem to be c o m i n g from another, higher source." Pedro n o d d e d his head again, not speaking. " M y patients tell m e that the soul does not enter the body right away. A r o u n d the time of conception, a reservation is m a d e by the soul. N o other soul can have that body. T h e soul w h o has reserved that particular baby's body can then c o m e into and out of the body, as it wishes. It is not confined. This is similar to people in comas," I added. Pedro n o d d e d in understanding, still n o t speaking but listening intently. " D u r i n g pregnancy, the soul is gradually m o r e and more attached to the baby's b o d y , " I w e n t on, " b u t the attachment is n o t complete until around the time o f b i r t h , either shortly before, during, or just afterward." I emphasized this concept by j o i n i n g m y hands at the base of m y palms, f o r m i n g a ninety-degree angle. T h e n I slowly closed m y hands so that the rest of m y palms and my fingers met, like the universal hand symbol for prayer, d e n o t i n g the gradual attachment of the soul to the body. " Y o u can never harm or kill a soul," I added. " T h e soul is immortal and indestructible. It will find a way to return, if that is the plan."
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" W h a t do y o u m e a n ? " Pedro asked. "I have had cases w h e r e the same soul, after a miscarriage or abortion, comes back to the same parents in their next b a b y . " "Incredible!" Pedro responded. His face appeared brighter n o w , n o t so guilty or embarrassed. " Y o u never k n o w , " I added. After a f e w m o m e n t s of contemplation, Pedro sighed again and crossed his legs, adjusting his pants. W e had shifted back into the history-taking m o d e . " W h a t h a p p e n e d after that?" I asked. " A f t e r graduation, I w e n t back h o m e . At first I w o r k e d in the factories, learning m o r e about the business. Later on I came to M i a m i to r u n the business here and abroad. I've been here since," he explained. " H o w is the business going?" " V e r y well, b u t it occupies t o o m u c h of m y t i m e . " "Is that a big p r o b l e m ? " "It doesn't help m y love life," Pedro said, grinning. H e was n o t entirely joking. N o w t w e n t y - n i n e years old, he felt that he was racing past the time to find love, marry, and start a family. Racing, but n o prospects. "Are y o u having relationships w i t h w o m e n ? " " Y e s , " he answered, " b u t n o t h i n g special. I haven't really fallen in love. . . . I h o p e I can," he added w i t h some concern in his voice. "I will very soon have to return to M e x i c o and live there," P e d r o mused, " i n order to take over m y brother's duties. Perhaps I will meet s o m e o n e t h e r e , " he c o m m e n t e d w i t h o u t conviction. I w o n d e r e d if his mother's criticisms of Pedro's girlfriends and the experience of the affair and the abortion were psychological obstacles to a loving and intimate
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relationship. W e w o u l d look at those issues later, I thought. "And h o w is y o u r family in M e x i c o ? " I asked, lightening the m o o d while continuing to collect information. " T h e y are well. M y father is m o r e than seventy n o w , so my brother and I — " Pedro stopped abruptly. H e swallowed and t o o k a deep breath before resuming. "So I have m o r e responsibility in the business," he concluded in a quiet voice. " M y m o t h e r is also well." H e paused before amending his answer. " B u t they are b o t h not c o p i n g well with the death. It has taken a great deal out of them. T h e y have grown m u c h older." " A n d your sister?" "She is sad also, b u t she has her husband and her children," Pedro explained. I nodded m y head in understanding. She had more distractions to help her cope. Pedro was in excellent physical health. His only c o m plaint was of intermittent pain in his neck and left shoulder, but this p r o b l e m had been present for a very long time, and doctors had n o t f o u n d anything unusual. "I've learned to live with it," Pedro told me. I became aware of time. Looking at my watch, I saw that we had run t w e n t y minutes late. M y internal alarm clock was usually m u c h m o r e reliable. I must have been really absorbed in the drama of Pedro's story, I rationalized silently, unaware that even m o r e absorbing dramas were only n o w b e g i n n i n g to unfold. T h e Vietnamese Buddhist m o n k and philosopher, Thich N h a t H a n h , writes about enjoying a good cup of
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tea. Y o u must be completely awake in the present to enjoy the tea. O n l y in the awareness of the present can y o u r hands feel the pleasant w a r m t h of the cup. O n l y in the present can y o u savor the aroma, taste the sweetness, appreciate the delicacy. If you are ruminating about the past or w o r r y i n g about the future, y o u will completely miss the experience of enjoying the cup of tea. Y o u will look d o w n at the cup, and the tea will be gone. Life is like that. If you are n o t fully in the present, you will look a r o u n d and it will be gone. Y o u will have missed the feel, the aroma, the delicacy and beauty of life. It will seem to be speeding past you. T h e past is finished. Learn f r o m it and let it go. T h e future is n o t even here yet. Plan for it, b u t do not waste y o u r time w o r r y i n g about it. W o r r y i n g is worthless. W h e n y o u stop ruminating about w h a t has already h a p pened, w h e n y o u stop w o r r y i n g about w h a t might never happen, then y o u will be in the present m o m e n t . T h e n you will begin to experience j o y in life.
Chapter 6 I hold that when a person dies His Soul returns again to earth; Arrayed in some new flesh-disguise, Another mother gives him birth. With sturdier limbs and brighter brain The old soul takes the road again. J O H N MASEFIELD
cV edro returned to the office o n e w e e k later for his second appointment. Grief still t o r m e n t e d him, robbing him of simple pleasures and interfering w i t h his sleep. H e began by telling m e about an unusual dream he had dreamt twice in the past w e e k . "I was dreaming about something else w h e n all of a sudden an older w o m a n appeared," P e d r o explained. " D i d you recognize the w o m a n ? " I asked. " N o , " he answered immediately. " S h e appeared to be in her sixties or seventies. She w o r e a beautiful white dress, but she was n o t at peace. H e r face was anguished. She reached o u t to me, and she kept repeating the same words." " W h a t did she say?" ' H o l d her hand. . . . H o l d her hand. Y o u will k n o w . Reach out to her. H o l d her hand.' T h a t is w h a t she said." Hold w h o s e hand?" I d o n ' t k n o w . She just said ' H o l d her hand.' " 37
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" W a s there anything m o r e in the dream?" " N o t really. But I did notice that she was holding a w h i t e feather in one h a n d . " " W h a t does that m e a n ? " I asked. " Y o u ' r e the d o c t o r , " Pedro r e m i n d e d me. Yes, I thought. I ' m the doctor. I k n e w that symbols could m e a n almost anything, d e p e n d i n g on the unique e x p e n e n c e s of the dreamer as well as the universal archetypes described by Carl J u n g or the popular symbols of Sigmund Freud. This dream, s o m e h o w , did not feel Freudian. I responded to the " Y o u ' r e the d o c t o r " c o m m e n t and its implied need to be answered. " I ' m not sure," I answered truthfully. "It could mean a lot of things. T h e white feather could symbolize peace or a spiritual state or m a n y o t h e r things. W e will have to explore the d r e a m , " I added, relegating its interpretation to the future. "I had the dream again last n i g h t , " Pedro said. "Same woman?" " S a m e w o m a n , same words, same feather," Pedro clarified. " ' H o l d her hand. . . . H o l d her hand. R e a c h out to her. H o l d her hand.' " "Perhaps the answers will c o m e during the regressions," I suggested. "Are y o u ready?" H e n o d d e d , and w e began. I already k n e w that Pedro could reach a deep level of hypnosis because I had checked his eyes. T h e ability to roll the eyes upward, trying to look at the top of the head, and then to allow the eyelids to slowly flutter d o w n while keeping the eyes gazing upward is highly correlated with the ability to be deeply h y p n o tized.
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I measure h o w m u c h of the sclera, or white part of the eye, is s h o w i n g w h e n the eye reaches its apex. I also observe h o w m u c h white is s h o w i n g while the eyelids slowly close. T h e m o r e white showing, the deeper the person can go. Pedro's eyes had nearly disappeared into his head w h e n I tested h i m . O n l y the tiniest part of the b o t t o m rim of his iris, the colored part of the eye, remained. As his eyelids fluttered closed, the iris did n o t descend at all. H e could reach a deep trance state. I was mildly surprised, then, w h e n P e d r o f o u n d it difficult to relax. Since the eye-roll test measured the physical ability to relax deeply and to reach p r o f o u n d levels of hypnosis, I k n e w his m i n d was interfering. Sometimes patients w h o are used to being in control have some initial reluctance to just let go. "Just relax," I advised him. " D o n ' t w o r r y about w h a t comes into y o u r mind. It doesn't matter if y o u experience anything today or not. This is practice," I added, trying to remove any pressure he was feeling. I k n e w he desperately wanted to find his brother. As I talked, P e d r o relaxed m o r e and m o r e . H e began to enter a deeper level. His breathing slowed, and his muscles softened. H e appeared to sink even deeper into the white leather recliner. His eyes m o v e d slowly u n d e r his closed eyelids as he began to visualize images. I took h i m slowly back in time. "At first, just go back and r e m e m b e r the last pleasant meal that y o u have eaten. Use all of y o u r senses. R e m e m ber completely. See w h o was there w i t h you. R e m e m b e r your feelings," I instructed. H e did this, b u t he r e m e m b e r e d several meals, not just °ne. H e was still trying to maintain control.
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" R e l a x even deeper," I urged. " H y p n o s i s is only a f o r m o f f o c u s e d concentration. Y o u never give up control. Y o u are always in charge. All hypnosis is self-hypnosis." His breathing deepened even m o r e . " Y o u are always in control," I told him. "If you ever get anxious while having a m e m o r y or experience, y o u can just float above it and watch f r o m a distance, like watching a m o v i e . O r you can leave the scene entirely and go a n y w h e r e you want, visualize the beach, or y o u r house, or any other safe place for you. If you're very uncomfortable, y o u can even o p e n y o u r eyes and you'll be awake and alert back here, if y o u wish. " T h i s is n o t Star Trek," I added. " Y o u d o n ' t get beamed anywhere. T h e s e are only memories, like any other m e m ories, just like you r e m e m b e r e d the pleasant meals. Y o u are always in control." N o w he let go. I took h i m back to his childhood and Pedro smiled broadly. "I can see the dogs and horses on the farm," he told me. His family o w n e d a farm a f e w hours outside the city, and m a n y happy weekends and vacations were spent there. T h e family was together. His b r o t h e r was alive, vibrant, laughing. I remained silent for a f e w m o m e n t s , letting Pedro e n j o y m o r e of this childhood m e m o r y . " A r e y o u ready to go even further back?" I asked. "Yes." " G o o d . Let us see if you can r e m e m b e r anything f r o m a past life." I counted backward f r o m five to one as Pedro visualized himself walking t h r o u g h a magnificent door into another time and another place, into a past lifetime. As soon as I reached the n u m b e r one, I saw his eyes
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fluttering wildly. H e was instantly alarmed. H e started to sob. "It's terrible . . . terrible!" H e gasped. " T h e y ' r e all killed. . • . T h e y ' r e all d e a d . " T h e remains of bodies were strewn everywhere. Fire had destroyed the village, with its odd r o u n d e d tents. O n l y o n e tent remained intact, standing incongruously o n the periphery of the carnage and destruction. Its colored flags and large white feathers fluttered wildly in the cold sunlight. T h e horses, the cattle, and the o x e n w e r e gone. It was apparent that n o b o d y had survived this massacre. T h e "cowards" f r o m t h e east had d o n e this. " N o wall, n o warlords will protect t h e m f r o m m e , " Pedro v o w e d . R e v e n g e w o u l d have to c o m e later. H e was n u m b e d , hopeless, devastated. I have learned over the years that people in their first regression o f t e n gravitate to the most traumatic event in a lifetime. This occurs because the e m o t i o n of the trauma is so strongly impressed u p o n their psyches and carried by the soul into f u t u r e incarnations. I wanted to k n o w m o r e . W h a t preceded this horrific experience? W h a t h a p p e n e d afterward? " G o back in t i m e within that lifetime," I urged. " G o back to happier times. W h a t d o y o u r e m e m b e r ? " " T h e r e are m a n y yurts . . . tents. W e are a powerful people," h e answered. "I am happy h e r e . " Pedro described a n o m a d i c people w h o h u n t e d and raised cattle. His parents w e r e leaders, and he was a strong and skilled horseman and hunter. " T h e horses are very swift. T h e y are small w i t h large tails," he said. H e married the most beautiful girl of his people, one
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w i t h w h o m he had played as a child and w h o m he had loved as long as he could r e m e m b e r . H e could have married the daughter of a n e i g h b o r i n g chief, b u t he m a r ried for love. " W h a t is the name of this land?" I asked. H e hesitated. "I think you call it Mongolia " I k n e w that Mongolia probably had a very different n a m e w h e n Pedro was there. T h e language was completely different. So h o w could Pedro, speaking f r o m that time, k n o w the w o r d Mongolia? Because he was remembering, his memories were being filtered through his present-day mind. T h e process is similar to watching a movie. T h e present-day m i n d is very m u c h aware, watching and c o m menting. T h e mind compares the movie's characters and themes w i t h those of the current life. T h e patient is the movie's observer, its critic, and its star, all at the same time. T h e patient is able to use his present-day knowledge of history and geography to help date and locate places and events. T h r o u g h o u t the m o v i e he can remain in the deeply hypnotized state. Pedro could vividly r e m e m b e r the Mongolia that existed m a n y centuries ago, yet he could speak English and answer m y questions while remembering. " D o y o u k n o w your n a m e ? " Again, he hesitated. " N o , it does n o t c o m e to m e . " T h e r e was little else. H e had a child, and the birth was a great happiness not only to P e d r o and his wife b u t also to his parents and the rest of the people. His wife's parents had b o t h died several years b e f o r e the marriage, so she was n o t only a wife to him b u t also a daughter to his parents.
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Pedro was exhausted. H e did not w a n t to return to the devastated village to once again c o n f r o n t the remains of his shattered life so I awakened him. W h e n a m e m o r y f r o m a past life is traumatic and overflowing with e m o t i o n , it can be very useful to go back a second time, and perhaps a third. At each repetition the negative e m o t i o n is lessened and the patient remembers even more. H e also learns more, as the emotional blocks and distractions are diminished. I k n e w Pedro had m o r e to learn from this ancient life. Pedro was giving himself another t w o or three months to resolve his personal and business affairs in Miami. W e still had plenty of time to explore the Mongolian lifetime 111 more detail. W e had time to explore other lifetimes as well. W e had not yet f o u n d his brother. Instead he had found another devastating series of losses: beloved wife, child, parents, c o m m u n i t y . Was I helping him or was 1 adding even more to his burden? O n l y time would tell. After o n e of my workshops, a participant told m e a marvelous story. From the time she was a little girl, if she let her hand hang over the side of her bed, another hand would lovingly take hers, and she w o u l d be reassured no matter how anxious she was feeling. O f t e n t i m e s w h e n her hand accidentally w e n t over the bedside and the grasp surprised her, she w o u l d reflexively jerk back her hand, and this always broke the embrace. She always k n e w w h e n to reach for the hand and to feel comforted. T h e r e was, of course, no physical form under her bed.
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As she g r e w older, the hand remained. She married but never told her husband about this experience because it seemed so childlike. W h e n she became pregnant with her first child, the hand disappeared. She missed her loving and familiar c o m panion. T h e r e was no hand to take hers in that same loving way. H e r baby was born, a beautiful daughter. A little while after the birth, while lying in b e d together, the baby t o o k her hand. A sudden and p o w e r f u l recognition of that old familiar feeling flooded her m i n d and her body. H e r p r o t e c t o r had returned. She cried with happiness and felt a great surge of love and a c o n n e c t i o n that she k n e w existed far beyond the physical.
,7
Wert thou that just Maid who once before Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth, And cam'st again to visit us once more? Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth? . . . Or any other of that heavenly brood Let down in cloudy throne to do the world good? Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, Who, having clad thyself in human weed, To earth from thy prefixed seat didst post And after short abode fly back with speed As if to show what creatures heaven doth breed; Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire, To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire? JOHN
MILTON
qp E l i z a b e t h seemed less depressed as she entered my office for her third appointment. H e r eyes were brighter. "I feel lighter," she told me. " I feel freer. . . ." H e r brief recollection of herself as the y o u n g boy swept off the boat had b e g u n to sweep away some of her fears. N o t just the fears of water or of the dark, but also deeper and more basic fears, fears of death and extinction. She had died as that boy, and yet here she was again, as Elizabeth. At a subconscious level, her grief might have been lessening because of the k n o w l e d g e that she had lived before and w o u l d live again, that death was not final. 45
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A n d if she could spring back again, r e n e w e d and refreshed, in a n e w body, then so could her loved ones. So can w e all, reborn to deal o n c e m o r e with the joys and hardships, w i t h the triumphs and tragedies of life o n earth. Elizabeth quickly w e n t into a deep hypnotic trance. W i t h i n a f e w minutes, her eyes w e r e sweeping f r o m side to side u n d e r her closed lids as she scanned an ancient vista. " T h e sand is beautiful," she began, recalling a life as a Native American in the South, probably o n the west coast of Florida. "It's so white . . . almost pink at times. . . . It's so fine, like sugar." She paused for a m o m e n t . " T h e sun sets over the big sea. T o the east are large swamps, with m a n y birds and animals. T h e r e are lots of small islands b e t w e e n the swamps and the sea. T h e waters are filled with g o o d fish. W e catch the fish, in the rivers and b e t w e e n the islands." She paused again, then continued. " W e are at peace. M y life is very happy. M y family is large; I seem to be related to m a n y in the village. I k n o w about roots, plants, and herbs. . . . I can make medicines f r o m plants. . . . I k n o w about healing." In Native American cultures there was no penalty for using healing potions or for other holistic practices. Instead of being called witches and d r o w n e d or burned at the stake, healers w e r e respected and often revered. I t o o k her forward in that lifetime, but no traumas emerged. H e r life was peaceful and satisfying. She died of old age, surrounded by the entire village. " T h e r e is very little sadness w i t h m y death," she noted after floating above her withered old b o d y and surveying the scene below, "even t h o u g h all of m y village seem to be there."
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She was n o t at all upset by the lack of grieving. T h e r e was great respect and caring for her, for her body and her soul. O n l y the sadness was missing. " W e do n o t m o u r n deaths because w e k n o w that the spirit is eternal. It returns in h u m a n f o r m again if its w o r k is not finished," she explained. " S o m e t i m e s by carefully examining the n e w body, the identity of the previous body can be k n o w n . " She p o n d e r e d this concept for a few m o m e n t s . " W e look for birthmarks w h e r e scars used to be and for other signs," she elaborated. "Similarly, w e do n o t celebrate births so m u c h . . . even t h o u g h it may be g o o d to see the spirit again." She paused, perhaps searching for the w o r d s to describe this concept. " A l t h o u g h the earth is very beautiful and continually demonstrates the h a r m o n y and interconnectedness of all things . . . w h i c h is a great lesson . . . life is m u c h harder here W i t h the greater spirit there is n o disease, no pain, no separation. . . . T h e r e is n o ambition, n o competition, no hatred, no fear, no e n e m y . . . . T h e r e is only peace and harmony. So the smaller spirit, returning, cannot be happy to leave such a place. It w o u l d be w r o n g for us to celebrate w h e n the spirit is saddened. It w o u l d be very selfish and unfeeling," she concluded. " T h i s does not mean that w e d o not welcome the returning spirit," she quickly added. "It is important to demonstrate our love a n d affection at this vulnerable time." Having explained this fascinating concept of death without sadness and birth w i t h o u t celebration, she was silent, resting. Here again was the c o n c e p t of reincarnation and the reunion in physical f o r m of past-life family, friends, and
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lovers. In all times and in diverse cultures t h r o u g h o u t history, this concept has appeared seemingly i n d e p e n dently. T h e d i m m e m o r y of that ancient life might have helped to pull her back again to Florida, r e m i n d i n g her at the deepest levels of an ancestral h o m e . Perhaps the feeling of sand and sea, of palms and of m a n g r o v e swamps called to her soul m e m o r y , helping to lure her back w i t h a subconscious seduction. For that life had b e e n most pleasant and filled with satisfactions n o t present in her current life. T h e s e ancient stirrings might have led her to apply to the University of Miami, w h i c h led to her scholarship and her m o v e to Miami. This is n o t coincidence. Destiny required her to be here. " A r e y o u tired?" I asked, returning m y attention to Elizabeth, w h o was still resting peacefully on the recliner. " N o , " she answered quietly. " D o y o u w a n t to explore another lifetime?" " Y e s . " M o r e quiet. O n c e again w e traveled back through time, and o n c e again she e m e r g e d in an ancient land. " T h i s is a desolate land," Elizabeth observed after she had scanned the scene. " T h e r e are high mountains . . . dusty dirt roads . . . the traders pass o n these roads. . . . This is a route for traders going east and west. . . . " " D o y o u k n o w the country?" I asked, looking for details. I did n o t like to intrude with t o o m a n y questions for the logical, or left-brain, part of the mind. Such questions could interfere with the immediacy of the experience, w h i c h is m o r e a right-brain, or intuitive, function. But
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Elizabeth was in a profoundly deep state. She could answer the questions and yet c o n t i n u e to vividly experience this scene. Details w e r e important, too. "India . . . I t h i n k , " she answered hesitantly. " M a y b e just west of that . . . I d o n ' t think the borders are that clear. W e live in the mountains, and there are passes the traders must go t h r o u g h , " she added, returning to the scene. " D o y o u see yourself?" I asked. "Yes . . . I ' m a g i r l . . . about fifteen. M y skin is darker, and I have black hair. M y clothes are dirty. I w o r k in the stables . . . tending to the horses and mules. . . . W e are very poor. T h e weather is so cold; m y hands are so cold w o r k i n g h e r e . " H e r face grimacing, Elizabeth made fists with b o t h hands. This y o u n g girl was innately bright b u t uneducated. Life was grindingly difficult. Traders frequently abused her, sometimes leaving a little m o n e y . H e r family was unable to protect her. N u m b i n g cold and constant h u n g e r plagued her life. T h e r e was only o n e bright spot in that young girl's life. " T h e r e ' s a y o u n g trader w h o comes by often with his father and the others. H e loves m e , and I love him. H e is f u n n y and gentle, and w e laugh a lot together. I wish he could just stay so w e can be together all the t i m e . " This was n o t to be. She died at the age of sixteen. H e r body, already w o r n out because of the bitter life and elements, quickly succumbed to p n e u m o n i a . H e r family was a r o u n d her w h e n she died. As w e reviewed this brief life, Elizabeth was not sad. She had learned an important lesson. "Love is the strongest force in the world,'' she said
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softly. " L o v e can g r o w and b l o o m even in frozen soil and in the harshest conditions. It exists everywhere, and all the time. Love is a flower for all the seasons." H e r face was filled w i t h a beautiful smile. A patient of mine, a Catholic attorney, had just finished recalling a E u r o p e a n lifetime in the late Middle Ages. H e had r e m e m b e r e d his death in that lifetime, a lifetime filled w i t h greed, violence, and deceit. H e was cognizant that some of these traits had persisted into his current life. N o w , reclining in the soft leather chair in my office, he was aware of floating out of his b o d y in that medieval lifetime. Suddenly he f o u n d himself standing in a helllike e n v i r o n m e n t , amidst fires and devils. This surprised m e . A l t h o u g h I had e n c o u n t e r e d thousands of past-life deaths in m y patients, no o n e had ever had an experience with hell. Almost invariably people find themselves drawn to an indescribably beautiful light, a light that renews and reenergizes the spirit. But hell? I waited for something to happen, b u t he reported that n o b o d y paid any attention to him. H e was waiting, too. Minutes passed. Finally a spiritual figure, w h o m he identified as Jesus, appeared and walked over to him. This was the first being w h o even noticed him. " D o n ' t y o u realize that this is all illusion?" Jesus said to him. " O n l y love is real!" A n d t h e n the fires and the devils instantly disappeared, revealing the beautiful light that had been there, unseen, behind the illusion. Sometimes y o u get what y o u expect, but it may not be real.
(ohapter 8 It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but only retire a little from sight and afterwards return again. Nothing is dead; men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out of the window, sound and well, in some new strange disguise. RALPH W A L D O EMERSON
c ( ^ o t h Pedro and I needed to learn m o r e about the sources of his underlying despair, w h i c h had been deepened even more by his brother's tragic death. W e needed to u n d e r stand m o r e about the superficiality of his relationships. W e r e his m o t h e r ' s constant criticisms of his girlfriends and the guilt of the abortion blocking his love? O r had he just n o t yet m e t the right w o m a n ? T h e regression process is like drilling for oil. Y o u never quite k n o w w h e r e the oil is, but the deeper you go the better your chance of striking it. T o d a y w e w e r e going deeper. Pedro had only recently b e g u n to r e m e m b e r his past lives. Frequently in the beginning, lifetimes are entered at their most traumatic points. This happened again. "I m a soldier . . . English, I t h i n k , " Pedro observed. Many of us are brought in by ship to capture the enemy's fortress. It's huge, w i t h high and very deep walls. T h e y ' v e
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filled the harbor with large rocks. W e must find another way i n . " H e became silent as the invasion was delayed. " G o ahead in t i m e , " I suggested. "See what happens n e x t . " I tapped h i m three times on his forehead in order to focus his attention and help h i m bridge the gap in time. " W e have o v e r c o m e the rocks, and w e have breached the fort," he answered. H e began to grunt and to sweat. "Little tunnels . . . we are r u n n i n g t h r o u g h them, but w e d o n ' t k n o w w h e r e w e are going. . . . T h e tunnels are narrow and low. W e must go single file and bend over as w e r u n . " Pedro began to sweat profusely. H e was breathing very rapidly, and he seemed extremely upset. "1 see a tiny doorway ahead. . . . W e are r u n n i n g t h r o u g h this door. " U g h ! " he w i n c e d suddenly. " T h e Spanish are on the other side of the door. T h e y ' r e killing us as we c o m e through, o n e at a time. . . . T h e y have stuck m e w i t h a sword!" H e gasped, holding his neck. His breathing became even m o r e rapid. H e was n o w gasping for air, and sweat was p o u r i n g f r o m his face, drenching his shirt. Suddenly his m o v e m e n t s ceased. His breathing became regular, and he was calm. As I dried his forehead and face w i t h a tissue, the sweating began to diminish. " I ' m floating above m y b o d y , " Pedro announced. "I have left that life . . . so m a n y bodies . . . so m u c h b l o o d b e l o w . . . but I ' m above that n o w . " H e floated in silence for a f e w m o m e n t s . " R e v i e w that lifetime," I instructed. " W h a t did you learn? W h a t w e r e the lessons?" H e p o n d e r e d these questions f r o m a higher perspective. "I learned that violence is a p r o f o u n d ignorance. I died
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senselessly far away f r o m m y h o m e and loved ones. I died because of the greed of others. T h e English and the Spanish w e r e both stupid, killing each other for gold in faraway lands. Stealing gold f r o m the others and killing themselves for it. Greed and violence killed these p e o ple . . . T h e y had all forgotten about love." He grew silent again. I decided to let h i m rest and digest these incredible lessons. I, too, began to c o n t e m plate Pedro's lessons. O v e r the centuries since Pedro's senseless death in a fortress far r e m o v e d f r o m his English home, gold has changed to dollars and pounds and yen and pesos, but w e are still killing each other for it. Indeed, this has b e e n going on t h r o u g h o u t history. H o w very little w e have learned over the centuries. H o w m u c h more do w e need to suffer before w e once again r e m e m b e r about love? Pedro's head began m o v i n g f r o m side to side on the chair. H e had an amused smile on his face. H e had spontaneously entered another, m u c h m o r e recent lifetime. Once Pedro began to r e m e m b e r lifetimes, his visual experiences were particularly vivid. " W h a t are you experiencing?" I asked. " I ' m a w o m a n , " he observed. " I ' m quite beautiful. My hair is long and blonde . . . m y skin is very pale." With large blue eyes and elegant clothes, Pedro was a prostitute m u c h in demand in p o s t - W o r l d W a r I G e r many. Although the country was besieged by runaway inflation, the rich still had m o n e y for her services. Pedro had some difficulty r e m e m b e r i n g the name of this elegant w o m a n . "Magda, I believe," he uttered. I did not want to distract him f r o m his visual appraisal. I'm very successful in this business," Magda said proudly. " I ' m a confidante to politicians, military leaders,
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and very important businessmen." She seemed a bit vain as she r e m e m b e r e d even m o r e . " T h e y are all obsessed with m y beauty and my skill," she added. "I always k n o w just what to d o . " Magda possessed an excellent singing voice and often performed at elegant soirees. She learned to manipulate men. Probably f r o m all her lifetimes as a man, I thought but did n o t say. T h e n Pedro's voice lowered to a whisper. "I influence these people. . . . I can get t h e m to change decisions. . . . T h e y do it for m e , " she said, impressed with her status and ability to influence these p o w e r f u l men. "I usually k n o w m o r e than they d o , " she w e n t on s o m e w h a t ruefully. "I teach them about politics!" Magda enjoyed p o w e r and political intrigue. H e r political power, h o w e v e r , was indirect; it always had to be mediated t h r o u g h m e n , and this frustrated her. In a future life, Pedro w o u l d need no intermediaries. O n e y o u n g man in particular stood apart f r o m the rest. " H e is m o r e intelligent and serious than the others," Magda observed. "His hair is b r o w n , and his eyes are very blue. . . . H e is passionate in everything he does! W e spend many hours just talking. I believe w e love each other, t o o . " She did not recognize this man as anyone in her current life. Pedro looked sad, and a tear f o r m e d in the corner of his left eye. "I left h i m for another . . . an older, m o r e powerful and wealthy m a n w h o wanted m e exclusively. . . . I didn't follow m y heart. I made a terrible mistake. H e was terribly hurt by my action. H e never forgave me. . . . H e didn't understand." Magda had sought security and external
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power, putting these qualities ahead of love, the real source of security and strength. Apparently her decision was one of those that mark a turning point in life, a fork in the road that, once chosen, c a n n o t be u n d o n e .
Her older lover lost his p o w e r as G e r m a n politics s w u n g wildly to the violent n e w parties, and he abandoned her. Magda lost track of her passionate y o u n g e r lover. A n d finally her b o d y began to deteriorate f r o m a chronic sexual illness, probably syphilis. She was depressed and did not have the will to resist the rampaging disease. " G o to the end of that life," 1 urged her. "See w h a t happens to you, see w h o is a r o u n d . " " I ' m in a cheap bed . . . in a hospital. This is a hospital for the poor. T h e r e are m a n y others there, sick and m o a n ing . . . the poorest of the p o o r . This must be a scene from hell!" " D o you see yourself? " M y b o d y is grotesque," Magda answered. "Are there doctors and nurses a r o u n d ? " " T h e y are t h e r e , " she answered bitterly. " T h e y pay no attention to m e . . . . T h e y are not sad at all. T h e y disapprove of my life and w h a t I have done. T h e y are punishing m e . " A life of beauty, power, and intrigue had ended o n this low note. She floated above her body, finally free. "I feel so peaceful n o w , " she added. "I just want to rest." Pedro was silent in the chair. W e w o u l d review that li'etime's lessons another time. H e was exhausted, and I awakened him. T h e chronic pain in Pedro's neck and left shoulder
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gradually disappeared over the next f e w weeks. His physi cians had never f o u n d the origins of this pain. O f course they had never considered a mortal sword w o u n d f r o m several centuries ago as the likely cause. I am constandy amazed by the short-sightedness of most people. I have m a n y acquaintances w h o obsess daily about their children's educations: w h i c h nursery school is the best, private schools versus public schools, w h i c h college-board prep courses are the most effective, h o w to maximize grades and extracurricular activities to give their children an edge to get into that college, that grad school, ad infinitum. T h e n the same cycle will start with their grandchildren. But these people think that this w o r l d is frozen in time, that the future will be a replica of the present. If w e continue to chop d o w n o u r forests and destroy oxygen sources, what will these children breathe in twenty or thirty years? If w e poison our water systems and f o o d cycles, w h a t will they eat? If w e blindly continue to overproduce fluorocarbons and other organic wastes and b l o w holes in the ozone layer, will they be able to live outdoors? If w e overheat this planet by some greenhouse effect and the oceans rise and w e flood our coasts and overstress oceanic and continental fault lines, w h e r e will they live? A n d the children and grandchildren in C h i n a and Africa and Australia and everywhere else are just as vulnerable because they are all inescapably residents of this planet. A n d consider this. If and w h e n you reincarnate, you will be one of these children. So h o w can w e worry so m u c h about SAT tests and colleges w h e n there may n o t be a world here for o u r progeny?
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W h y is everybody so obsessed with living longer? W h y squeeze a f e w m o r e unhappy years o u t of the geriatric end? W h y the preoccupation w i t h cholesterol levels, bran diets, lipid counts, aerobic exercise, and so on? D o e s n ' t it m a k e m o r e sense to live joyously n o w , to make every day full, to love and be loved, rather than worry so m u c h about your physical health in an u n k n o w n future? W h a t if there is n o future? W h a t if death is a release into bliss? I am n o t saying to neglect y o u r body, that it is all right to smoke or to drink excessively or to abuse substances or to be grossly obese. T h e s e conditions cause pain, grief, and disability. Just d o n ' t worry so m u c h about the future. Find y o u r bliss today. T h e irony is that, given this attitude and living happily in the present, y o u probably will live longer anyway. O u r bodies and our souls are like cars and their drivers. Always r e m e m b e r that you are the driver, not the car. D o n ' t identify w i t h the vehicle. T h e emphasis these days on prolonging the duration of o u r lives, o n living to o n e hundred years of age or m o r e , is madness. It's like keeping your old Ford going past 200,000 miles, past 300,000. T h e b o d y of the car is rusting out, the transmission has been rebuilt five times, things are falling off the engine, and yet y o u refuse to turn it in. M e a n w h i l e there is a brand n e w C o r v e t t e waiting for y o u right around the corner. All y o u have to do is gently step out of the old Ford and slide into the beautiful Corvette. T h e driver, the soul, never changes. O n l y the car. And, by the way, I think there might be a Ferrari d o w n the road for y o u .
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far back as I can remember I have unconsciously referred to the experiences of a previous state of existence. . . . I have lived in Judea eighteen hundred years ago, but I never knew that there was such a one as Christ among my contemporaries. As the stars looked to me when I was a shepherd in Assyria, they look to me now a New-Englander. H E N R Y DAVID T H O R E A U
t ^ w o weeks had elapsed b e t w e e n Elizabeth's appointments because she had to be away o n another business trip. O u t - o f - t o w n trips w e r e n o t rare for her. T h e beautiful smile with w h i c h she ended her last session had faded; the realities and pressures of everyday life had once again taken their toll. Yet she was eager to continue the j o u r n e y back through time. She had begun to recall important events and lessons f r o m other lifetimes. She had experienced a glimmer of happiness and of hope. She wanted more. She rapidly reached a deep trance state. Elizabeth r e m e m b e r e d the stones of Jerusalem with their distinctive coloring, w h i c h w o u l d change according to the light of the day and night. At times golden. At other times a tinge of pink or beige. But the golden color would always return. She r e m e m b e r e d her t o w n near Jerusalem with the small dirt and rock roads, the houses, the inhabitants, their clothing, their customs. T h e r e were 58
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some vineyards and some fig trees, some fields w h e r e flax and wheat grew. W a t e r came f r o m the well d o w n the road. Ancient oaks and p o m e g r a n a t e trees were near the well. This was a time in Palestine, as it always seemed to be, of intense religious and spiritual activity, of n e w changes, always the hope and yet the heaviness, the harshness of the days, of eking o u t a living, of being oppressed by the invaders f r o m R o m e . She r e m e m b e r e d her father, n a m e d Eli, w h o w o r k e d at h o m e as a potter. Using water f r o m the well, he created shapes f r o m clay, m a k i n g bowls, jars, and many other items for his h o m e and for the villagers, and even s o m e to sell in Jerusalem. Sometimes merchants or others w o u l d c o m e t h r o u g h the village and b u y his jugs or cookware or bowls. Elizabeth supplied m a n y m o r e descriptions of the potter's wheel, the r h y t h m of her father's foot on the wheel, and details of life in this small village. H e r n a m e was Miriam, and she was a happy girl living in turbulent times. Soon her life w o u l d be forever changed by the spread of that turbulence to her village. W e progressed to the next significant event in- that lifetime: her father's premature death at the hands of R o m a n soldiers. T h e R o m a n soldiers frequently torm e n t e d the early Christians w h o lived in Palestine at that time. T h e y devised cruel games merely for their o w n amusement. O n e of these games accidentally killed Miriam's beloved father. At first the soldiers tied Eli around the ankles and dragged h i m behind a horse ridden by a soldier. After an endless minute, the horse was stopped. H e r father's b o d y was battered, b u t he had survived the ordeal. His terrified daughter could hear the soldiers h o w l i n g with laughter. T h e v w e r e n o t done w i t h him.
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T w o of the R o m a n s then wrapped the free end of the rope a r o u n d their chests and began prancing around, as if they w e r e horses. H e r father lurched forward, his head striking a large rock. H e was mortally injured. T h e soldiers left him in the dusty road. T h e senselessness of it all added to her piercing anguish, added a bitter anger and hopelessness to her father's violent demise. This was just sport to the soldiers. T h e y had n o t even k n o w n her father. T h e y had n o t felt his gentle t o u c h as he tended to her m i n o r childhood cuts and bruises. T h e y had not heard his h u m o r as he w o r k e d over the wheel. T h e y had not smelled his hair after he bathed. T h e y had n o t tasted his kisses or felt his hugs. T h e y had not spent every day of their lives with this gentle, caring man. Y e t in a few terror-filled minutes they had snuffed o u t a beautiful life and had filled Miriam's remaining years with a grief that w o u l d never quite heal, with a loss that w o u l d never be replaced, w i t h a hole that could never be m e n d e d . For sport. T h e senselessness outraged her, and tears of hatred j o i n e d those of her pain. She rocked back and forth on the dusty blood-stained ground, her father's large head cradled in her lap. H e could n o longer speak. B l o o d trickled f r o m the corner of his m o u t h . She could hear gurgling in his chest every time he labored to breathe. D e a t h was very close. T h e light in his eyes approached dusk, the end of his day. "1 love you, father," she softly whispered to him, l o o k ing sadly into his darkening eyes. "I will always love y o u . " His d i m m i n g eyes looked back and blinked in u n d e r standing as they closed for the last time. She kept rocking as the setting sun ended its day. H e r family and the other villagers gently took his body f r o m
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her so that it could be prepared. In her m i n d she could sail see his eyes. She was sure he understood. As I sat quietly, immobilized by the depth of Elizabeth's despair, I noticed the tape recorder was n o t running. I put in a n e w tape, and the red recording light flashed. W e were recording again. My m i n d connected Elizabeth's current grief to the grief f r o m Palestine nearly t w o thousand years ago. Was this another case in which ancient grief was c o m p o u n d i n g current grief? W o u l d the experience of reincarnation and k n o w i n g that there is life after death heal this grief? I returned m y attention to Elizabeth. " M o v e ahead in time. G o ahead to the next significant event in that life," I instructed. " T h e r e is n o n e , " she answered. " W h a t do y o u m e a n ? " " N o t h i n g else happens of significance. 1 can look ahead . . . but n o t h i n g happens." " N o t h i n g at all?" " N o , n o t h i n g , " she repeated patiently. " D o y o u marry?" " N o , I d o n ' t live very long. I d o n ' t care about living. I d o n ' t really take care of myself." H e r father's death had affected her deeply, apparently leading to a p r o f o u n d depression and an early death. "I have left her b o d y , " Elizabeth announced. " W h a t are you experiencing n o w ? " " I ' m floating. . . . I'm floating. . . ." H e r voice trailed away. Soon she began to speak again, but the words w e r e not hers. H e r voice was deeper and very strong. Elizabeth could do w h a t Catherine and very few of m y other patients could do. She could transmit messages and infor-
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mation f r o m the Masters, high-level, nonphysical beings. M y first b o o k is filled w i t h their wisdom. I could perceive similar messages w h e n I meditated, but the words always seemed to be m o r e meaningful w h e n they came from m y patients. I k n e w that I had to develop confidence in my o w n abilities to hear, to receive, and to perceive these same concepts from these same sources. " R e m e m b e r , " the voice said. " R e m e m b e r that y o u are always loved. Y o u are always protected, and y o u are never alone. . . . Y o u also are a being o f l i g h t , of wisdom, of love. A n d y o u can never be forgotten. Y o u can never be overlooked or ignored. Y o u are n o t y o u r body; y o u are n o t y o u r brain, not even y o u r mind. Y o u are spirit. All y o u have to do is to reawaken to the m e m o r y , to r e m e m b e r . Spirit has n o limits, n o t the limit of the physical b o d y nor of the reaches of the intellect or the mind. "As the vibrational energy of spirit is slowed d o w n so that m o r e dense environments such as your t h r e e dimensional plane can be experienced, the effect is for spirit to be crystallized and transformed into denser and denser bodies. T h e densest of all is the physical state. T h e vibrational rate is the slowest. T i m e appears faster in this state because it is inversely related to the vibrational rate. As the vibrational rate is increased, time slows d o w n . This is h o w there can be difficulty in choosing the right body, the right time of re-entry into the physical state. Because of the disparity of time, the opportunity might be missed. . . . T h e r e are m a n y levels of consciousness, many vibrational states. It is not important that you k n o w all of these levels. " T h e first level of the seven is that which is most important to you. It is important to experience in the first plane rather than to abstract and intellectualize about the higher planes. Eventually you will have to experience
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them all. . . . Y o u r task is to teach of e x p e r i e n c e — T o take that w h i c h is belief and faith and transform it into experience so that the learning is complete, because experience transcends belief. T e a c h t h e m to experience. R e m o v e their fear. T e a c h t h e m to love and to help o n e another. . . . This involves the free will of others. But to reach o u t with love, to reach o u t w i t h compassion, to help others—this is w h a t y o u must do on your plane. " H u m a n s always think of themselves as the only beings. This is n o t the case. T h e r e are m a n y worlds and m a n y dimensions . . . many, m a n y m o r e souls than there are physical containers. Also, the soul may split if it wishes and have m o r e than one experience at the same time. This is possible but requires a level of development w h i c h most have n o t achieved. Eventually they will see that like a pvramid there is only o n e soul. A n d all experience is shared simultaneously. B u t this is not for n o w . " W h e n y o u look into the eyes of another, any other, and y o u see y o u r o w n soul looking back at you, then you will k n o w that y o u have reached another level of consciousness. In this sense reincarnation does not exist, tor all lives and all experiences are simultaneous. But, in the three-dimensional world, reincarnation is as real as time or as a m o u n t a i n or as the oceans. It is an energy like other energies, and its reality depends on the energy of the perceiver. As long as the perceiver perceives a physical b o d y and solid objects, reincarnation is real to that perceiver. T h e energy consists of light and love and knowledge. T h e application of this k n o w l e d g e in a loving way is wisdom. . . . T h e r e is currently a great lack of wisdom on your plane." Elizabeth stopped speaking. Like Catherine, she could remember the details of her physical lifetimes but n o t h i n g
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of the messages she delivered f r o m the in-between-lifetimes state. B o t h were in m u c h deeper levels w h e n transmitting these messages. Very f e w patients go so deep that amnesia is induced. Like Catherine, Elizabeth's messages could help to correct the "lack of w i s d o m " on our plane. W e w o u l d harvest m u c h m o r e k n o w l e d g e before Elizabeth was through. M y contact w i t h the w i s d o m of the Masters has b e e n limited since Catherine was cured and her therapy ended. Yet in an occasional, unbelievably vivid, nearly lucid dream I will receive m o r e information, such as the lectures near the e n d of Many Lives, Many Masters. A n d sometimes the messages c o m e w h e n I am in a deeply meditative dreamlike state. For example, a system of psychotherapy for the twenty-first century was laid o u t for me, a system that is psycho-spiritual in nature and w h i c h could supplant the tired techniques of the past. T h e messages and images crowded my brain at great speed with a flitting, brilliant clarity. Unfortunately I could not tape-record m y mind, the receiving station. So the ideas are like precious stones, but the setting—my words trying to explain and define the speeding, darting thoughts—is like dross. T h e beginning was a clear message. "All is love. . . . All is love. W i t h love comes u n d e r standing. W i t h understanding comes patience. A n d t h e n time stops. A n d everything is n o w . " Instantly I c o m p r e h e n d e d the truth of these thoughts. Reality is the present. Dwelling in the past or f u t u r e causes pain and illness. Patience can stop time. God's love is everything. I could also immediately c o m p r e h e n d the healing p o w e r of these thoughts. I began to understand.
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" L o v e is the ultimate answer. Love is n o t an abstraction but an actual energy, or spectrum of energies, which you can 'create' and maintain in y o u r being. Just be loving. You are beginning to t o u c h G o d within yourself. Feel loving. Express your love. " L o v e dissolves fear. Y o u cannot be afraid w h e n y o u are feeling love. Since everything is energy, and love encompasses all energies, all is love. This is a strong clue to the nature of God. " W h e n you are loving and unafraid, you can forgive. You can forgive others, and you can forgive yourself. Y o u begin to see with the proper perspective. Guilt and anger are reflections of the same fear. Guilt is a subtle anger directed inward. Forgiveness dissolves guilt and anger. T h e y are unnecessary, damaging emotions. Forgive. This is an act of love. "Pride can get in the way of forgiving. Pride is one manifestation of ego. Ego is the transient, false self. Y o u are not y o u r body. Y o u are n o t y o u r brain. Y o u are not your ego. Y o u are greater than all of these. Y o u need your ego to survive in the three-dimensional world, b u t you need only that part of the ego w h i c h processes information. T h e rest—pride, arrogance, defensiveness, f e a r — is worse than useless. T h e rest of the ego separates y o u from wisdom, j o y , and G o d . Y o u must transcend y o u r ego and find y o u r true self. T h e true self is the permanent, deepest part of you. It is wise, loving, safe, and joyful. "Intellect is important in the three-dimensional world, but intuition is m o r e important. " Y o u have reversed reality and illusion. Reality is the r ecognition of y o u r immortality, divinity, and timelessness. Illusion is your transient three-dimensional world. This reversal is damaging to you. Y o u yearn for
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the illusion of security instead of the security of wisdom and love. Y o u yearn to be accepted w h e n , in reality, you can never be rejected. Ego creates illusion and hides truth. Ego must be dissolved, then truth can be seen. " W i t h love and understanding comes the perspective of infinite patience. W h a t is y o u r hurry? T h e r e is n o time anyway; it only feels that way to you. W h e n you are not experiencing the present, w h e n you are absorbed in the past or worried about the future, y o u bring great heartache and grief to yourself. T i m e is an illusion, too. Even in the three-dimensional world, f u t u r e is only a system of probabilities. W h y do you w o r r y so? "Therapy can be done to the self. Understanding is therapy. Love is the ultimate therapy. Therapists, teachers, and gurus can help, but only for a limited time. T h e direction is inward, and sooner or later the inward path must be trod alone. Although in reality you are never alone. "Measure time, it you must, in lessons learned, n o t in minutes or hours or years. Y o u can cure yourself in five minutes if you c o m e to the proper understanding. O r in fifty years. It is all the same thing. " T h e past must be r e m e m b e r e d and then forgotten. Let it go. This is true for childhood traumas and past-life traumas. B u t this is also true for attitudes, misconceptions, belief systems d r u m m e d into you, for all old thoughts. Indeed, for all thoughts. H o w can you see freshly and clearly with all those thoughts? W h a t if you needed to learn something new? W i t h a fresh perspective? " T h o u g h t s create the illusion ofseparateness and difference. Ego perpetuates this illusion, and this illusion creates fear, anxiety, and tremendous grief. Fear, anxiety, and grief in turn create anger and violence. H o w can peace exist in the world w h e n these chaotic emotions p r e d o m i -
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nate? Just unravel. G o back to the source of the problem. You are back to thoughts, old thoughts. Stop thinking. Instead, use y o u r intuitive w i s d o m to experience love again. Meditate. See that everything is interconnected and interdependent. See the unity, n o t the differences. See vour true self. See G o d . " M e d i t a t i o n and visualization will help you stop thinking so m u c h and will help y o u begin the j o u r n e y back. Healing will occur. Y o u will begin to use your unused mind. Y o u will see. Y o u will understand. A n d you will grow wise. T h e n there will be peace. " Y o u have a relationship with yourself as well as with others. A n d y o u have lived in m a n y bodies and in many times. So ask y o u r present self w h y it is so fearful. W h y are you afraid to take reasonable risks? Are you afraid of vour reputation, afraid of w h a t others think? These fears are conditioned f r o m childhood or before. "Ask yourself these questions: W h a t ' s to lose? W h a t is the worst that can happen? A m I content to live the rest ot my life this way? Against a background of death, is this so risky? "In y o u r growth, do n o t be afraid of evoking anger in other people. Anger is only a manifestation of their insecurity. But fearing this anger can hold you back. Anger would be merely stupid if it didn't create so m u c h grief. Dissolve y o u r o w n anger in love and forgiveness. " D o not let depression or anxiety hold you back in your growth. Depression is losing perspective, forgetting, <*nd taking things for granted. Sharpen your focus. Reset your values. Remember w h a t should not be taken tor granted. Shift y o u r perspective, and r e m e m b e r what is nnportant and what is less important. Get out of the rut. R e m e m b e r to hope.
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"Anxiety is being lost in the ego. It is losing one's boundaries. T h e r e is a dimly r e m e m b e r e d loss of love, a w o u n d i n g of pride, a loss of patience and peace. R e m e m ber, y o u are never alone. " N e v e r lose the courage to take risks. Y o u are i m m o r tal. Y o u can never be h u r t . " Sometimes the messages are m u c h less psychological and seem to be from an older, m o r e didactic source. T h e style is quite different. It is almost as if I am taking dictation. " T h e r e are m a n y types of karma, debts to be balanced. Individual karma pertains to the entity's o w n obligations, those u n i q u e to him. B u t there is also group karma, the collective debts of his group, and there are many groups: religions, races, nationalities, and so on. At a larger level, there is planetary karma, w h i c h will in time affect the planet's destiny and o u t c o m e . In group karma not only are individual debts accumulated and w o r k e d through, b u t the o u t c o m e is eventually applied to the group, c o u n try, or planet. T h e application of such group karma determines the future of the g r o u p or country. But it also applies to the reincarnating individual, b o t h within the group or country, or simultaneously and intersecting b u t not within, or at a later point in time. " A c t i o n becomes right action w h e n it becomes action along the W a y , along the Path toward G o d . All other paths are eventually blind alleys or illusions, and action along those paths is n o t right action. Thus right action promotes the individual's spirituality and his return. Action that fosters justice and mercy and love and w i s d o m and the attributes w e call godly or spiritual is inevitably right action. T h e fruit of right action is the desired goal. T h e fruits of actions along the other paths are transient,
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illusory, and false. These fruits entrap and deceive, but they are n o t what w e ieally desire. T h e fruits of right action encompass all our goals and wishes and all that w e need or desire. "Fame is an example. H e that seeks fame as an end in itself may achieve fame for a while. But that fame will be temporary and will not gratify. If, however, fame comes to one unbidden, as a result of right action, action along the Path, that fame will endure and will be proper. But to the person on the Path, it will not matter. This is the difference between fame sought selfishly, for the individual, and fame unsought and not desired, a by-product of right action. T h e first is illusion and is impermanent. T h e second is real and permanent, adhering to the soul. T h e first accrues karma and must be balanced; the second does not." Sometimes the messages flash by very quickly and succinctly. " T h e goal is n o t to win b u t to open u p . " T h e n , as if h i s / h e r turn came again, m o r e from the psychological source and the rapid-fire impressions. " G o d forgives, but you also have to be forgiven by people . . . and y o u have to forgive t h e m . Forgiveness is also y o u r responsibility. Y o u must forgive and be forgiven. Psychoanalysis does not repair the damage. Y o u still have to go b e v o n d understanding and m a k e changes, improve the world, repair relationships, forgive others and accept their forgiveness. Being active in seeking virtue is of the utmost importance. Lip service is n o t e n o u g h . Intellectual understanding w i t h o u t applying the remedy is not enough. Expressing your love is."
er 10 I have been here before, But when or how I cannot tell; I know the grass beyond the door, The sweet keen smell, The sighing sound, the lights around the shore. You have been mine before— How long ago I may not know: But just when at that swallow's soar Your neck turned so, Some veil did fall,—I
knew it all of yore. D A N T E GABRIEI. KOSSETTI
ro entered the middle of a difficult lifetime. S o m e times the difficult ones offer the most opportunities to learn, opportunities to progress m o r e quickly along our paths. Sometimes the relatively easy lifetimes offer fewer chances for advancement. T h e y are times to rest. This was definitely not one of the easy ones. Immediately Pedro was angry, and he clenched his j a w tightly. " T h e y ' r e m a k i n g m e go, and I do n o t want to. . . . I do n o t wish that kind of life!" " W h e r e are they making you go?" I asked, looking tor clarification. " I n t o the priesthood, to be a m o n k . . . . I do not want this!" he said, insistently. H e was silent for a m o m e n t , still angry. T h e n he began to explain. "I am the youngest son. It is expected that I do this. 7d
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g u t I d o n o t w a n t to leave her. . . . W e are in love; b u t if I go, s o m e o n e else will have her, n o t me. . . . I cannot bear that. I w o u l d die first!" But he did n o t die. Instead, he became gradually resigned to the inevitable. H e had to separate f r o m his love. His heart was ripped out, b u t he continued to live anyway. Years passed. "It is n o t so bad n o w . T h e life is peaceful. I am veryattached to the abbot and I have chosen to stay with him. . . ." After m o r e silence, a recognition. " H e is m y brother . . . m y brother. I k n o w it is him. W e are very close. I can see his eyes!" Pedro had finally f o u n d his deceased brother. I k n e w that n o w his grief w o u l d begin to heal. T h e brothers had indeed been together before. A n d if before, they could be together again. M o r e years passed. T h e abbot grew old. " H e will leave m e s o o n , " Pedro predicted. " B u t w e will be together again, in heaven. . . . W e have prayed for that." T h e abbot soon died, and Pedro grieved. H e prayed and he meditated, and the time of his death approached. H e had contracted tuberculosis and he was coughing. Breathing was difficult. His spiritual brothers stood a r o u n d his bedside. I let h i m pass quickly to the other side. T h e r e was n o need to suffer again. "I learned about anger and forgiveness," he began, n o t even waiting for m e to ask about the lessons of that lifetime. "1 learned that anger is foolish. It eats at the soul. M y parents did what they t h o u g h t best, for me and for them. Th ev did not understand the intensity of my passions or
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that I had the right to determine the direction of my life, not they. T h e y meant well, but they did not understand. T h e y w e r e ignorant . . . but I have been ignorant also. I have c o m m a n d e e r e d the lives of others. So h o w can I j u d g e t h e m or be angry with t h e m w h e n I have d o n e the same?" H e was silent again, then resumed. "This is w h y f o r giveness is so important. W e have all d o n e those things for w h i c h w e c o n d e m n others. If w e w a n t to be forgiven, w e must forgive them. G o d forgives us. W e should forgive, t o o . " H e was still reviewing the lessons. "I w o u l d not have met the abbot if I had my w a y , " he concluded. " T h e r e is always compensation, always grace, always goodness, if w e just look for it. If I had remained angry and bitter, if I had resented my life, I w o u l d have missed the love and the goodness that I f o u n d in the monastery." T h e r e w e r e other, smaller lessons. "I learned about the p o w e r of prayer and meditation," he added. H e was silent again as he p o n d e r e d the lessons and implications of that saintly life. "Perhaps it was better to sacrifice romantic love," he conjectured, " f o r the greater love of G o d and m y brothers." I was n o t sure, and neither was he. Several h u n d r e d years later in Germany, Pedro's soul, in Magda, chose a very different path. T h e next step in Pedro's j o u r n e y to find the meeting point b e t w e e n spiritual love and romantic love occurred immediately after his m e m o r y of the m o n k . " I ' m being pulled back to another life," he a n n o u n c e d abruptly. "I must go!" " G o ahead," I urged. " W h a t is happening?"
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H e was silent for a few m o m e n t s . " I ' m lying on the ground, gravely w o u n d e d . . . . T h e r e are soldiers nearby. T h e y have pulled m e over the ground and the rocks. . . . I ' m dying!" H e gasped. " M y head and m y side h u r t badly," he muttered in a thin voice. " T h e y are n o longer interested in m e . " T h e rest of this p o o r man's story slowly emerged. W h e n he stopped responding, the soldiers left. H e could see t h e m above h i m in their short leather uniforms and boots. T h e y w e r e n o t happy. T h e y were having their fun, b u t they had not really m e a n t to kill him. They w e r e not sad. These people w e r e n o t w o r t h very m u c h . All in all, an unsatisfying escapade. His daughter came to him, wailing and sobbing, and she softly cradled his head in her lap. She rocked r h y t h m i cally, and he could feel the life ebbing f r o m his shattered body. His ribs must have been b r o k e n because there was a sharp pain w i t h every breath. H e tasted blood in his mouth. His strength was diminishing rapidly n o w . H e tried to speak to his daughter but could n o t utter a w o r d . A distant gurgling came f r o m s o m e w h e r e in the depths of his body. "I love you, father," he heard her say softly. H e was too w e a k to answer. H e loved her very m u c h , this d a u g h ter. H e w o u l d miss her b e y o n d h u m a n endurance. His eyes closed for the last time, and the incredible pam disappeared. S o m e h o w he could still see. H e felt extremely light and free. H e f o u n d himself looking d o w n at his crumpled body, his head and shoulders resting limply in his daughter's lap. She was sobbing, completely unaware that he was n o w at peace, that the pain was gone. She was focusing only on his body, a body that n o longer held him, rocking slowly back and forth.
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H e could leave his family n o w , if he wanted. T h e y w o u l d be all right. T h e y only needed to r e m e m b e r that they w o u l d also leave their bodies w h e n their time arrived. H e b e c a m e aware of a marvelous light, brighter and m o r e beautiful than a thousand suns. Yet he could look directly at it. S o m e o n e in or near the light was beckoning to him. His grandmother! She looked so young, so radiant, so healthy. H e desired to go to her, and instantly he was with her near the light. "It is g o o d to see you again, m y child," she thought, the words appearing in his consciousness. "It has been a long t i m e . " She hugged him in arms of spirit, and they walked together into the light. Pedro's haunting story completely engrossed m e . M o v e d by his grief at leaving his daughter, I could feel the p r o f o u n d sadness of his parting words. H o w e v e r , I rejoiced at the uplifting e n c o u n t e r w i t h his grandmother. If I were not so o v e r w h e l m e d by the emotions of the m o m e n t , w h i c h also evoked the tragic m e m o r y of m y o w n son's death, perhaps m y m i n d w o u l d have m a d e the c o n n e c t i o n between Pedro and Elizabeth. I had heard the daughter's words before. As Miriam, Elizabeth had rocked back and forth on the bloody ground, cradling her dying father, and she had whispered the same lament. T h e stories w e r e eerily similar. At that m o m e n t not only was m y view obscured by emotion, b u t several weeks and dozens of other patients had intervened since Elizabeth's recounting, thus d i m m i n g m y awareness even more. T h e discovery of their e n t w i n e d destinies would be delayed to a different day.
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*
M y m i n d flashed back to the short life of my firstborn son, Adam. I think it was m y mental picture of the grief of Pedro's daughter in that ancient life that precipitated this m e m o r y . Carole and I had rocked in each other's arms after the early-morning p h o n e call f r o m the doctor at the hospital. Adam's life had ended at t w e n t y - t h r e e days. Heroic o p e n heart surgery could n o t save him. W e cried, and w e rocked. T h e r e was n o t h i n g else w e could do at that moment. O u r grief seemed o v e r w h e l m i n g , b e y o n d physical and mental endurance. Even breathing became difficult. It hurt to take a deep breath, and air was hard to c o m e by, as if there w e r e a constricting corset around our chests, a corset of grief, but with n o ties to u n d o . W i t h time the intensity and sharpness of our sadness slowly abated, but the hole in o u r hearts remained. W e had Jordan, and w e had A m y , and they are unique and special children, but they did n o t replace Adam. T h e passage of time did help. Like ripples in a p o n d after a heavy stone disturbs its peaceful surface, waves of grief spread slowly outward. Like the first waves w h i c h tightly encircle the stone, everything in our lives was connected to Adam. W i t h time, n e w people and n e w experiences came into our lives. T h e y were not as directly connected to A d a m and to our pain. Ripples spreading ever outward. M o r e n e w events, m o r e n e w things, m o r e n e w people. Breathing r o o m . W e could take deep breaths again. Y o u never forget the hurt, but, as time passes, you can live around it. W e met Adam again ten years later in Miami. H e talked
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to us t h r o u g h Catherine, the patient described in Many Lives, Many Masters, and o u r lives were never the same. After a decade of pain, w e began to understand about the immortality of souls.
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11
Many times man lives and dies Between his two eternities, That of race and that oj soul, And ancient Ireland knew it all. Whether man die in his bed Or the rifle knocks him dead, A brief parting from those dear Is the worst man has to fear. Though grave-diggers' toil is long, Sharp their spades their muscles strong. They but thrust their buried men Back in the human mind again. W.B.
YEATS
E l i z a b e t h sobbed softly as she sat in the familiar recliner. Her mascara was r u n n i n g in jagged lines away f r o m her eyes. I gave her a tissue, and she dabbed absentmindedly at her eyes as the black mascara lines gained speed in their descent toward her chin. She had just finished r e c o u n t i n g a life as an Irish w o m a n , a life that had ended peacefully and with m u c h happiness. Yet the stark contrast to her current life, with its losses and despair, was causing her pain. A n d so she cried, despite the happy ending. These w e r e tears of sadness, not o f j o y . T h e day's session had b e g u n m u c h less dramatically. Elizabeth had only recently regained the energy and selfc o n h d e n c e to enter into a relationship, this time a short77
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term e n c o u n t e r with an older man. Elizabeth was initially attracted to h i m because he had m o n e y and position. But there was n o chemistry, at least n o t on her part. H e r head urged her to settle, to accept that he was secure, he seemed to care for her quite a bit, and w h o else was there for her anyway? Elizabeth's heart said n o . D o not settle. Y o u do n o t love him, and w i t h o u t love, w h a t is there? H e r heart's argument finally w o n . H e was pressing her to d e e p e n the relationship, to have sex, to make c o m m i t m e n t s . Elizabeth decided to end it. She was relieved, sad to be lonely again, b u t n o t depressed. Overall, she was handling the end of this relationship very appropriately. A n d yet here she was, eyes red, nose stuffy, mascara r u n n i n g wildly. W h e n w e started the regression process, Elizabeth lapsed into a deep trance, and I took her back in time once again. This time she emerged in Ireland, several centuries ago. " I ' m very p r e t t y , " she c o m m e n t e d i m m e d i a t e l y u p o n f i n d i n g herself. " I have dark hair and light b l u e eyes. . . . I dress very plainly and w e a r no m a k e u p o r j e w e l r y . . . as if I ' m hiding. M y skin is so w h i t e , like cream." " H i d i n g f r o m what?" I inquired, following her lead. She was silent for a f e w m o m e n t s , looking for the answer. " F r o m m y husband . . . yes, f r o m him. O h , he's a lout! H e drinks too m u c h , and he becomes violent. . . . He's so selfish. . . . I curse this marriage!" " W h y did you choose h i m ? " I innocently asked. "I did not choose him. . . . I w o u l d never choose him. M y parents chose him, and n o w they are dead. . . . T h e y are dead, but I still have to live with him. H e is all I have
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n o w , " she said, a fragile sadness j o i n i n g the anger in her voice. " D o y o u have any children? Does anyone else live with y o u ? " I asked. " N o . " H e r anger was subsiding, but the sadness was more evident n o w . "I cannot. I had a . . . miscarriage. T h e r e was a great deal of bleeding . . . and infection T h e y say I can't bear children. . . . H e is angry at m e for that, too. . . . H e blames m e . . . for not bearing him sons. As if I wanted this!" She was upset again. " H e hits m e , " she added, in a suddenly soft voice. " H e hits m e as if I w e r e a dog. I hate h i m for that." She stopped talking and tears f o r m e d in the corners of her eyes. " H e hits y o u ? " I echoed. " Y e s , " she answered simply. I waited for more, b u t she was reluctant to elaborate. " W h e r e does he hit y o u ? " I pressed. " O n m y back, my arms, m y face. E v e r y w h e r e . " " C a n y o u stop h i m ? " " A t times. I used to hit back, but then he h u r t s , m e more. H e drinks too m u c h . T h e best thing I can do is accept the beating. Eventually he tires and stops . . . until the next t i m e . " " L o o k at h i m closely," I urged her " L o o k into his eyes. See if y o u recognize h i m as anyone in your current life." Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, and her b r o w furrowed, as if she were looking, even t h o u g h her eyelids remained closed. "I do k n o w him! It's George. . . . It's George!" " G o o d . Y o u are back in that lifetime. T h e beatings have stopped."
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She had recognized the banker, George, with w h o m she had had a relationship a year and a half earlier. T h a t relationship had ended w h e n George became physically abusive. Patterns such as abusiveness can persist over many lifetimes if they are not recognized and broken. At some subconscious level Elizabeth and George had r e m e m b e r e d each other. T h e y had c o m e together once again, and he tried to resume the abuse. H o w e v e r , Elizabeth had learned an i m p o r t a n t lesson over the centuries. This time Elizabeth had the strength and self-respect to end their relationship soon after the abuse began. W h e n past-life origins are discovered, it is even easier to break destructive patterns. I looked over at Elizabeth. She was quiet. She seemed so sad and hopeless. I had e n o u g h information about her abusive husband, and I decided to m o v e her ahead in time. "I will count backward f r o m three to o n e and tap y o u lightly on the forehead," I told her. "As I do this, m o v e ahead to the next significant event in this life. Let it c o m e into complete focus in y o u r m i n d as I count. See w h a t happens to y o u . " O n the c o u n t of one, she began to smile blissfully. I was glad there was a little light in this bleak life. " H e has died, thank G o d , and I am so happy," she gushed. "I am w i t h a man I love. H e is so kind and gentle. H e never hits me. W e love each other. He's a very g o o d man. W e are happy t o g e t h e r . " H e r blissful smile never faded. " H o w did your husband die?" I inquired. " I n a tavern," she answered, as her smile faded. " H e was killed in a fight. T h e y tell m e that he was stabbed in
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the chest w i t h a long knife. It must have pierced his heart. T h e y tell m e blood was everywhere. "I am not sad that he d i e d , " she continued. "I w o u l d not have m e t J o h n otherwise. J o h n is a w o n d e r f u l m a n . " H e r radiant smile had returned. O n c e again I pressed forward. " G o ahead in t i m e , " I instructed, " a n d see w h a t happens to y o u and J o h n . G o to the next significant event in y o u r lives." She was silent, scanning the years. "I am very weak. M y heart is fluttering so," she gasped. "I cannot catch m y breath!" She had progressed to the day of her death. "Is J o h n a r o u n d ? " I asked. " O h , yes. He's sitting o n the b e d and holding my hand. He's very concerned, very attentive. H e knows he's going to lose m e . W e are sad about this b u t happy that w e lived so m a n y g o o d years t o g e t h e r . " She paused, r e m e m b e r i n g the scene with J o h n at her bedside. O n l y Elizabeth's relationship w i t h her beloved m o t h e r had approached this incredible level of love, j o y , and intimacy she had shared with J o h n . "Look closely at John. Look at his face and in his eyes. See if you recognize him as someone in your present life." Recognition often immediately occurs with an unmistakable certainty w h e n a patient looks into the other person's eyes. T h e eyes may truly be the w i n d o w to the soul. " N o , " she said simply. "I do n o t k n o w h i m . " She paused again, then spoke w i t h alarm in her voice. " M y heart is giving o u t , " she declared. "It's very erratic n o w . I feel like I want to leave this body n o w . " "It's okay. Leave that body. Tell m e what happens to you."
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After a few m o m e n t s , she began to describe the events following her death. H e r face looked peaceful, her breathing relaxed. "I am hovering above and to the side of my body, near the corner of the ceiling. I can see J o h n sitting w i t h m y body. He's just sitting there. H e doesn't want to m o v e . H e will be all alone n o w . W e only had each o t h e r . " " T h e n you never had children?" I asked, for clarification. " N o , I could not. But that was n o t important. W e had each other, and that was e n o u g h for us." She lapsed back into silence, her face still very peaceful, a small smile forming. " i t is so beautiful here. I am aware of a beautiful light all around me. It pulls at me, and I want to follow it. It is a beautiful light. It restores y o u with energy!" " G o ahead," I agreed. " W e travel through a beautiful valley, with trees and flowers all around. . . . I am b e c o m i n g aware of many things, m u c h information, m u c h knowledge. But I d o n ' t w a n t to forget about J o h n . I must r e m e m b e r J o h n , and if I learn all these other things, I might forget J o h n , and I can't!" " Y o u will r e m e m b e r J o h n , t o o , " I advised, but I was not really sure. W h a t was this other knowledge she was being given? I asked her. "It is all about lifetimes and energies, about h o w w e use o u r lifetimes to perfect o u r energies so that w e can m o v e o n to higher worlds. T h e y are telling m e about energy and about love and h o w these are the same . . • w h e n w e understand w h a t love really is. But 1 do not want to forget about J o h n ! "
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"I will remind you all about J o h n . " "Good." "Is there m o r e ? " " N o , that is all for n o w . . . . " T h e n she added, " W e can learn m o r e about love by listening to our intuitions." Perhaps this last c o m m e n t had m o r e levels of meaning, especially for m e . Years earlier the Masters, speaking through Catherine, had told m e at the very end of her sessions and their amazing revelations, " W h a t w e tell you is for n o w . Y o u must n o w learn through your o w n intuition." T h e r e w o u l d be n o m o r e revelations t h r o u g h Catherine's hypnosis. Elizabeth rested. T h e r e w o u l d be n o further revelations today either. I awakened her, and after her mind reoriented to the present time, she began to cry softly. " W h y are y o u crying?" I gently asked her. "Because I loved h i m so m u c h , and I d o n ' t think I will ever love s o m e o n e that m u c h again. I've never m e t any m a n that I could love like that, and w h o loved m e back the same way. A n d w i t h o u t that love, h o w can m y life ever be complete? H o w can I ever be completely happy?" " Y o u never k n o w , " I objected, b u t w i t h o u t m u c h conviction. " Y o u could m e e t s o m e o n e and fall madly in love again. Y o u could even m e e t J o h n again, in another body." " S u r e , " she said w i t h some sarcasm. H e r tears kept falling. " Y o u ' r e just trying to make m e feel better. I've got a better chance of w i n n i n g the lottery than of finding him again." T h e odds ot w i n n i n g the lottery, I r e m e m b e r e d , w e r e fourteen million to one.
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In Through Time into Healing, I describe the reunion of Ariel and Anthony. A reunion with a soulmate after a long and involuntary separation can be an experience worth waiting for—even if the wait is one of centuries. O n a vacation in the Southwest, my former patient, Ariel, a biologist, met an Australian named Anthony. Both were emotionally mature individuals who had been married before, and they quickly fell in love and became engaged. Back in Miami, Ariel suggested that Anthony have a regression session with me just to see if he could have the experience and to "see what came up." They were both curious to find out whether Ariel would appear in any way in Anthony's regression. Anthony turned out to be a superb regression subject. Almost instantly, he returned to a very vivid North African lifetime around the time of Hannibal, more than two thousand years ago. In that lifetime, Anthony had been a member of a very advanced civilization. His particular tribe was fair skinned, and they were gold smelters who had the ability to use liquid fire as a weapon by spreading it on the surface of rivers. Anthony was a young man in his mid-twenties in the midst of fighting a forty-day war with a neighboring, darker-skinned tribe that vastly outnumbered the defenders. Anthony's tribe had actually trained some of the members of the enemy tribe in the art of warfare, and one of the former trainees was leading the assault. One hundred thousand of the enemy tribe carrying swords and hatchets were crossing a large river on ropes as Anthony and his people spread liquid fire on their own river, hoping it
Only Love Is Real would reach the attackers before the attackers reached the shore. To protect their women and children, the defending tribe put most of them on large boats with violet sails in the middle of a huge lake. Among this group was Anthony's voung and beloved fiancee, who was perhaps seventeen or eighteen years old. However, the liquid fire suddenly burned out of control, and the boats caught fire. Most o f t he tribe's women and children perished in this tragic accident, including Anthony's fiancee, who was his great passion. This tragedy broke the morale of the warriors, and they were soon defeated. Anthony was one of the few who escaped the slaughter through brutal hand-to-hand fighting. Eventually, he escaped to a secret passageway that led to a warren of rooms underneath the large temple where the tribe's treasures were stored. There Anthony had found one other living person, his king. The king commanded Anthony to kill him, and Anthony, a loyal soldier, complied against his will. After the king's death, Anthony was all alone in the dark temple, where he used his time to write the history of his people on gold leaf and to seal the writing in large urns or jars. It was here that he eventually died of starvation and grief over the loss of his fiancee and his people. There was one more detail. His fiancee in that lifetime reincarnated as Ariel in this lifetime. The two of them reunited as lovers after two thousand years. Finally, the long-postponed wedding would take place. Anthony and Ariel had only been separated for one hour when he stepped out of my office. But the power of their reunion was such that it was as though they had not seen each other for two thousand years.
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Brian L. Weiss Recently Ariel and Anthony were married. Their sudden and intense and seemingly coincidental meeting now has a new layer of meaning to them, and their already passionate relationship is now infused with a sense of continuous adventure. Anthony and Ariel plan to take a trip to North Africa to try and find the location of their past life together and to see what other details they can uncover. They know that whatever they find can only increase the adventure they find in each other.
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Though I may not be a king in my future life, so much the better: I shall nevertheless live an active life and, on top of it, earn less ingratitude. FREDERICK THE G R E A T
^ Z e was perspiring profusely n o w , for the second time, despite the heavy air-conditioning in m y office. Sweat p o u r e d d o w n his face, d r e n c h e d his shirt, rolled d o w n his neck. A m o m e n t ago h e had shaking chills and his b o d y shivered. B u t malaria could do that, alternating bone-chilling cold and inflaming heat. Francisco was dying f r o m this dreaded disease, alone and thousands of miles f r o m his loved ones. It was a terrible, painful way to die. Pedro had b e g u n this office visit by drifting into a deeply relaxed, hypnotic state. H e quickly w e n t back through time and space, into a past lifetime, and i m m e d i ately he began to sweat. I tried to dry his face with tissues, but it was like trying to stop a flood with one's hands. T h e sweat kept pouring d o w n . I h o p e d that any physical discomfort cased by the d r e n c h i n g sweat would not affect the depth and intensity of his trance state. " I ' m a man . . . with black hair and tanned skin," he 87
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gasped through the sweat. "I am unloading a large w o o d e n ship . . . heavy cargo. . . . It's boiling hot here. . . . I see palm trees and flimsy w o o d e n structures nearby. • • . I ' m a sailor. . . . W e are in the N e w W o r l d . " " D o y o u k n o w the n a m e ? " I inquired. "Francisco . . . m y n a m e is Francisco. I am a sailor." I had meant the n a m e of the place, but he had b e c o m e aware of his n a m e in that lifetime. " D o y o u k n o w the n a m e of this place?" I asked again. H e paused for a m o m e n t , still sweating profusely. "I d o n ' t see that," he answered. " O n e of these accursed ports. . . . T h e r e is gold here. In the jungle . . . s o m e w h e r e in the distant mountains. W e will find it. . . . I can keep some of what I find. . . . This accursed place!" " W h e r e are you f r o m ? " I asked, looking for m o r e details. " D o you k n o w w h e r e y o u r h o m e is?" " O n the other side of the sea," he answered patiently. " I n Spain . . . w h e r e w e are f r o m . " H e was including his fellow sailors, unloading a ship's cargo in the broiling sun. " D o you have family in Spain?" I inquired. " M y wife and m y son are there. . . . I miss them, b u t they are all right . . . especially w i t h the gold I send back. M y m o t h e r and my sisters are there, too. It's not an easy life. . . . I miss t h e m greatly." I w a n t e d to learn m o r e about his family. "I am going to take you back in t i m e , " I told him, "back to your family in Spain, to the last time you w e r e together, before this current j o u r n e y to the N e w W o r l d . I will tap you on your forehead and count backward f r o m three to one. W h e n I reach one, you will be back in Spain w i t h your family. Y o u can r e m e m b e r everything. " T h r e e . . . t w o . . . one. Be there!"
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Pedro's eyes were m o v i n g under closed lids as he scanned a scene. "I can see m y wife and m y small son. W e are sitting to eat. . . . I see the w o o d e n table and chairs. . . . M y m o t h e r is there also," he observed. " L o o k into their faces, into their eyes," I instructed. "See if you recognize t h e m as anyone in your current life." I was concerned that shifting b e t w e e n lifetimes could be disorienting and might p o p Pedro entirely out of Francisco's time. But he handled it smoothly. "I recognize m y son. H e is m y brother. . . . O h yes, he is Juan . . . h o w beautiful!" H e had f o u n d his brother before, as the abbot, w h e n P e d r o was a m o n k . Although we had never f o u n d t h e m as lovers, Juan was an enduring soulmate for Pedro. T h e i r soul connection was w o n d e r fully close. H e ignored his mother, focusing completely on his young wife. " W e love each other deeply," he c o m m e n t e d . " B u t I don't recognize her f r o m this life. O u r love is very strong." H e was silent for a while, enjoying the m e m o r y of his y o u n g wife and the deep love that they had shared four or five h u n d r e d years ago in a Spain so m u c h different from today's. W o u l d Pedro ever taste this kind of love? D i d the soul ot Francisco's wife also cross the centuries to be here again, and, if so, w o u l d they ever meet? I took Francisco back to the N e w W o r l d and the search tor gold. " G o back to the p o r t , " I instructed, " w h e r e you have been unloading the ship. N o w m o v e ahead in time to the next significant event in that sailor's life. As I c o u n t
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backward f r o m three to o n e and tap y o u r forehead, let it all c o m e into focus-—the next significant event." " T h r e e . . . t w o . . . one. Y o u are there." Francisco started to shiver. " I ' m so cold," he complained. " B u t I know that infernal fever will return!" As predicted, a f e w m o m e n t s later the heavy sweating began anew. " D a m n ! " he cursed. " T h i s will kill me, this sickness . . . and the others have left m e behind. . . . T h e y k n o w I cannot keep up. . . . T h e y k n o w there is n o h o p e for m e . . . . I am d o o m e d in this God-forsaken place. W e didn't even find the treasures of gold they swear is h e r e . " " D o y o u survive this illness?" I gently asked. H e was quiet, and w e waited. "I died f r o m this. I never leave the jungle. . . . T h e fever kills me, and I never see m y family again. T h e y will be very grieved. . . . M y son is so y o u n g . " T h e sweat o n Pedro's face was n o w m i x e d w i t h his tears. H e was grieving his early death, alone in an alien land, f r o m a strange disease that n o sailor's skill could defeat. 1 had him detach f r o m Francisco's body, and he floated in a state of calm and tranquillity, freed f r o m the fever and pain, b e y o n d grief and suffering. His face was m u c h m o r e peaceful and relaxed, and I let h i m rest. I p o n d e r e d this pattern of losses in Pedro's lifetimes. So m a n y separations f r o m his loved ones. So m u c h grief. As he made his way t h r o u g h the uncertain and nebulous mists of time, w o u l d he be able to find t h e m again? W o u l d he find all of them? Pedro's lifetimes contained many patterns, n o t just losses. In this regression, he r e m e m b e r e d being a Spaniard, b u t he had also been an English soldier, killed by the Spanish e n e m y w h e n his forces invaded their fortress.
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H e r e m e m b e r e d being male, and he r e m e m b e r e d being female. H e had experienced lifetimes as a warrior and lifetimes as a priest. H e had lost people, and he had f o u n d them. After he had died as a m o n k , surrounded by his spiritual family, Pedro had reviewed the lessons of that lifetime. "Forgiveness is so i m p o r t a n t , " he had told me. " W e have all d o n e those things for w h i c h w e c o n d e m n o t h ers. . . . W e must forgive t h e m . " His lives illustrated his message. H e had to learn f r o m all sides in order to truly understand. W e all do. W e change religions, races, and nationalities. W e experience lifetimes of extreme wealth and of abject poverty, of sickness and of health. W e must learn to reject all prejudice and hatred. T h o s e w h o do n o t will simply switch sides, returning in the bodies of their enemies. In his song "Tears in H e a v e n , " Eric Clapton w o n d e r s w h e t h e r his y o u n g son, w h o had tragically died in an accident, w o u l d k n o w his n a m e if they m e t in heaven. His is a universal and ageless question. H o w will w e recognize our loved ones? Will w e k n o w them, and will they k n o w us, if and w h e n w e m e e t again, w h e t h e r in heaven or on earth, o n c e m o r e in physical bodies? M a n y of m y patients just seem to k n o w . W h e n experiencing their past lives, they look into a soul companion's eyes, and they k n o w . W h e t h e r in heaven or 011 earth, they sense a vibration or energy, and it is the same as their loved one's. T h e y glimpse the deeper personality, and there is an inner k n o w i n g — a k n o w i n g f r o m the heart. A connection is made. Because it is the heart's eyes that often see first, words
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alone cannot convey the confidence of soul recognition. T h e r e is no wavering or confusion. Even t h o u g h the b o d y may be very different f r o m the current one, the soul is the same. T h e soul is recognized, and the recognition is complete and beyond any doubt. Sometimes soul recognition may originate in the m i n d and may occur even before the heart sees. This type of recognition happens most often with babies or y o u n g children. T h e y exhibit some physical mannerism or u n i q u e behavior, they utter a w o r d or phrase, and a beloved parent or grandparent is instantly recognized. T h e y may have an identical scar or birthmark as y o u r loved o n e or perhaps just hold y o u r hand or look at y o u in that same special way. Y o u k n o w . In heaven, there are n o birthmarks. W o u l d Eric Clapton's son help h i m there, the song asks. W o u l d he hold Eric's hand? W o u l d he help h i m stand? In heaven, w h e r e physical bodies are not needed, soul recognition may occur t h r o u g h an inner knowing, a sense of a loved one's special energy, light, or vibration. Y o u feel them, in you heart. T h e r e is a deep and intuitive w i s d o m there, and y o u recognize t h e m completely and immediately. T h e y may even help you by assuming the b o d y they had during their last incarnation with you. Y o u see t h e m as they appeared to y o u o n earth, often y o u n g e r and healthier. Clapton concludes that he will find peace beyond heaven's door. W h e t h e r b e y o n d the d o o r to heaven, the d o o r to r e m e m b e r i n g past lifetimes together, or the door leading to f u t u r e lifetimes w i t h y o u r loved ones, you will never be alone. T h e y will k n o w y o u r name. T h e y will hold
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vour hand. T h e y will bring peace and healing to y o u r heart. O v e r and over, m y patients, while deeply hypnotized, tell m e that death is not an accident. W h e n babies and y o u n g children die, w e are given the opportunity to learn important lessons. T h e y are teachers to us, teaching us about values, priorities, and, most of all, about love. O f t e n the most important lessons arise f r o m the most difficult times.
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Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar, Not in entire forgetfulness And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God who is our home. Heaven lies about us in our infancy! WILLIAM W O R D S W O R T H
i ^ / e s p i t e her success in recalling several past lives, Elizab e t h still ached with grief. Intellectually, she had b e g u n to accept the concept of the continuity of the soul and the recurrence of consciousness in subsequent physical bodies. She had experienced the reunion of soul c o m p a n ions along this j o u r n e y . But memories did not bring her m o t h e r back, not physically. She could n o t h u g her and talk to her. She missed her m o t h e r dearly. As Elizabeth came i n t o t h e office for today's session, I d e c i d e d to try s o m e t h i n g different, s o m e t h i n g I had d o n e w i t h varying degrees o f success w i t h o t h e r patients. As usual, I w o u l d help her achieve a state of d e e p relaxation. I w o u l d t h e n guide her in visualizing a b e a u t i f u l garden, have h e r walk i n t o the garden, and rest. As she was resting, I w o u l d suggest that a visitor was j o i n i n g her in the garden and that Elizabeth could 94
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c o m m u n i c a t e w i t h this visitor in thoughts, voice, vision, feelings, or in any o t h e r way. Everything that Elizabeth experienced after this p o i n t w o u l d c o m e f r o m her o w n m i n d , not f r o m my suggestions. She sank deeply into the familiar leather recliner and quickly entered the tranquil hypnotic state. I c o u n t e d backward f r o m ten to one, d e e p e n i n g her level even m o r e . She imagined herself walking d o w n a spiral staircase. As she reached the b o t t o m of the steps, she visualized the garden in front of her. She walked into the garden and f o u n d a place to rest. I told her about the visitor, and w e waited. After a short while, she b e c a m e aware that a beautiful light was approaching her. In the quiet office, Elizabeth began to cry softly. " W h y are y o u crying?" I questioned. "It's m y m o t h e r . . . . I can see her in the light. She looks so beautiful, so y o u n g . " N o w speaking directly to her mother, she added, "It's so g o o d to see y o u . " Elizabeth was smiling and crying at the same time. " Y o u can talk to her; y o u can c o m m u n i c a t e with h e r , " I r e m i n d e d Elizabeth. I did n o t say anything m o r e at this point as I didn't w a n t to interfere w i t h the reunion. Elizabeth was n o t recalling a m e m o r y , n o r was she reexperiencing some event that had already occurred. This experience was happening n o w . T h e meeting with her m o t h e r was taking place vividly and emotionally in Elizabeth's m i n d . T h a t their r e u n i o n existed so powerfully in her m i n d conferred a considerable degree of reality to her experience. T h e potential to help her heal her grief was n o w present.
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W e sat quietly for several minutes, the silence s o m e times punctuated by small sighs. At times I could see a tear roll d o w n Elizabeth's cheek. She smiled frequently. Finally, she began to speak. "She is gone n o w , " Elizabeth said very calmly. "She had to go, but she will be back." Elizabeth remained deeply relaxed with her eyes still closed as we continued to talk. " D i d she c o m m u n i c a t e w i t h y o u ? " I asked. "Yes, she told m e m a n y things. She told m e to trust in myself. She said, 'Trust in yourself. I have taught you everything you need to k n o w ! ' " " W h a t does this mean to y o u ? " " T h a t I must believe in m y o w n feelings and not let others influence m e all the time . . . especially men," she replied emphatically. " S h e said that m e n have taken advantage of m e because I didn't believe in myself e n o u g h , and I let them. I gave t h e m t o o m u c h p o w e r , r o b b i n g myself at the same time. I must stop doing this. " ' W e are all the same,' she told me. 'Souls are not male or female. Y o u are as beautiful and as p o w e r f u l as any other soul in the universe. D o not forget this; do not b e c o m e distracted by their physical forms.' This is w h a t she said." " D i d she tell you anything else?" "Yes, there is m o r e , " she answered, but did not elaborate. " W h a t ? " I prodded. " T h a t she loves m e dearly," Elizabeth added in a delicate way. " T h a t she is fine. She is helping many souls on the other side. . . . She will still always be there for m e . . . . T h e r e was one more t h i n g . " " W h a t is that?"
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" T o be patient. S o m e t h i n g will happen very soon, something important. A n d I must trust in myself." " W h a t will happen?" "I d o n ' t k n o w , " she answered softly. " B u t w h e n it does, I will trust myself," she added with a resolve I had never noticed in her before. Sitting in the green r o o m of the " D o n a h u e " show, I witnessed a stunningly surrealistic scene. T h e r e was J e n n y Cockell, a forty-one-year-old w o m a n f r o m England, sitting w i t h her son, Sonny, age seventy-five, and her daughter, Phyllis, w h o was sixty-nine years old at the time. T h e i r story is far better and m o r e convincing than Bridey Murphy's, a famous landmark reincarnation case. Ever since her early childhood, J e n n y k n e w that in a recent past life she had died suddenly, leaving her eight children virtual orphans. She k n e w detailed facts about their early-twentieth-century lives in rural Ireland. H e r n a m e in that life was Mary. Jenny's family h u m o r e d her, b u t there w e r e not e n o u g h funds or interest to investigate the child's fantastic stories of a life of crushing poverty and tragedy in Ireland decades ago. J e n n y grew up not k n o w i n g if her vivid recollections were real or not. Finally, J e n n y had the resources to begin her research. She f o u n d five of the eight children of Mary Sutton, an Irish w o m a n w h o died in 1932 f r o m complications after the birth of her eighth child. Mary Sutton's children confirmed m a n y of Jenny's incredibly detailed memories. They seemed convinced that J e n n y was indeed Mary, their " d e a d " m o t h e r . A n d I was watching their o n g o i n g reunion, there in the green r o o m of the " D o n a h u e " show.
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M y m i n d shifted gears and I saw the beginning sequence of the old " B e n Casey" television show. This was a m e d i cal show in the late fifties or early sixties. M y m o t h e r , in her subtle way, encouraged m e to watch this program, relentlessly influencing m e to choose medicine as m y career. T h e " B e n Casey" s h o w always began with universal symbols, and the aged neurosurgeon m e n t o r of the y o u n g D r . Ben Casey intoned, " M a n . . . W o m a n . . . Birth . . . D e a t h . . . Infinity." O r something very m u c h like this. Universal mysteries, unanswerable riddles. Sitting in the green r o o m just prior to going o n " D o n a h u e " as an expert o n past-life memories, I was getting the answers that had eluded y o u n g Ben Casey and all the others. M a n ? W o m a n ? In t h e course of o u r lifetimes, w e c h a n g e sexes, religions, a n d races in o r d e r to learn f r o m all sides. W e are all in school here. Birth? If w e n e v e r really die, t h e n w e are n e v e r really b o r n . W e are all i m m o r t a l , divine, and indestructible. D e a t h is n o t h i n g m o r e than walking t h r o u g h a d o o r i n t o a n o t h e r r o o m . W e k e e p r e t u r n i n g in o r d e r to learn certain lessons, or traits, such as love . . . forgiveness . . . u n d e r s t a n d i n g . . . p a t i e n c e . . . awareness . . . n o n v i o l e n c e . . . . W e have to unlearn o t h e r traits, such as fear . . . ang^r . . . greed . . . hatred . . . pride . . . ego . . . w h i c h result f r o m old c o n d i t i o n i n g . T h e n w e can graduate a n d leave this school. W e h a v e all t h e time in the w o r l d to learn a n d unlearn. W e are i m m o r t a l ; w e are infinite; w e have the n a t u r e of G o d . As I watched J e n n y and her aged children, even m o r e came to me. " W h a t s o e v e r a man soweth, that shall he also reap." T h e concept of karma is stated virtually w o r d for w o r d
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in all the great religions. This w i s d o m is ancient. W e are responsible to ourselves, to others, to the c o m m u n i t y , and to the planet. Propelled by her need to care for and to protect her children, J e n n y was pulled back to t h e m once again. W e never lose o u r loved ones. W e keep c o m i n g back, together and together again. W h a t a p o w e r f u l reuniting energy love is.
er 14 My doctrine is: Live so that thou mayest desire to live again—that
is thy duty—for
in any case thou
wilt again! NIETZSCHE
J ^ h e r e are many bridges, or techniques, for helping a patient r e m e m b e r past lives through hypnosis. O n e of these bridges is a door. O f t e n I will put patients into a deep hypnotic trance and have t h e m walk through a d o o r they choose, a door into a past lifetime. "Imagine yourself standing in a beautiful corridor or hallway, with large and magnificent doors o n either side and at the ends. These are doorways into y o u r past, even into your past lives. T h e y may lead y o u to spintual experiences. As I c o u n t backward f r o m five to one, o n e of these doors will open, a d o o r to your past. This d o o r will pull you. It will attract you. G o to it. "Five. T h e d o o r is opening. This d o o r will help y o u to understand any blocks or obstacles to j o y and happiness in y o u r current life. G o to the door. " F o u r . Y o u are at the door. Y o u see a beautiful light on the other side of the door. Step through the d o o r and into the light. 100
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" T h r e e . G o t h r o u g h the light. Y o u are in another time another place.
and
" D o not worry about what is imagination, fantasy, actual memory, symbol, metaphor, or some combination of all of these. It is the experience that matters. Just let yourself experience whatever pops into your mind. Try not to think, judge, or critique. Just let yourself experience. Whatever comes into your awareness is fine. Y o u can analyze it later. " T w o . Nearly there, nearly t h r o u g h the light. W h e n I say ' O n e , 1 be there and j o i n the person or scene on the other side of the light. Let it all c o m e into focus on the count of one. " O n e ! Be there. Look at your feet and see what kind of footwear y o u are wearing. Look at your clothes, y o u r skin, y o u r hands. Are they the same or different? Pay attention to details." T h e d o o r is just one of m a n y bridges to the past. All lead to the same place, to a past life or a spiritual experience that is important to the person's current life situation. Elevators traveling back t h r o u g h time; a road or pathway or even an actual bridge t h r o u g h the mists of time; stepping across a creek, b r o o k , stream, or small river to the other side, to another lifetime; a time machine, with the patient operating the control p a n e l — t h e s e are just a f e w examples of the myriad pathways or bridges to the past. For Pedro, I used the doorways. W h e n he tried to look at his feet after emerging f r o m the light, he f o u n d himself staring instead at the large stone mask of a god. " H e has a long nose and large angled teeth. T h e m o u t h • • lips . . . are strange, very large and wide. His eyes are round and set deeply and far apart. H e has a very mean look. . . . T h e gods can be cruel."
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" H o w do you k n o w this is a god?" " H e is very p o w e r f u l . " "Are there many gods, or is he the only o n e ? " " T h e r e are many, but he is a powerful one. . . . H e controls the rain. W i t h o u t rain w e could not g r o w f o o d , " Pedro explained simply. " A r e you there? C a n you find yourself?" I urged. " I ' m there. I ' m a priest of some sort. I k n o w about the heavens and the sun, m o o n , and stars. I help to make the calendars." " W h e r e do you do this w o r k ? " " I n a building made of stone. It has stairs that circle a r o u n d and small w i n d o w s through w h i c h w e see and measure. It's very complicated, but I'm good at this. T h e y rely on me for the measurements. . . . I k n o w w h e n the eclipses will occur." "It sounds as if this is a very scientific civilization," I commented. " O n l y parts of it, the astronomy and the architecture. T h e rest is superstitious and backward," he clarified. " T h e r e are other priests and their supporters w h o are only interested in p o w e r . T h e y use superstitions and fear to delude the people and maintain their p o w e r . T h e y are supported by nobles w h o help to control the warriors. It's an alliance to keep p o w e r in the hands of only a f e w . " T h e time and the culture Pedro r e m e m b e r e d may have been ancient, b u t the techniques of control and the political alliances formed to gain and maintain p o w e r are timeless. T h e ambitions of m e n never seem to change. " H o w do they use superstitions to delude the people?' " T h e y blame the gods for natural events. T h e n they blame the people for angering or displeasing the gods . • • so the people b e c o m e responsible for natural events, like
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floods or droughts or earthquakes or volcanic eruptions. W h e n the people are n o t to blame at all . . . and neither the gods. . . . These are events of nature and not the actions of angry gods . . . b u t the people do not realize this. T h e y stay ignorant and fearful—fearful because they feel responsible for these calamities." Pedro paused for a f e w m o m e n t s , then he continued. "It's a mistake to externalize o u r problems, our calamities, to the gods. This gives the priests and nobles too m u c h p o w e r . . . . W e understand m o r e about natural events than the people do. W e usually k n o w w h e n they begin and w h e n they end. W e understand about the cycles. An eclipse is a natural event that can be calculated and p r e dicted. It's n o t an act of anger or p u n i s h m e n t by the gods . . . b u t that is w h a t they tell the people." Pedro was speaking rapidly n o w ; words and concepts poured f r o m h i m w i t h o u t m y prodding. " T h e priests hold themselves o u t as the communicators to the gods. T h e y tell the people they are the only intermediaries, that they k n o w w h a t the gods want. I k n o w this is n o t true. . . . I am o n e of the priests." H e t h o u g h t silently for a m o m e n t . " G o o n , " I suggested. " T h e priests have developed a cruel and elaborate syst e m of sacrifices to appease the gods." His voice d r o p p e d to a whisper. " E v e n sacrifices of p e o p l e . " " O f people?" I echoed. " Y e s , " he whispered. " T h e y d o n o t have to d o this often, because it strikes such fear into the people. T h e r e are rituals for d r o w n i n g and rituals for slaying. . . . As if gods n e e d h u m a n blood!" Pedro's voice was rising as anger crept in. " T h e y manipulate the people with rituals ot tear. T h e y even choose w h o is to be sacrificed. This
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gives t h e m as m u c h p o w e r as their gods. T h e y choose w h o is to live and w h o must d i e . " " D o y o u have to take part in the ntual sacrifices?" I cautiously asked him. " N o , " he answered. "I do n o t believe in them. T h e y let m e stay w i t h m y observations and calculations." "I do n o t even believe that these gods exist," he whispered in a confidential way. "You don't?" " N o . H o w can gods be as petty and foolish as people? W h e n I observe the heaven and the beautiful h a r m o n y of the sun and m o o n , the planets and the stars . . . h o w can such an intelligence, such a wisdom, be petty and foolish at the same time? It makes n o sense. W e give these so-called gods our o w n qualities. Fear, anger, jealousy, h a t r e d — t h e s e are ours and w e project t h e m o n t o these gods. I believe the real god is far b e y o n d h u m a n emotions. T h e real god does not need o u r rituals and sacrifices." This ancient incarnation of Pedro possessed great wisd o m . H e talked easily, even of taboo subjects, and he did n o t seem tired, so I decided to press ahead. " D o you ever b e c o m e m o r e influential as a priest?" I asked. " D o y o u gain m o r e p o w e r in that lifetime?" " N o , I d o n ' t , " he responded. "I w o u l d n o t rule like that if I had p o w e r . I w o u l d educate the people. I w o u l d let t h e m learn for themselves. I w o u l d stop the sacrifices." " B u t the priests and nobles might lose their p o w e r , " I objected. " W h a t if the people stopped listening?" " T h e y w o u l d n o t , " he said. " R e a l p o w e r comes f r o m k n o w l e d g e . R e a l wisdom is applying that k n o w l e d g e in a caring and benevolent manner. T h e people are ignorant, b u t that can change. T h e y are n o t stupid."
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T h e priest was teaching m e about spiritual politics, and I could feel the truth in his words. " G o o n , " I requested, after another period of silence. " T h e r e is no m o r e , " P e d r o answered. "I have left that body, and I am resting." This surprised m e . I had n o t asked him to leave. W e had n o t experienced a death scene, and there was no jarring or traumatic event that m i g h t have spontaneously dislodged him. I r e m e m b e r e d that he had entered this lifetime in an unusual way, c o n f r o n t i n g the huge stone face o f the god of rain. Perhaps there was n o t h i n g m o r e to be gained f r o m examining that lifetime any further, and Pedro's higher mind k n e w this. And so h e left. H e w o u l d have been a marvelous ruler. In N o v e m b e r of 1992, Galileo was exonerated by the C h u r c h for his "accursed heresy," which held that the earth was n o t the nucleus o f the universe but that in fact the earth revolved a r o u n d the sun. T h e investigation that cleared Galileo began in 1980 and lasted for twelve and one-half years. T h e w o r k of the Inquisition in 1633 was finally u n d o n e three h u n d r e d and fifty-nine years later. Unfortunately, closed-mindedness is often u n d o n e even m o r e slowly. All institutions seem to be closed-minded. Individuals w h o never question their assumptions and belief systems are similarly closed-minded. H o w can they assimilate n e w observations and n e w k n o w l e d g e w h e n their minds are blinded by beliefs and by untested old ideas? Years ago, while in a deep trance state, Catherine told me, " O u r task is to learn, to b e c o m e God-like t h r o u g h
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knowledge. W e k n o w so little. . . . By k n o w l e d g e w e approach God, and then w e can rest. T h e n w e c o m e back to teach and help others." K n o w l e d g e can only flow into minds that are open.
yphanter 15 I know I am deathless. No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before. I laugh at what you call dissolution, and I know the amplitude of time. WALT WHITMAN
b r e a m s have m a n y functions. T h e y help to process and integrate the day's events. T h e y provide clues, often in the f o r m of symbols and metaphors, that help solve the problems of everyday life—relationships, fears, w o r k , emotions, illnesses, and m u c h m o r e . T h e y can assist us in achieving our desires and goals if not physically then at least in the f o r m of wish fulfillment. T h e y aid us in reviewing past events, r e m i n d i n g us of parallels in the present. T h e y protect sleep by disguising stimuli such as anxieties that w o u l d otherwise awaken us. Dreams have deeper functions as well. T h e y may provide pathways to recovering repressed or forgotten memories, w h e t h e r f r o m childhood, infancy, i n - u t e r o experiences, or even trom past lives. Past-life m e m o r y fragments often emerge in the dream state, particularly in those dreams in w h i c h the dreamer sees scenes f r o m the years or centuries preceding his or her birth. Dreams can be psychic or precogmtive. O f t e n these 107
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particular dreams can predict the future. Accuracy varies because the future appears to be a system of probabilities and inevitabilities, and because the ability of people to accurately interpret their dreams itself varies t r e m e n dously. These psychic or precognitive dreams are experienced by many people of all cultures and backgrounds. H o w e v e r , many people are shocked w h e n their dreams literally c o m e true. A n o t h e r type of psychic dream occurs w h e n c o m m u n i cation with a person at a distance is experienced. T h e person may be alive and geographically distant, or the c o m m u n i c a t i o n may be with the soul or consciousness of s o m e o n e w h o has died, such as a relative or dear friend. Similarly, there may be c o m m u n i c a t i o n with an angelic spirit, a teacher, or a guide. T h e messages in these dreams are usually genuinely m o v i n g and very important. " T r a v e l i n g " dreams also occur. D u r i n g these dreams people have the experience of visiting places to w h i c h they have never physically been. Details of w h a t they see can later be confirmed. W h e n the person actually visits the geographical place, even m o n t h s or years after the dream, a feeling of deja vu or familiarity may occur. Sometimes the dream traveler visits places that do n o t seem to exist on this planet. These dreams may be far m o r e than nocturnal imaginings. T h e y may be mystical or spiritual experiences, accessed because the usual ego and cognitive barriers are relaxed during sleep and dreaming. K n o w l e d g e and wisdom acquired during this type of traveling dream can transform lives. O n this day, w h e n night lightened into m o r n i n g , Elizab e t h had one of these dreams.
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Elizabeth b o u n c e d in early for her appointment, eager to tell m e about the dream she had during the previous night. She appeared less anxious and more relaxed than I had ever seen her. People at work, she told me, had b e g u n to c o m m e n t that she looked better, that she was being nicer and m o r e patient, even more so than the " o l d " Elizabeth, before her mother's death. " T h i s was not one of m y typical dreams," she stressed. " T h i s dream was m o r e alive and real. I still r e m e m b e r all the details, and I usually forget most of my dreams pretty quickly, as you k n o w . " I had been encouraging Elizabeth to write d o w n her dreams as soon as she awakened. Keeping a dream journal near y o u r bed and j o t t i n g d o w n w h a t you r e m e m b e r of your dreams significantly enhances the m e m o r y . O t h e r wise the dream content fades rapidly away. Elizabeth had been somewhat lazy about chronicling her dreams, and by the time she came to the office for her appointment, she had usually forgotten most of the details, if not the entire dream. This dream was different, so vivid that the details were etched in her mind. " A t first, I entered a large r o o m . T h e r e w e r e n o w i n dows or lamps or overhead lights. But the walls w e r e s o m e h o w glowing. T h e y emitted enough light to illuminate the entire r o o m . " " W e r e the walls h o t ? " I asked. "I d o n ' t think so. T h e y gave off light but not heat. I didn't touch the walls t h o u g h . " " W h a t else did y o u notice in the r o o m ? " "I k n e w it was a library of some sort, but 1 couldn't see any shelves or any books. In the corner of the r o o m
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was a statue of the Sphinx. T h e r e were t w o old chairs o n either side of this statue, old f r o m an olden time. They w e r e n o t f r o m m o d e r n times. Almost like a t h r o n e made o u t of stone or m a r b l e . " She was quiet for a m o m e n t , her gaze drifting u p w a r d and to the left as she r e m e m b e r e d the ancient chairs. " W h a t do you think a statue of the Sphinx was doing there?" I inquired. "I d o n ' t k n o w . M a y b e because the library helped you to understand secrets. I r e m e m b e r e d the riddle of the Sphinx. W h a t walks o n f o u r legs in the m o r n i n g , t w o legs during the day, and three legs at night? M a n does. A crawling baby becomes an adult w h o becomes elderly, n e e d i n g a cane to walk. M a y b e it has something to do w i t h that riddle. O r w i t h riddles in general." "It could b e , " I conceded, m y mind drifting back to Oedipus and the first time I had heard about the riddle. " Y e t there may be other meanings, t o o , " I added. " F o r example, what if the Sphinx s o m e h o w provides a clue to the nature of the library, or even to its structure or its location?" T h e dreaming m i n d could be very complex. "I wasn't there long e n o u g h to find o u t , " she answered. " A r e you aware of anything else in the r o o m ? " " Y e s , " she said immediately. dressed in a long, white robe. I H e decided w h o could c o m e could not. For some reason, I
" T h e r e was a m a n nearby, guess he was the librarian. into the r o o m and w h o was allowed i n . "
At this point m y practical m i n d could n o t contain itself any longer. " W h a t kind of library doesn't have books?" I blurted out. " T h a t ' s the strange part," she began to explain. "All I had to do was to put m y arms out with my palms up and
'
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whatever b o o k I n e e d e d began to form right in m y hands! In n o time the b o o k was complete. It seemed to c o m e right out of the wall and solidify in m y hands." " W h a t kind of b o o k did y o u receive?" "I d o n ' t r e m e m b e r exactly. A b o o k about me, about my lifetimes. I was afraid to o p e n it." "Afraid of w h a t ? " "I d o n ' t k n o w . T h a t there was something bad there, something I w o u l d be ashamed of." " D i d the librarian help y o u ? " " N o t really. H e just began to laugh. T h e n he said, 'Is a rose ashamed ofits thorns?' A n d he laughed some m o r e . " " T h e n what h a p p e n e d ? " " H e led m e out, b u t I felt that eventually I w o u l d understand what he m e a n t and I w o u l d c o m e back and not be afraid to read f r o m m y b o o k . " She grew silent, pensive. " W a s that the end of the dream?" I prodded. " N o . After leaving the library I w e n t to a classroom w h e r e I was taking a course. T h e r e were fifteen or t w e n t y other students there. O n e y o u n g man seemed very familiar, like he was m y b r o t h e r . . . but he wasn't m y brother, Charles." She was referring to her present-life brother in California. " W h a t kind of a course w e r e you taking?" "I d o n ' t k n o w . " " W a s there m o r e ? " I asked. She responded hesitantly. " Y e s . " I w o n d e r e d w h y she hesitated n o w , after already relating some very unusual dream scenes. " A teacher appeared," she continued, in a voice slightly m o r e than a whisper. " H e had the most intense b r o w n eves. His eyes w o u l d change to a beautiful purple color,
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then back to b r o w n again. H e was very tall and w o r e only a white robe. His feet were bare. . . . H e came to m e and looked deeply into m y eyes." " T h e n what?" "I felt the most incredible love. I k n e w that everything w o u l d be all right, that everything I was going t h r o u g h was part of some plan and that the plan was perfect." " D i d he tell you that?" " N o , he didn't have to. In fact, he didn't say anything. I just felt these things, b u t s o m e h o w they seemed to be c o m i n g f r o m him. I could feel everything. I k n e w everything. I k n e w there was nothing to fear . . . ever . . . and then he walked a w a y . " " W h a t else?" "I felt very light. T h e last thing I r e m e m b e r is floating in the clouds. I was feeling so loved and so safe. . . . T h e n I woke up." " H o w do you feel n o w ? " "I feel okay, but it's fading. I can r e m e m b e r everything about the dream, but the feeling is getting weaker. T h e traffic driving over here didn't help." Everyday life, interfering again with transcendent e x p e riences. A w o m a n wrote to m e , thanking me for writing m y first b o o k . T h e information in the b o o k helped her to understand and accept t w o dreams she had h a d — d r e a m s that were m o r e than t w o decades apart. H e r letter was destroyed w h e n Hurricane A n d r e w ripped through m y office, but I r e m e m b e r it well. F r o m the time she was a y o u n g girl she k n e w that she w o u l d have a special child n a m e d David. She grew older, got married, and had t w o daughters but no son. She
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reached her midthirties, and she became m o r e and m o r e concerned. W h e r e was David? In a vivid dream an angel came to her and said, " Y o u can have your son, b u t he can only stay for nineteen and a half years. Is that acceptable to y o u ? " T h e w o m a n agreed. A few months later, she became pregnant, and soon David was b o m . H e was indeed a special c h i l d — k i n d , sensitive, and loving. " A n old soul," she w o u l d say. She never told David about her dream and the agreement with the angel. It came to pass that he died at nineteen and a half years of age due to a rare type of cancer of the brain. She felt guilty, anguished, grief-stricken, despondent. W h y had she accepted the angel's offer? Was she s o m e h o w responsible for David's death? In a vivid dream a m o n t h after David's death, the angel reappeared. This time David was w i t h the angel, and David spoke to her. " D o n ' t grieve so," he said. "I love you. I chose you. Y o u did n o t choose m e . " A n d she understood.
er 16 It is again a strong proof of men knowing most things before birth, that when mere children they grasp innumerable facts with such speed as to show that they are not then taking them in for the first time, but remembering and recalling them. CICERO
^ y was momentarily confused. Pedro had walked through a door, in his mind, to another time and another place. By the movements of his eyes, I could tell that he was observing something. " Y o u will be able to talk," I told him, "and yet you will be able to remain in a deep trance state and continue to observe and to experience. W h a t do you see?" "I see myself," P e d r o answered. "I am lying in a field at night. T h e air is cool and clear. . . . I see m a n y stars." " A r e you alone?" "Yes. There's n o o n e else a r o u n d . " " W h a t do you look like?" I asked, looking for details in order to learn m o r e about the time and place in w h i c h he had emerged. " I ' m myself . . . about twelve years old. . . . M y hair is short." " Y o u are yourself?" I questioned, still not realizing that Pedro had merely g o n e back into his o w n childhood and not a past life. 114
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" Y e s , " he answered simply. "Back in M e x i c o as a b o y . " N o w I understood, and I shifted gears, looking m o r e for feelings. I w a n t e d to find out w h y his m i n d had selected this particular m e m o r y from the vast panorama available to it. " H o w do you feel?" "I feel very happy. T h e r e ' s something so peaceful about the night sky. T h e stars have always seemed so familiar and friendly to me. . . . I like to pick out the constellations and watch t h e m march across the sky as the seasons change." " D o y o u study the stars in school?" " N o t really, just a little bit. But I read about t h e m o n m y o w n . Mostly I like to w a t c h t h e m . " " D o e s anyone else in y o u r family enjoy watching the stars?" " N o , " he answered, " o n l y m e . " I subtly shifted n o w to appeal to his higher self or intelligence, to his e x p a n d e d perspective, to learn m o r e about the importance of this m e m o r y . I was n o longer speaking to the twelve-year-old Pedro. " W h a t is the importance of this m e m o r y of the night sky?" I asked. " W h y did y o u r m i n d select this particular one?" H e was silent for a while. His face softened in the thin afternoon light. " T h e stars are a gift to m e , " he began softly. " T h e y are a comfort. T h e y are a s y m p h o n y I have heard before, refreshing m y soul, r e m i n d i n g m e of what I had forgotten. " T h e y are even m o r e , " he continued, a bit enigmatically. " T h e y are a path guiding m e to m y destiny . . . slowly but surely. . . . I must be patient and not get in the way. T h e schedule is already set." H e was silent again.
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I let h i m rest as a t h o u g h t crept into m y m i n d . T h e night sky has been here far longer than mankind. At some level, haven't w e all heard that ancient symphony? Are all of our destinies guided as well? A n d t h e n another thought, very clear in its words b u t not at all in its meaning. I, too, must be patient and n o t get in the way of Pedro's destiny. This thought came to m e like an instruction. It turned o u t to be a prophecy. As patients like Elizabeth and Pedro challenged many of m y old beliefs about life and death and even about psychotherapy, I also had b e g u n to meditate, or at least to muse, every day. In deeply relaxed states, thoughts, images, and ideas often p o p p e d suddenly into m y awareness. O n e day a t h o u g h t came w i t h the urgency of a message. I needed to take a close look at those patients of m i n e w h o had been in therapy for a long period of time, m y chronic patients. S o m e h o w I w o u l d n o w see t h e m m o r e clearly, and this clarity of vision w o u l d also teach me m o r e about myself. T h o s e patients w h o w e r e c o m i n g to m e n o w for regression therapy, visualization techniques, and spiritual c o u n seling w e r e d o i n g extremely well. But w h a t about this other population of patients, many of w h o m were in therapy with m e before m y books were published? W h y w o u l d I see t h e m m o r e clearly now? W h a t was I to learn about myself? As it turned out, quite a lot. I had stopped being a teacher to many of these l o n g - t e r m patients; instead I had b e c o m e a habit and a crutch. M a n y had b e c o m e d e p e n -
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dent on me, and instead of challenging t h e m to be independent, I had accepted the old role. I had b e c o m e d e p e n d e n t o n them, too. T h e y paid the bills, flattered me, m a d e m e feel indispensable to them, and reinforced the stereotype of the physician as demigod in our society. I had to face m y ego. O n e by one I faced m y fears. Security was the first. M o n e y is neither g o o d n o r bad, and although important at times it confers n o real security. I needed m o r e faith. In order to take risks, to c o m m i t myself to right action, I had to k n o w that I w o u l d be all right. I examined m y values, what was important in m y life and w h a t was not. As I r e m e m b e r e d and realigned m y faith and values, m y concerns about m o n e y and security disappeared, like a fog lifting in the sunlight. I felt very safe. I looked at m y indispensability and my need to feel important. This is another illusion of the ego. W e are all spiritual beings, I r e m e m b e r e d . All of us are equal beneath our exteriors. All of us are important. M y need to be special, to be loved, could only truly be m e t at a spiritual level, f r o m deep within myself, f r o m the divinity within. M y family could help, but only up to a point. Certainly n o t m y patients. I could teach them, and they could teach m e . W e could help each other for a while, but w e could never satisfy each other's deepest needs. T h a t quest is a spiritual one. Physicians are highly trained teachers and healers but hardly demigods. W e are just highly trained people. Physicians are spokes on the same wheel as all the other helpers in our society. People often hide b e h i n d their professional labels and tacades (doctor, lawyer, senator, and so on), most of w h i c h
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were not even built before our twenties or thirties. W e have to r e m e m b e r w h o w e were before our titles were conferred. It is not only that w e are all capable of becoming loving and spiritual people, people w h o are charitable, kind, and peaceful, filled with serenity and joy. W e already are. W e have just forgotten, and o u r egos seem to prevent us f r o m remembering. O u r vision is clouded. O u r values are upside-down. M a n y psychiatrists have talked to m e a b o u t feeling t r a p p e d by their patients. T h e y have lost t h e j o y of helping. I remind t h e m that they are spiritual beings, too. T h e y are trapped by their insecurities and by their egos. They, too, need the courage to take risks and to leap into health and j o y .
er 7 7 For we have come by different ways to this place. I have no feeling that we met before. No deja vu. I don't think it was you in lavender by the sea as I rode by in A.D. 1206 or beside me in the border wars. Or there in the Gallatins, a hundred years ago, lying with me in the silver-green grass above some mountain town. I can tell by the natural ease with which you wear fine clothes and the way your mouth moves when you speak to waiters in good restaurants. You have come the way ofcastles and cathedrals, ofelegance and empire. R O B E R T JAMES W A L L E R
- J ^ y the time I had finished counting backward f r o m ten to one, Elizabeth was already in a deep hypnotic trance. H e r eyes w e r e fluttering u n d e r their lids. H e r b o d y ' w a s limp, and her breathing had slowed into a very relaxed rhythm. H e r m i n d was n o w ready for time travel. I took her back slowly, this time using a peaceful m o u n tain stream as a gateway to the distant past. She walked across the stream into a beautiful light. W a l k i n g t h r o u g h the light, she emerged in another time and another place, in an ancient lifetime. " I ' m wearing thin sandals," she observed, after I had instructed her to look at her feet. " T h e r e ' s a binding just above the ankles. I have a long white dress of different lengths. O v e r it is a veil-like covering d o w n to m y ankles. T h e sleeves are very w i d e and end at m y elbows. I ' m 119
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wearing golden bracelets at three different levels of m y arms." She was observing herself vividly and with great detail. " M y hair is dark b r o w n and long, below my shoulders. . . . M y eyes are b r o w n , too. . . . M y skin is light brown." " Y o u are a girl," I assumed. " Y e s , " she patiently answered. " A b o u t h o w old are y o u ? " "About fourteen." " W h a t do you do? W h e r e do you live?" I fired at her, asking t w o questions before she had a chance to answer. " O n the temple g r o u n d s , " she responded. " I ' m training to be a healer and to help the priests." " D o you k n o w the n a m e of this land?" I asked. "It is Egypt . . . a long time ago." " D o y o u k n o w the year?" " N o , " she replied. "I d o n ' t see that . . . but it is very long ago . . . very old." I returned to her memories and experiences of that ancient time. " H o w did you happen to receive this training, to be a healer and to w o r k w i t h the priests?" "I was selected by the priests, just as the others were. W e are all chosen, according to our talents and abilities. . . . T h e priests k n o w this f r o m the time w e are very young." I wanted to k n o w m o r e about this selection process. " H o w do the priests k n o w about your talents? D o they observe you in school or w i t h your parents?" " O h , n o , " she corrected me. " T h e y k n o w intuitively. T h e y are very wise. T h e y k n o w w h o has the ability in numbers and should be an engineer or a counter or a
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treasurer. T h e y k n o w w h o can write and scribe. T h e y k n o w w h o has military potential and should be trained to lead armies. T h e y k n o w w h o will make the best a d m i n istrators. These will be trained to be governors and officials. T h e y k n o w those w h o possess healing and intuitive abilities, and these are trained to be healers and advisers and even to be priests." " S o the priests decide w h a t occupations people train f o r , " I summarized. " Y e s , " she concurred. "Talents and potentials are divined by the priests w h e n the child is very young. His training is then set. . . . H e has n o choice." "Is this training o p e n to everyone?" " O h , n o , " she objected. " O n l y to those of the nobility, to those related to the p h a r a o h . " " Y o u must be related to the pharaoh?" "Yes, b u t his family is very large. Even distant cousins are considered part of the family." " B u t w h a t of very talented people w h o are n o t related?" I asked, m y curiosity causing m e to linger at this family selection system. " T h e y can get some training," she again patiently explained. " B u t they can only progress so far . . . to be assistants to the leaders, w h o are relatives of the royal family." " A r e y o u a relative of the pharaoh?" I asked. " A cousin . . . n o t t o o close." "Close e n o u g h , " I uttered. " Y e s , " she answered. I decided to m o v e on, even t h o u g h I already k n e w that the patient after Elizabeth had cancelled her a p p o i n t m e n t that day, so time was not hurrying m e along as m u c h as usual.
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" D o you have any family with you?" "Yes. my brother. W e are very close. He is t w o years older. H e has also been chosen to tram as a healer and priest and we are together here. O u r parents live some distance away, so it is very good to have my brother w i t h me. . . . 1 can see h i m n o w . " I risked another distraction, looking for clues to understanding Elizabeth's relationships. " L o o k closely at his face. Look into his eyes. D o y o u recognize him as anybody in your current life?" She seemed to be peering into his face. " N o , " she said sadly. "I don't recognize h i m . " I had somewhat expected her to recognize her beloved m o t h e r , or perhaps her b r o t h e r or father. But there was n o identification. " G o ahead in time n o w to the next important event in that Egyptian girl's life. Y o u can r e m e m b e r everyt h i n g . " She w e n t forward in time. "I am eighteen n o w . M y brother and I are m u c h m o r e advanced n o w . H e is wearing a white and gold skirt that is short. It ends just above his knees. . . . H e is very h a n d s o m e , " she noted. " H o w are you m o r e advanced?" I inquired, bringing her focus back to the training. " W e have many m o r e skills. W e are w o r k i n g w i t h special healing rods that, w h e n mastered, greatly speed up the regeneration of tissues and limbs." She paused for a few moments, studying these rods. " T h e y contain a liquid energy that flows t h r o u g h the rods. . . . T h e energy is concentrated at the point of regeneration. . . . Y o u can use this to grow limbs and heal tissue, even dying or dead tissue." I was surprised. Even m o d e r n medicine cannot a c c o m -
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pijsb these feats, although nature can, as with salamanders ,md other lizards, w h i c h can regrow detached limbs or rails. T h e latest research in traumatic spinal cord injuries is just n o w leading to the beginning of controlled nerve regeneration, about four to five thousand years after Elizabeth's w o r k with healing rods that could induce limb and tissue regeneration. She could not articulate h o w the rods w o r k e d , other than w i t h energy. Elizabeth did n o t have the vocabulary or mental concepts to understand and explain. She began to speak again, and the reasons for her lack of understanding b e c a m e clear. "At least that's w h a t they tell me. I am y o u n g and a girl. I have held the rods, b u t I have never seen t h e m w o r k . I have not yet seen the regeneration. . . . M y brother has seen this. H e is allowed, and w h e n he is older he will be allowed this k n o w l e d g e of regeneration. M y training will be ended before that level. I cannot progress to that level, for I am a female," she explained. " H e will be allowed the k n o w l e d g e of regeneration, and y o u will n o t ? " I questioned. " T h a t is t r u e , " she c o m m e n t e d . " H e will be allowed to k n o w higher secrets, b u t I will n o t . " She paused, t h e n added, " I am not jealous of him. It is the custom . . . a foolish custom, because I have m o r e ability to heal than m a n y m e n . " H e r voice d r o p p e d to a whisper. " H e will tell m e the secrets anyway. . . . H e has p r o m ised me. H e will teach m e h o w the rods w o r k , too. H e has already explained m a n y things to me. . . . H e has told m e they are trying to revive people w h o have recently died!" " W h o have died?" I echoed.
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"Yes, but this must be d o n e very quickly," she added. " H o w do they d o this?" "I d o n ' t k n o w . . . . T h e y use several of the rods. T h e r e are special chants. T h e b o d y must be positioned in a certain way. T h e r e is m o r e , b u t I do not k n o w . . . . W h e n my brother learns, he will tell m e . " She ended her explanation. M y logical m i n d arrived at the assumption that the people allegedly being revived were not really dead yet but probably near death, like patients recovering f r o m near-death experiences. After all, they did not have e q u i p m e n t to m o n i t o r brainwave function in those days. T h e y could not pinpoint the absence of brain activity, w h i c h is o u r m o d e r n definition of death. M y intuitive sense told m e to keep an o p e n m i n d . O t h e r explanations could exist, explanations b e y o n d m y current comprehension. Elizabeth was still silent, so I resumed the questioning. " A r e there other forms of healing that you d o ? " I asked her. " T h e r e are m a n y , " she responded. " O n e is w i t h our hands. W e touch the area of the body that needs the healing and send energy directly there . . . t h r o u g h our hands. Some d o n ' t even need to touch the body. W e feel above the person's b o d y for areas of heat. W e disperse the heat and smooth the energy. T h e heat must be dispersed at several levels above the body, n o t just the closest," she explained. She was speaking rapidly n o w , describing ancient variations of healing techniques. " O t h e r s can heal mentally. T h e y can see the p r o b l e m areas in their minds, and they mentally send energy to those spots. I can't do this y e t , " she added, " b u t I will learn eventually.
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" S o m e touch the person's pulse with their second and third fingers held together and send energy directly into the flow of blood. Y o u can reach the internal organs this way, and you can see the cleansing energy leaving through the person's toes." Elizabeth continued her rapid and increasingly technical explanation. "I am w o r k i n g n o w with putting people into very deep levels of trance and having t h e m also see the healing as it occurs, so that they complete the healing transformation on the mental level. W e give t h e m potions to help t h e m go very d e e p . " She paused for a m o m e n t . Except for the potions, this last technique very m u c h resembles the hypnotic visualizations that I and others are using in the late t w e n t i e t h century to stimulate the healing process. " A r e there m o r e m e t h o d s ? " 1 inquired. " T h e ones that e v o k e the gods are reserved for the priests," she answered. " T h e s e are forbidden to m e . " "Forbidden?" "Yes, because w o m e n cannot b e c o m e priests. W e can b e c o m e healers, and w e assist the priests, but w e cannot do their functions. . . . O h , some w o m e n call themselves priestesses and play musical instruments in the ceremonies, but they have n o p o w e r . " W i t h some sarcasm in her voice, she added, " T h e y are musicians like I am a healer; they are hardly priests. E v e n H a t h o r mocks t h e m . " H a t h o r was the Egyptian goddess of love, mirth, and joy. She was also the goddess of festivity and dance. Elizabeth was probably r e m e m b e r i n g one of Hathor's m o r e esoteric functions, that of defender and protectress of w o m e n . Hathor's m o c k e r y of these priestesses underlined the empty grandiosity of their titles. Elizabeth grew silent again, and as she did, m y mind
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d r e w parallels to the current time. Glass ceilings seem to be as old as time itself. T h e road to advancement in this period of primitive Egypt seemed to be restricted to only a few. Relatives of the pharaoh, w h o himself was considered half divine, could advance, but female relatives w o u l d soon b u m p into the gender barrier. Male relatives of the pharaoh w e r e the privileged few. Elizabeth was still silent, and I urged her forward. " G o ahead in time to the next important event in that life. W h a t do you see?" " M y brother and I are advisers n o w , " she c o m m e n t e d , after progressing a f e w m o r e years into the future. " W e stand behind the g o v e r n o r of this area and w e advise him. H e is a great administrator and a good military leader, too. But he is impulsive and needs our intuition and inner guidance. . . . W e help to balance h i m . " "Are you happy d o i n g this?" "Yes, it is good to be with my brother. . . . A n d the governor is usually kind. H e often listens to our advice. . . . W e do o u r healing w o r k also." She seemed contented, if n o t ecstatic. She had not married, so her brother was her family. I m o v e d her ahead in time. She was visibly upset n o w . She began to cry, then stopped. "I k n o w too m u c h for this. I must be strong. It is n o t that I fear exile or death. N o t at all. But to leave m y brother . . . that is hard!" Another tear fell. " W h a t happened?" I asked, somewhat startled at the sudden decline in her fortunes. " T h e governor's son became before anything could be done. w o r k w i t h regeneration and our recently dead back to life. So he
severely ill. H e died H e knows about our attempts to bring the demanded that I bring
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his son back f r o m the dead. If I did not, I w o u l d be sent to permanent exile. I k n o w that place. N o b o d y returns." " A n d the son?" I asked hesitantly. " H e could not be returned. It was not allowed. So I had to be p u n i s h e d . " She was again sad and the tears welled up once m o r e in her eyes. "It makes no sense," she said slowly. "I was never allowed to learn about the rods. . . . I was never allowed to acquire the k n o w l e d g e of regeneration and revival. My brother taught m e a little, but not e n o u g h . . . . T h e y d i d n ' t k n o w he told m e anything." " W h a t happened to y o u r " H e was away, so he was away. O n l y I was around. . . m e before the exile began. only leaving him. . . . T h e r e
brother?" spared. All the priests w e r e . H e returned in time to see I d o n ' t fear exile or death, is no choice."
" H o w long are y o u in exile?" I asked. " N o t very l o n g , " m y body. O n e day T h a t was m y death, She had j u m p e d to higher perspective.
she answered. "I k n o w h o w to leave I left m y body and did n o t return. for w i t h o u t the soul, the b o d y dies." that point and was speaking f r o m a
"As simple as that?" " T h e r e is no pain, n o interruption in awareness w h e n such a death is chosen. T h a t is w h y I did n o t fear death. I k n e w I could never see m y brother again. I could n o t do m y w o r k on that barren island. T h e r e was no reason to stay in physical f o r m . T h e gods understand." She was silent, resting. I k n e w that her love for her brother w o u l d survive physical death, as w o u l d her b r o t h er's love for her. Love is eternal. Had they m e t again over the intervening centuries? W o u l d they m e e t again in the future?
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I also k n e w that this m e m o r y w o u l d help ease her grief. O n c e m o r e she had f o u n d herself in the distant past. H e r consciousness, her soul, had survived physical death and centuries of time to emerge once again, this time as Elizabeth. If she could survive through time, so could her m o t h e r . So could all of us. She had not f o u n d her m o t h e r in ancient Egypt, but she had f o u n d a beloved brother, a c o m p a n i o n soul w h o m she could not recognize in her current life. At least n o t yet. 1 like to think of soul relationships as similar to a large tree with a thousand leaves on it. Those leaves that are o n y o u r twig are intimately close to you. Y o u may even share experiences, soul experiences, a m o n g yourselves. T h e r e may be three or four or five leaves o n y o u r twig. Y o u are also highly and closely related to the leaves o n the branch next to yours. T h e y share a c o m m o n limb. T h e y are close to you, b u t n o t as close as the leaves on y o u r o w n twig. Similarly, as y o u extend farther o u t along the tree, you are still related to these other leaves or souls, but n o t as closely as those in y o u r immediate proximity. Y o u are all part of o n e tree and o n e trunk. Y o u can share experiences. Y o u k n o w each other. But those o n y o u r twig are the closest. T h e r e are m a n y other trees in this beautiful forest. Each tree is connected to the others through the root system in the ground. So even t h o u g h there may be a leaf o n a distant tree that seems quite different f r o m y o u and very far away, you are still connected to that leaf. Y o u are connected to all leaves. B u t you are the most closely connected to those o n y o u r tree. And even m o r e intimately connected to those on y o u r branch. A n d almost as o n e with those o n your o w n twig.
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Y o u probably have m e t the other souls farther out on your tree in previous lifetimes. T h e y may have been in many different relationships w i t h you. Their interactions may have been extremely brief. Even a thirty-minute encounter could have helped y o u learn a lesson or helped t h e m or the b o t h of you, as is usually the case. O n e of these souls may have been the beggar in the road to w h o m you gave a heart's gift, allowing you to extend y o u r compassion to another h u m a n being and allowing the recipient to learn about receiving love and help. Y o u and the beggar may have never m e t again in that lifetime, and yet y o u are part of the drama. Y o u r meetings vary in d u r a t i o n — f i v e minutes, o n e hour, a day, a m o n t h , a decade, or m o r e — t h i s is h o w souls relate. Relationships are n o t measured in time b u t in lessons learned.
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How interesting it would be to write the story of the experiences in this life of a man who killed himself in his previous life; how he now stumbles against the very demands which had offered themselves before, until he arrives at the realization that he must fulfil those demands. . . . The deeds of the preceding life give direction to the present life. TOLSTOY
e felt the message sear itself into his soul. T h e living words pressed themselves forever into his being. As he rested after leaving his splattered body, we both pondered the different levels of meaning of these outwardly simple words. T h e session had b e g u n in the usual way. I regressed Pedro using a rapid induction, and he slipped quickly into a deeply tranquil state. His breathing b e c a m e deep and even, and his muscles relaxed completely. His mind, focused by the hypnosis, penetrated the customary limits of space and time, and he r e m e m b e r e d events that had happened far before his birth as Pedro. " I ' m wearing b r o w n shoes," he observed as he emerged in the physical confines of a previous incarnation. " T h e y ' r e old and battered. . . . I'm a m a n a r o u n d forty years old," he added w i t h o u t my prodding. "Balding on the top with hair beginning to gray. M y sideburns and beard are gray already. M y beard is short, and it's shaved pretty far d o w n m y cheeks." 130
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H e was paying considerable attention to m i n o r details. I appreciated the accuracy of his description, but I was also aware of time slipping by. " G o ahead," I advised. "Find out w h a t y o u ' r e doing in this life. G o to the next significant e v e n t . " " M y glasses are small and w i r e - r i m m e d , " he noted, still occupied w i t h physical features. " M y nose is wide, and m y skin is very pale." It is n o t unusual for a hypnotized patient to be resistant to m y suggestions. I have learned that y o u can't always guide the patient; sometimes the patient has to guide you. " W h a t do y o u d o in this life?" I asked. " I ' m a d o c t o r , " he answered quickly, "a country d o c tor. I w o r k very hard. T h e people are mostly poor, b u t I get by. T h e y are g o o d people overall." " D o y o u k n o w the n a m e of the place w h e r e you live?" "I believe it is in this country, in O h i o . . . . " " D o you k n o w the year?" "Late eighteen-hundreds, I t h i n k . " " A n d y o u r n a m e ? " I delicately inquired. " T h o m a s . . . m y n a m e is T h o m a s . " " D o y o u have a last n a m e ? " " I t starts w i t h a D . . . D i x o n or Diggins or something like that. . . . I d o n ' t feel w e l l , " he added. "What's wrong?" "I feel very sad . . . very sad. I d o n ' t w a n t to go on living!" H e had j u m p e d ahead to a time of crisis. " W h a t is m a k i n g y o u so sad?" I inquired. "I have been d e s p o n d e n t before," he clarified. "It comes and goes, b u t this is the worst. It's never been this bad before. T h e b o t h things are just overwhelming. . . . I can't go on this w a y . " " W h a t 'both things'?" I echoed.
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" M y patient died. T h e fever killed him. T h e y trusted m e to save him. T h e y put their faith in me, and I couldn't. I've let t h e m d o w n . . . . N o w they have n o husband, no father. T h e y will have to struggle to survive. . . . I couldn't save h i m ! " "Sometimes patients die despite our best efforts. Especially in the e i g h t e e n - h u n d r e d s , " I added, paradoxically attempting to ease his guilt and despair over an event that had occurred a century ago. I could not alter the event, only his attitude t o w a r d it. I k n e w that T h o m a s had already experienced and acted u p o n his feelings. W h a t was d o n e was done. B u t I could still help Pedro, by helping h i m to understand, by helping h i m to see f r o m a higher and m o r e detached perspective. H e was silent. I h o p e d that I had n o t jarred h i m f r o m that doctor's lifetime by d o i n g therapy aimed at a level of understanding b e y o n d T h o m a s . I had n o t even f o u n d o u t the other event that had precipitated his depression. " W h a t is the other thing causing your sadness?" I asked, trying to put the genie back into the bottle. " M y wife has left m e , " he answered. I was relieved to be talking to T h o m a s again. " S h e has left y o u ? " I repeated, encouraging h i m to elaborate. " Y e s , " he answered sadly. " O u r life was t o o difficult. W e couldn't even have children. She w e n t back to her family in Boston. . . . I ' m very ashamed. . . . I couldn't help her. I couldn't m a k e her happy." I did not even attempt therapy with his higher m i n d at this time. Instead, I asked T h o m a s to m o v e ahead in time to the next important event in that life. W e could do the therapy later, as he reviewed this life while still in
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,he hypnotized state, or even later, after he emerged f r o m the hypnosis. 'I have a g u n , " he explained. " I ' m going to shoot myself and end this misery!" I suppressed the urge to ask h i m w h y he chose a gun and not one of the m a n y medicines or poisons available to a doctor of that time. H e had made his decision at least a century ago. T h e question itself was probably my way of intellectualizing his despair, despair of such magnitude as to drive h i m to self-annihilation. " W h a t happens n e x t ? " I asked instead. " I ' v e d o n e it," he said simply. " I ' v e shot myself in the m o u t h , and n o w I can see my body. . . . So m u c h blood! So m u c h blood!" H e had already left his b o d y and was seeing it at a distance. " H o w do you feel n o w ? " I asked. " C o n f u s e d . . . . I ' m still sad. . . . I ' m so tired," he answered. " B u t I can't rest. N o t yet. . . . S o m e o n e is here for m e . " " W h o is there?" "I d o n ' t k n o w . S o m e o n e very important. H e has s o m e thing to tell m e . " " W h a t does he tell y o u ? " " T h a t I have lived a g o o d life, until the end. I should not have ended m y life. Yet he seems to k n o w I w o u l d do w h a t I did." "Is there m o r e ? " I asked, pushing this paradox aside. T h e answer came directly at m e n o w , in a m o r e p o w e r f u l voice. Was this T h o m a s , or Pedro, or s o m e o n e else? I flashed back momentarily to the Masters w h o spoke through Catherine. Except this was years later, and C a t h erine was not here.
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" I t is the reaching o u t with love to help another that is important, not the results. R e a c h out w i t h love. That is all you need to do. Love one another. T h e results of reaching out with love are not the results y o u look for. Results to the physical body. You must heal the hearts of m e n . " B o t h physicians, T h o m a s and I, were being addressed, and w e both listened raptly as the message continued. T h e voice was m o r e powerful, more sure, m o r e didactic than Pedro's. "I will teach y o u h o w to heal the hearts of m e n . Y o u will understand. Love one another!" W e could b o t h feel the force of these words as they w e r e impressed into o u r being. T h e words w e r e alive. W e could never forget t h e m . Later, Pedro told m e that he vividly saw and heard everything that this luminous visitor c o m m u n i c a t e d — w o r d s that danced w i t h light as they bridged the space b e t w e e n them. I had heard the same words. I was sure they w e r e also m e a n t for m e . Important lessons leapt at m e . R e a c h out w i t h love and compassion, and do n o t w o r r y so m u c h about outcomes. D o n o t attempt to end y o u r life before its natural time. A higher wisdom deals with outcomes and knows the time for all things. Free will and destiny coexist. D o n o t measure healing by physical results. Healing occurs at m a n y levels, n o t just the physical, and real healing must occur at the heart level. S o m e h o w I w o u l d learn about healing the hearts of men. Most of all: Love o n e another. Timeless wisdom, easily grasped b u t practiced by only a few. M y mind drifted back to Pedro. T h e m e s of separation and loss plagued his lifetimes. This time they had led him
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to suicide. H e had b e e n w a r n e d about not ending a life prematurely. But losses w e r e occurring anew, and grief had returned. W o u l d he r e m e m b e r or w o u l d hopeless despair overtake h i m o n c e again? H o w devastating it is to be a healer w h o cannot heal his patient. Elizabeth's "failure" in ancient Egypt. Pedro's despair as Thomas, the O h i o physician. M y o w n painful experiences as a healer. M y first frustration as a healer w h o could not stop the onslaught of a rampaging illness occurred m o r e than twenty-five years ago during m y very first clinical rotation as a third-year student at Yale Medical School. I began w i t h pediatrics, and I was assigned to D a n n y , a sevenyear-old boy w i t h a large W i l m s ' t u m o r . This is a malignant t u m o r of the k i d n e y that occurs almost exclusively in childhood. T h e y o u n g e r the child, the better the p r o g nosis. Seven was n o t considered y o u n g for this cancer. D a n n y was the first real patient in m y medical career. Prior to him, all of m y experience had b e e n in classrooms, lecture halls, laboratories, and sitting for endless hours in front of m y textbooks. T h e third year began our clinical experience. W e w e r e assigned to hospital wards w i t h real patients. E n o u g h facts and theory. T h e time for practical application had arrived. I had to draw D a n n y ' s blood for the laboratory tests, and I took care of all the m i n o r procedures, called "scut w o r k " by m o r e advanced practitioners b u t very m e a n i n g ful to third-year medical students. D a n n y was a w o n d e r f u l child, but our b o n d was even stronger and m o r e special because he was m y first patient. D a n n y fought heroically. H e had lost his hair f r o m the p o w e r f u l but toxic c h e m o t h e r a p y treatments. His belly
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was severely bloated. Yet he was rallying, and his parents and I took hope. A good percentage of children were able to recover f r o m this type of malignancy at that time. I was the youngest m e m b e r of the treatment team. T h e medical student usually k n e w less clinical medicine than the intern, resident, or attending physician, all of w h o m were incredibly busy with their w o r k . O n the other hand, the medical student had m o r e time to spend with the patient and family. In general, the medical student also placed a higher priority on getting to k n o w the patient and his family. W e w o u l d customarily be assigned to talk to the family or to convey messages to the patient. D a n n y was m y main patient, and I liked h i m a lot. I spent many hours sitting on the side of his bed, playing games, reading stories, or just talking. I admired his courage. I also spent time with his parents, frequently in D a n ny's dark and drab hospital r o o m . W e even ate together in the cafeteria. T h e y were frightened but also encouraged by his rally. Suddenly, D a n n y t o o k a drastic turn for the worse. A dangerous respiratory infection o v e r w h e l m e d his w e a k ened i m m u n e system. H e had difficulty breathing, and his usually bright eyes turned dull and glazed. I was shunted aside by the m o r e senior members of the medical team. Antibiotics were started and stopped and changed, to no avail. D a n n y slid downhill. I stayed w i t h his m o t h e r and father, feeling helpless and horrified. T h e illness w o n . D a n n y died. I was too upset to spend m o r e time w i t h his parents, b e y o n d a brief w o r d and a hug. I identified with their pain as m u c h as I could at that time. T h r e e years later, w h e n m y o w n son died in a hospital, I understood even more. But at the time, I felt some vague responsibility
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for his death, as if I should have d o n e something, anything, to avert it. T h e "failure" to heal strikes at the very soul of every healer. I understood T h o m a s ' s despair. Far fewer psychiatric patients die of their illnesses. Yet the inability to help a severely disturbed patient evokes chords of the same frustration and sense of helplessness. W h e n I was chairman of the Psychiatry D e p a r t m e n t at M o u n t Sinai, I treated a beautiful and talented w o m a n in her thirties. A successful career w o m a n , she had recently entered into a happy marriage. Gradually she became paranoid, and the paranoia was worsening despite m e d i cines, despite therapy, despite every intervention. N e i t h e r I n o r any consultant I called in could determine w h y , because her course and symptoms and tests w e r e very atypical for schizophrenia, mania, or any other of the usual psychoses. She had b e g u n to deteriorate soon after a trip to the Far East, and o n e test showed extremely high antibodies to a parasite. Still, n o medical or psychiatric treatment helped, and she gradually worsened. Again, I had felt the pangs of helplessness, the frustration of the healer w h o could n o t heal. T o reach o u t w i t h love, to do y o u r best and n o t be so concerned w i t h results or outcomes, that is the answer. This simple concept, ringing so true to m e , is the balm of understanding that healers need. In a sense, I had reached out with love to D a n n y , and he had reached back to m e .
&havter 19 Or ever the knightly years were gone With the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon And you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by, 1 bent and broke your pride . . . And a myriad suns have set and shone Since then upon the grave Decreed by the King in Babylon To her that had been his Slave. 7Tie pride I trampled is now my scathe, For it tramples me again. The old resentment lasts like death, For you love, yet you refrain. I break my heart on your hard unfaith, And I break my heart in vain. WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
(Elizabeth was frustrated and despondent. H e r n e w relationship had lasted for only t w o dates. B o b was avoiding her. She had k n o w n h i m casually for m o r e than a year, through work. H e was successful and handsome and shared many of her interests. H e told her that his longterm affair w i t h a married w o m a n had just ended. B o b had had several short-term relationships with other w o m e n , but there always seemed to be something lacking in these w o m e n . According to him, they w o u l d turn out 138
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to be superficial or unintelligent or not share his values, and he would end the relationships. His married lover would always accept him back. Her husband was rich, but their relationship lacked passion. She w o u l d not leave her husband and their affluent life. ' Y o u ' r e different f r o m the others," B o b swore to Elizabeth. " W e have so m u c h m o r e in c o m m o n . " H e told Elizabeth that she was m o r e intelligent than any of the others, m o r e beautiful, that he k n e w their relationship could last. Elizabeth convinced herself that Bob was right. " H e was there all the time, and 1 never really n o t i c e d , " she thought. " S o m e t i m e s the answer is right in front of y o u r eyes and y o u never see it." She forgot that the reason she never really noticed B o b and his blond g o o d looks was that she never felt a chemistry w i t h him. She was lonely and desperate for a man's arms. She listened to her head and ignored her heart's warning. T h e i r first date was very promising. T h e y w e n t o u t for a casual dinner, a g o o d movie, and intimate conversation while watching the w i n d - w h i p p e d waves o n the beach u n d e r the cool light of a nearly full m o o n . "I could fall in love with y o u , " he told her, teasing her w i t h a promise that w o u l d never be fulfilled. H e r head carefully heard every w o r d , ignoring the lack of response f r o m her heart. T h e second date seemed fine. She had a good time, and she sensed that h e did, too. His affection seemed genuine, and he hinted at sex in the future. B u t he never called back. Finally she called him. H e said that he w a n t e d to see her again but that he was very busy, and it was difficult to pick an exact time. H e assured her he had not had a
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change of heart. H e did w a n t to see her; he just couldn't tell her w h e n . " W h y do I always pick losers?" she asked m e . " W h a t ' s w r o n g with m e ? " " Y o u d o n ' t pick losers," I told her. " H e r e ' s a handsome and successful man w h o told y o u he was interested and available. D o n ' t blame yourself." I didn't say so, b u t inwardly I k n e w she was right. She was picking losers, in this case an emotional loser. It turned out he could n o t leave the safety of his married lover. H e chose to remain d e p e n d e n t and "safe." Elizabeth became the victim of his fear and his lack of courage. Better n o w than later, I t h o u g h t . Elizabeth was strong; she w o u l d recover. Elizabeth asked if w e still had time to attempt a regression. She could sense something important was near the surface, and she was anxious to find it, so w e proceeded. After she e m e r g e d in an ancient past life, I was not sure w e had m a d e the right decision. She saw a land o f broad, rolling plains and flat-topped hills. A land of yaklike animals and small agile horses, of large r o u n d e d tents and n o m a d i c wanderers. It was a land of passion, and it was a land of violence. H e r husband was away w i t h most of the other m e n , h u n t i n g or raiding. T h e e n e m y struck, flying in on waves of horses against the depleted defenders. H e r husband's parents were killed first, hacked d o w n by broad, razorsharp swords. H e r baby was killed next, gutted by a spear. A shudder convulsed her spirit. She w a n t e d to die, too, b u t such was not her destiny. C a p t u r e d by the y o u n g warriors because of her beauty, she became the property of the strongest of the invading horde. A f e w other y o u n g w o m e n were also spared.
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" L e t m e die!" she pleaded to her captor, b u t he w o u l d not allow it. " Y o u are m i n e n o w , " he said simply. " Y o u will live m m y tent, and y o u will be m y w i f e . " Except for her husband, w h o m she w o u l d never see again, all her loved ones w e r e dead. She had no choice. She attempted to escape several times, only to be quickly caught. H e r suicide attempts were similarly thwarted. She hardened herself, and her depression t u r n e d into a constant smoldering anger, devouring her capacity to love. H e r spirit withered, and she merely existed, a hardened heart trapped in a living body. N o jail could be as confining or as cruel. "Let's go back in t i m e , " I suggested. "Let's go back before y o u r village was raided." I c o u n t e d back f r o m three to one. " W h a t do you see?" I asked. H e r face was n o w serene and peaceful as she r e m e m bered the early years, g r o w i n g up, laughing and playing w i t h the man she w o u l d eventually marry. She loved this childhood friend dearly, and he returned this love to her. She was at peace. " D o you recognize this m a n you married? L o o k into his eyes." " N o , I d o n ' t , " she finally answered. " L o o k at the others in y o u r village. D o y o u recognize anyone?" She looked carefully at her relatives and friends in that lifetime. "Yes . . . yes, m y m o t h e r is there!" Elizabeth gasped happily. "She is the m o t h e r of my husband. W e are very close. W h e n my o w n m o t h e r died, she t o o k m e in as a daughter. I recognize her!"
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" D o you recognize anyone else?" I inquired. "She lives in the largest tent, with the flags and white feathers," she answered, ignoring m y question. H e r face darkened. " T h e y killed her, t o o ! " she lamented, j u m p i n g back to the massacre. " W h o killed her? W h e r e did they c o m e f r o m ? " " F r o m the east, f r o m b e y o n d the wall. . . . This is w h e r e they have taken m e . " " D o you k n o w the n a m e of their land?" She pondered this question. " N o . It seems to be somew h e r e in Asia, in the n o r t h e r n part. M a y b e the west of China. . . . W e have oriental features." "It's okay," I responded. "Let's m o v e ahead in time within that lifetime. W h a t happens to y o u ? " "I was finally allowed to kill myself, after I had grown older and was n o t so attractive a n y m o r e , " she answered, w i t h o u t m u c h e m o t i o n . "I think they grew tired of m e , " she added. She was floating n o w , having left her body. I asked her to review her life. " W h a t d o y o u see? W h a t w e r e the lessons? W h a t did you learn?" Elizabeth was silent for a f e w moments. A n d then she answered, "I learned m a n y things. I learned of anger and the foolishness of holding o n to anger. I could have w o r k e d with the y o u n g e r children, with the old ones, with the sick ones, in the enemy's t o w n . I could have taught them. . . . I could have loved t h e m . . . b u t I never allowed myself to love. I never allowed myself to let my anger dissipate. I never allowed myself to o p e n m y heart once again. A n d these children, at least, were innocent. T h e y w e r e souls entering into this world. T h e y had nothing to do with the raid, w i t h the deaths of m y loved ones.
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And yet I blamed them, too. I carried the anger even to the n e w generations, and this is foolish. It could hurt them, but most of all it harmed me. . . . I never permitted myself to love again." She paused. " A n d I had m u c h love to give." She paused again and then seemed to speak f r o m an even higher source. "Love is like a fluid," she began. "It fills u p crevices. It fills empty spaces of its o w n accord. It is w e , it is people w h o stop it by erecting false barriers. A n d w h e n love cannot fill our hearts and o u r minds, w h e n w e are disconnected f r o m o u r souls, w h i c h consist of love, then w e all go crazy." I considered her words. I k n e w that love was important, perhaps even the most important thing in the world. But it had never d a w n e d o n m e that the absence of love could cause us to lose o u r minds. I r e m e m b e r e d the famous m o n k e y experiments of the psychologist, D r . Harry H a r l o w , in w h i c h y o u n g monkeys deprived of touching, of nurturing, of love became c o m pletely asocial, physically ill, or even died. T h e y could not survive intact w i t h o u t it. Loving is n o t an option. It is a necessity. I turned back to Elizabeth. " L o o k ahead in time. H o w does what y o u learned t h e n affect y o u n o w ? A n d h o w can this learning, h o w can this r e m e m b e r i n g , help y o u in your current life to feel happier, m o r e peaceful, m o r e loving?" "I must learn to let go of anger, to n o t hold it in, to recognize it, recognize its roots and let it go. I must feel free to love, to not hold back, and yet I still search. I haven't found s o m e o n e to love completely, u n c o n d i t i o n ally. T h e r e always seems to be a p r o b l e m . "
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She fell silent for half a minute. Suddenly she was speaking with a voice m u c h deeper and slower than usual. T h e r o o m felt very cold. " G o d is o n e , " she began. She struggled for words. "It is all one vibration, o n e energy. T h e only difference is the rate of vibration. So G o d and people and rocks have the same relationship as steam and water and ice Everything, all that is, is m a d e up of the one. Love breaks d o w n the barriers and creates unity. That which creates barriers and creates separateness and differences is ignorance. Y o u must teach t h e m these things." T h a t was the e n d of the message. Elizabeth was resting. I thought of Catherine's messages, w h i c h seemed so similar to Elizabeth's. Even the r o o m felt cold w h e n C a t h erine w o u l d relay these messages, m u c h as the r o o m felt cold with Elizabeth. I p o n d e r e d her words. Healing is the act of bringing together, removing the barriers. Separation is what causes harm. W h y is it so difficult for people to grasp this concept? Although I have c o n d u c t e d m o r e than a thousand individual past-life regressions w i t h m y patients and many m o r e in groups, I have had only a half dozen of these experiences myself. I have had some remembrances in vivid dreams and during a shiatsu, or acupressure, treatm e n t . Some of these are described in m y earlier books. W h e n m y wife, Carole, finished a course in h y p n o t h e r apy to add to her skills as a social worker, she conducted a f e w past-life regression sessions with m e as the patient. I w a n t e d to experience this with someone w h o m I trusted and w h o was well trained. I had been practicing meditation for years, and I w e n t u n d e r deeply and quickly. W h e n the m e m o n e s started
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to flood into m y mind, they were primarily visual and quite vivid, like m y dream images. I could see myself as a y o u n g m a n f r o m a wealthy Jewish family in Alexandria, around the time of Christ. O u r c o m m u n i t y , I s o m e h o w knew, helped to finance the huge golden doors of the Great T e m p l e in Jerusalem. M y studies included G r e e k and the philosophy of the ancient Greeks, especially the followers of Plato and Aristotle. I r e m e m b e r e d o n e fragment of my life as that y o u n g man, w h e n I attempted to augment my classical education by traveling a m o n g the clandestine desert communities in the southern deserts and caves of Palestine and the north of Egypt. Each c o m m u n i t y was a type of learning center, usually of mystical and esoteric k n o w l e d g e . Some of these probably w e r e Essene villages. I traveled very simply, carrying only a little f o o d and some clothes. Just about everything I needed was provided for m e along the way. M y family had m o n e y , and w e were k n o w n to these peoples. T h e spiritual k n o w l e d g e I was acquiring was exciting and accelerated, and I e n j o y e d the j o u r n e y . For several weeks along the way f r o m c o m m u n i t y to c o m m u n i t y , I was j o i n e d by a man about m y age. H e was taller than I and had intense b r o w n eyes. W e b o t h w o r e robes and had cloths on our heads. H e emanated peace, and as w e studied together with the wise m e n of the villages, he soaked up the teachings m u c h m o r e quickly than I. Afterward, he w o u l d teach m e as we camped together by desert fires. After a f e w weeks, w e separated. I w e n t to study at a small synagogue near the Great Pyramid, and he w e n t to the west.
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M a n y of m y patients, including Elizabeth and Pedro, have r e m e m b e r e d lives in the area of ancient Palestine. M a n y have r e m e m b e r e d Egypt. For me, as for t h e m , the images seemed extremely vivid and quite real.
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O youth or young man, who fancy that you are neglected by the Gods, know that if you become worse you shall go to the worse souls, or if better to the better, and in every succession of life and death you will do and suffer what like may fitly suffer at the hands of like. This is the justice of heaven. PLATO
rv? ometimes life's most significant events are u p o n y o u before you are aware of t h e m , like the silent approach of a j u n g l e cat. H o w could y o u n o t have noticed something of such magnitude? T h e camouflage is psychological. Denial, the act of n o t seeing what is right before y o u r eyes, because y o u really d o n ' t want to see, is the greatest disguise. Add in fatigue, distractions, rationalizations, mental escape, and all the other businesses of the m i n d that get in the way. Fortunately destiny's persistence can pierce the disguises and distinguish that w h i c h y o u need to see, the f o r e g r o u n d emerging f r o m t h e ' b a c k g r o u n d , like mastering o n e of those magic-eye pictures. O v e r the past fifteen years, I have often treated couples or families w h o have discovered each o t h e r together in past lives. Sometimes I have regressed couples w h o simultaneously and for the first time have f o u n d themselves interacting in the same prior lifetime. T h e s e revelations are often shocking to the couple. T h e y have n o t experienced 147
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anything like this before. T h e y are silent while the scenes are unfolding in m y psychiatric office. It is only afterward, after emerging f r o m the relaxed, hypnotic state, that they first discover they have been watching the same scenes, feeling the same emotions. It is only then that I also b e c o m e aware o f their past connections. But with Elizabeth and Pedro, everything was backward. Their lives, and their lifetimes, w e r e unfolding independently and quite separately, in m y office. T h e y did not k n o w each other. T h e y had never met. T h e y were f r o m different countries and cultures. T h e y came to the office on different days. Seeing t h e m b o t h separately and never even suspecting a link b e t w e e n them, I did n o t make the connection. T h e y had loved each other and lost each other across lifetimes. W h y didn't I see it before? Was it even m y destiny? A m I supposed to be some cosmic matchmaker? Was I distracted, fatigued, in denial? Was I rationalizing away "coincidences"? O r was I right on schedule, the idea dawning at its sunrise, the way it was planned all along. It came to m e o n e evening. "Eli?" I had heard it f r o m Elizabeth, weeks before, in m y office. Earlier that day, P e d r o could n o t r e m e m b e r his name. In a hypnotic trance, he had emerged in an ancient lifetime, one he had previously r e m e m b e r e d in the office. In that lifetime, he had died after being dragged by leatherclad soldiers. His life ebbed away as his head rested in his beloved daughter's lap, and she rocked rhythmically with despair. Perhaps there was m o r e to learn f r o m that time. O n c e again, he r e m e m b e r e d dying in her arms, his life fading away. I asked h i m to look at her closely, to look deeply
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into her eyes and to see if he recognized her as someone in his current life. " N o , " he sadly answered. "I d o n ' t k n o w h e r . " " D o y o u k n o w y o u r name?" I asked, returning his attention completely to that ancient lifetime in Palestine. H e p o n d e r e d this question. " N o , " he finally said. "I will tap y o u o n the forehead as I c o u n t backward f r o m three to o n e . Let your name just p o p into your mind, into y o u r awareness. W h a t e v e r n a m e comes to y o u is fine." N o name p o p p e d into his mind. "I d o n ' t k n o w m y name. N o t h i n g comes to m e ! " But something came to me, p o p p i n g into m y mind like a silent explosion, suddenly clear and vivid. "Eli," I said aloud. "Is y o u r name Eli?" " H o w do y o u k n o w that?" he responded f r o m the ancient depths. " T h a t is m y name. S o m e call m e Elihu, and some call m e Eli. . . . H o w do you k n o w ? W e r e you there, too?" "I d o n ' t k n o w , " I answered truthfully. "It just came to m e . " I was very surprised at the whole situation. H o w did I k n o w ? I have had psychic or intuitive flashes before, but n o t often. This felt as if I were remembering something rather than receiving a psychic message. R e m e m b e r i n g f r o m when? I could n o t place it. M y m i n d stretched to r e m e m b e r , but I could not. I k n e w f r o m experience that I should stop trying to remember. Let it go, get on with the day, the answer w o u l d probably arrive spontaneously in a while. An important piece of some strange puzzle was missing. I could feel its absence, hinting at a crucial connection
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still to be found. But a connection to what? I tried, not very successfully, to concentrate on other things. Later that evening, the puzzle piece arrived suddenly and very softly in m y mind. All at once, I was aware of it. It was Elizabeth. A b o u t t w o m o n t h s ago, she had recounted a tragic but touching lifetime as a potter's daughter in ancient Palestine. H e r father had been killed "accidentally" by R o m a n soldiers after they dragged him around f r o m the back of a horse. T h e soldiers had not really cared w h a t happened to him. His mangled body, his bleeding head, had been cradled by his daughter as he died in the dusty street. She had r e m e m b e r e d his name in that lifetime. His n a m e was Eli. M y m i n d was w o r k i n g quickly n o w . T h e details of the t w o Palestinian lifetimes fit together. Pedro's and Elizabeth's memories of that time meshed perfectly. Physical descriptions, events, and names were the same. Father and daughter. I have w o r k e d w i t h m a n y people, usually couples, w h o have found themselves together in previous lives. M a n y have recognized their soul companions, traveling together through time to be united once again in the current lifetime. N e v e r before had I encountered soulmates w h o had not yet m e t in the present time. In this case, soulmates w h o had traveled nearly t w o thousand years to be together again. T h e y had c o m e all this way. T h e y w e r e within inches and minutes of each other, but they had not yet connected. At h o m e , with their charts filed away in m y office, I tried to r e m e m b e r if they had shared other lifetimes. N o ,
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not as monks. O n e story but n o t t w o , at least not yet. N o t on the India trading routes, n o t in the mangrove swamps of Florida, n o t in the malarial Spanish Americas, not so far in Ireland. T h e s e were the only lifetimes I could remember. Another t h o u g h t dawned. Perhaps they had been together in some or all o f those times b u t had n o t recognized each other, because they had n o t m e t in the present. There was no face, n o name, no landmark in the present life, no one to c o n n e c t to the people in previous incarnations. T h e n I r e m e m b e r e d Elizabeth's western China, the timeworn sweeping plains w h e r e her people w e r e massacred and w h e r e she and a f e w other y o u n g w o m e n were captured. O n these same plains, w h i c h P e d r o pinpointed as Mongolia, he had returned to find his family, his kin, his people destroyed. Pedro and I had assumed that his y o u n g wife had been killed amid the chaos, destruction, and despair described in his recall. She had not. She had been captured and taken away for the rest of a lifetime, never to be held again in the strong arms of her M o n g o l husband. N o w those arms had returned t h r o u g h the hazardous mists of time to hold her again, to h u g her sweetly to his breast. But they did n o t k n o w . O n l y I k n e w . Father and daughter. C h i l d h o o d lovers. Husband and wife. H o w m a n y m o r e times t h r o u g h o u t history had they shared their lives and their love? They were together again, but they didn't k n o w it. Both were lonely, b o t h suffering in their way. Both were starving, and yet a feast had been set before them, a feast they could n o t yet smell or taste. I was severely constrained by the " l a w s " of psychiatry,
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if n o t the m o r e subtle rules of karma. T h e strictest of the laws is that of privacy or confidentiality. If psychiatry were a religion, breaching a patient's confidentiality w o u l d be o n e of its cardinal sins. At the least the breach could constitute malpractice. I could not tell Pedro about Elizabeth, nor Elizabeth about Pedro. W h a t e v e r the karma or spiritual consequences of intervening in another's free will, the consequences of violating psychiatry's m a m law w e r e quite clear. T h e spiritual consequences w o u l d n o t have deterred me. I could introduce t h e m and let destiny take its course. T h e psychiatric consequences stopped m e cold. W h a t if I w e r e w r o n g ? W h a t if a relationship b e t w e e n t h e m began, soured, and e n d e d badly? T h e r e could be anger and bitterness. H o w w o u l d this reflect back o n their feelings a b o u t m e as their trusted therapist? W o u l d their clinical i m p r o v e m e n t unravel? W o u l d all their g o o d therapeutic w o r k be u n d o n e ? T h e r e w e r e definite risks. I also had to examine m y o w n subconscious motives. Was m y need to see m y patients b e c o m e happier and healthier, to find peace and love in their lives, affecting m y j u d g m e n t n o w ? W e r e m y o w n needs urging m e to cross the boundary of psychiatric ethics? T h e easy choice w o u l d be to leave well e n o u g h alone, to say nothing. N o h a r m done, n o consequences. W h e n in doubt, do n o harm. W h e t h e r or n o t to write Many Lives, Many Masters was a similar and very difficult decision. W r i t i n g m y first b o o k endangered m y entire professional career. After four years of hesitation, I had decided to write it. O n c e again, I chose to take the risk. I w o u l d intervene. I w o u l d try to nudge destmv along. As a concession to
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m y training and to m y fears, I w o u l d d o it as carefully and as subtly as possible. T h e scenes and details of specific historical epochs r e m e m b e r e d by Elizabeth, Pedro, and m a n y of m y other patients are very similar to each other. T h e s e images are not necessarily like the ones w e learned in Sunday school, f r o m history books, or f r o m television. T h e y are similar because they c o m e f r o m actual m e m o ries. Carolina G o m e z , the f o r m e r Miss C o l o m b i a and first r u n n e r - u p in the 1994 Miss Universe pageant, r e m e m bered in o n e regression being a naked m a n pulled to his death by R o m a n horses. This death is similar to o n e r e m e m b e r e d by Pedro. A f e w other patients have also r e m e m b e r e d h o r s e - d r a w n deaths, n o t only in R o m a n times but, unfortunately, in many o t h e r cultures as well. A patient of m i n e f r o m C o l o r a d o r e m e m b e r e d being stolen f r o m her Native American tribe and never seeing her family again. She eventually escaped, b u t she died in the equivalent of a mental ward in the O l d West. H o w similar this is to Elizabeth's experience in Asia. T h e t h e m e o f separation and loss is a c o m m o n one in past-life regressions. W e are all seeking to heal o u r psychic wounds. This n e e d to heal emphasizes the r e m e m b e r i n g o f old traumas, w h i c h have caused our pain and symptoms, rather than the r e m e m b e r i n g of serene and peaceful times, which have n o t left scars. I occasionally w o r k with t w o or m o r e people at the same time. W h e n I d o this, I do not have either of t h e m speak because they might disturb each other. Recently in my office I regressed a couple simultaneously. Their silent regression t o o k up the entire session, and we had no time to review their experiences.
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T h e couple left the office and began to compare notes. Incredibly, they had b o t h experienced a lifetime together. In his lifetime he was a British officer in the thirteen colonies, and in hers she was a w o m a n w h o lived there. T h e y met and fell deeply in love. H e was recalled to England and never again returned to visit his love. She was devastated by the loss, and yet there was n o t h i n g either one could do about it. Colonial society and the British military followed strict rules and customs. T h e y both saw and described the colonial w o m a n in the same antique clothes. T h e y both described the ship on which he had left the colonies to return to England and the tearful, sad parting that occurred at that time. All the details of their recall matched. Their memories also illustrated problems in their current life relationship. O n e major problem was her nearly obsessive fear of separation f r o m him and his constant need in return to reassure her that he was not going to leave her. H e r fear and his need had n o basis in the reality of their current relationship. T h e pattern had its roots in colonial times. O t h e r therapists performing past-life regressions are finding the same results. Traumas arise m o r e frequently than peaceful memories. Death scenes are important because they are o f t e n traumatic. Lifetimes seem familiar and important scenes seem similar because the same themes and the same inventions of man have arisen at all times in all cultures. " T h e thing that hath been, it is that w h i c h shall be; and that w h i c h is d o n e is that w h i c h shall be done: and there is no n e w thing u n d e r the s u n " (Ecclesiastes 1:9).
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Believing as I do in the theory oj rebirth, I live in the hope that if not in this birth, in some other birth I shall be able to hug all humanity infriendly embrace. MOHANDAS K. GANDHI
t V w a s wrestling w i t h time, and it had m e in a bear hug. Pedro was about to finish his therapy and m o v e p e r m a nently to M e x i c o . If Pedro and Elizabeth did not meet soon, they w o u l d be in different countries, and the likelih o o d of their m e e t i n g in this lifetime w o u l d be dramatically diminished. B o t h of their grief reactions were resolving. Physical symptoms, such as quality of sleep, energy levels, and appetite, were better in b o t h patients. Their loneliness and their despair of finding a good and loving relationship remained intact. Anticipating Pedro's termination of therapy, I had reduced the f r e q u e n c y of his appointments to every other week. I did n o t have m u c h time left. I arranged for their next visits to be sequential, for Pedro to follow Elizabeth in the hourly schedule that day. Everybody entering or leaving m y office has to pass through the waiting r o o m . D u r i n g Elizabeth's session, I worried that Pedro might 155
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not c o m e in for his appointment. Things happen—cars break d o w n , emergencies arise, illnesses d e v e l o p — a n d appointments are changed. H e appeared. I walked into the waiting r o o m with Elizabeth. T h e y l o o k e d at each other, and their eyes lingered for longer than a m o m e n t . I could sense the sudden interest, the hint at worlds of possibilities lying under the surface. O r was this just wishful thinking o n m y part? Elizabeth's m i n d quickly reasserted its customary mastery, telling her she needed to leave, cautioning her about appropriate behavior. She turned to the outside d o o r and left the offices. I n o d d e d to Pedro, and w e walked into m y office. " A very attractive w o m a n , " he c o m m e n t e d , as he sat d o w n heavily in the large leather chair. " Y e s , " I answered eagerly. "She's a very interesting person, t o o . " " T h a t ' s n i c e , " he said wistfully. His attention had already begun to wander. H e turned to the task of terminating our sessions and m o v i n g on to the next phase of his life. H e had pushed the brief meeting w i t h Elizabeth out of his mind. N e i t h e r P e d r o n o r Elizabeth followed up on this encounter in the waiting r o o m . N e i t h e r asked for m o r e information about the other. M y manipulation had been too subtle, t o o fleeting. I decided to try the back-to-back appointments again, t w o weeks later. Unless I chose to b e c o m e m o r e direct and to breach confidentiality by speaking directly to one or b o t h of t h e m , this w o u l d be m y last chance. It was Pedro's final a p p o i n t m e n t prior to his m o v e . T h e y gazed at each other again as I escorted her to the waiting r o o m . T h e i r eyes m e t and lingered even longer
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this time. P e d r o n o d d e d and smiled. Elizabeth smiled in return. She hesitated for a m o m e n t then turned to the door and left. Trust yourself! I thought, trying to mentally remind Elizabeth of an important lesson. She did n o t respond. Again, P e d r o did n o t follow up. H e did not ask m e about Elizabeth. H e was absorbed by the details of his relocation to M e x i c o , and he ended his therapy on that day. Perhaps this is n o t to be, I thought. T h e y were both improved, although n o t happy. Perhaps this was enough. Y o u will n o t always marry y o u r most strongly b o n d e d soulmate. T h e r e may be m o r e than o n e for you, because soul families travel together. Y o u m i g h t choose to marry a less b o n d e d soul c o m p a n i o n , o n e w h o has something specific to teach y o u or to learn f r o m you. Y o u r recognition of a soulmate may occur later in life, after both of you are already c o m m i t t e d to y o u r present-life families. O r your strongest soulmate connection may be to your parent, or to y o u r child, or to y o u r sibling. O r your strongest c o n n e c t i o n may be to a soulmate w h o has not incarnated during y o u r lifetime and w h o is watching over you f r o m the o t h e r side, like a guardian angel. Sometimes y o u r soulmate is willing and available. H e or she might recognize the passion and the chemistry between you, the intimate and subtle bonds that imply connections over m a n y lifetimes. Yet he or she may be toxic for you. It is a matter of soul development. If one soul is less developed and m o r e ignorant than the other, traits of violence, greed, jealousy, hatred, and fear might be b r o u g h t into the relationship. These tendencies are toxic to the m o r e evolved soul, even if from a
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soulmate. Frequently rescue fantasies arise with the thought, I can change him; I can help her grow. If he does not allow y o u r help, if in her free will she chooses n o t to learn, n o t to grow, the relationship is d o o m e d . Perhaps there will be another chance in another lifetime, unless he awakens later in this one. Late awakenings do happen. Sometimes soulmates decide n o t to get married while incarnated. T h e y arrange to meet, to stay together until the agreed u p o n task is completed, and t h e n to m o v e on. T h e i r agendas, their lesson plans for the entirety of this life, are different, and they do not w a n t to or need to spend all of this lifetime together. This is n o t a tragedy, only a matter of learning. Y o u have eternal life together, b u t sometimes y o u may need to take separate classes. A soulmate w h o is available but u n a w a k e n e d is a tragic figure and can cause y o u great anguish. U n a w a k e n e d means that he or she does n o t see life clearly, is n o t aware of the many levels of existence. U n a w a k e n e d means n o t k n o w i n g about souls. Usually it is the everyday m i n d that prevents awakening. W e hear the excuses of the mind all the time: I ' m t o o young; I need m o r e experience; I ' m n o t ready to settle d o w n yet; you are of a different religion (or race, region, social status, intellectual level, cultural background, and so on). These are all excuses, for souls possess n o n e of these attributes. T h e person may recognize the chemistry. T h e attraction is definitely there, but the source of the chemistry is not understood. It is delusional to believe that this passion, this soul recognition and attraction, will be easily f o u n d again w i t h another person. Y o u do not run into such a soulmate every day, perhaps only o n e or t w o m o r e
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in a lifetime. Divine grace may reward a good heart, a loving soul. N e v e r w o r r y about meeting soulmates. Such meetings are a matter of destiny. T h e y will occur. After the meeting, the free will of b o t h partners reigns. W h a t decisions are made or n o t m a d e are a matter of free will, of choice. T h e less a w a k e n e d will make decisions based on the mind and all of its fears and prejudices. Unfortunately, this often leads to heartache. T h e m o r e awakened the couple is, the m o r e the likelihood of a decision based o n love. W h e n b o t h partners are awakened, ecstasy is within their grasp.
er 22 Read me, O Reader, if you find delight in me, because very seldom shall I come back into this world. L E O N A R D O DA V I N C I
' j / o r t u n a t e l y minds m o r e creative than m i n e w e r e expertly conspiring f r o m lofty heights to arrange a meeting b e t w e e n Elizabeth and Pedro. T h e reunion was predestined. W h a t happened afterward w o u l d be up to them. Pedro was going to N e w York on business. After a few days there he was to leave for L o n d o n for t w o weeks ofbusiness and vacation before returning to Mexico. Elizabeth was going to Boston for a business meeting and then a visit with her college roommate. T h e y w o u l d be traveling on the same airline carrier but at different times. W h e n she reached the gate at the airport, Elizabeth f o u n d that her plane to Boston had b e e n cancelled. Mechanical difficulties, she was told. Destiny was at w o r k . She was upset. She w o u l d have to call her friend and change the plans. T h e airline could get her to N e w a r k , and she could catch the shuttle to Boston very early the next morning. She had an important business meeting in the m o r n i n g w h i c h could not be missed. 160
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U n b e k n o w n s t to her, these n e w arrangements put her on the same flight as Pedro. H e was already there waiting for the flight to be called w h e n she approached the gate. Catching her o u t of the corner of his eye, he carefully watched her check in at the counter and then take a seat in the waiting lounge. She occupied his attention entirely. H e recognized her f r o m their brief encounters in my waiting r o o m . A feeling of familiarity, of interest, o v e r w h e l m e d him. His concentration was riveted on her as she opened a b o o k . H e w a t c h e d her hair, her hands, h o w she sat and m o v e d , and she seemed so familiar to him. H e had seen her momentarily in the waiting r o o m , b u t w h y this level of familiarity? T h e y must have m e t before the time in the office. H e racked his brain to find the hidden m e m o r y of where. She felt herself being watched, b u t this often happened to her. She tried to concentrate on her reading. C o n c e n tration was difficult after all the hastily changed plans, but the meditation training had helped. She was able to clear her mind and focus o n her b o o k . T h e feeling of being watched persisted. She looked up and saw h i m staring at her. She f r o w n e d , then smiled w h e n she recognized h i m f r o m their fleeting encounters in the waiting r o o m . Instinctively she k n e w this man was safe. But h o w could she k n o w that? She looked at h i m for a m o m e n t m o r e and then glanced back at her b o o k , n o w completely unable to concentrate on the pages. H e r heart began to beat m o r e quickly, and her breathing accelerated. She knew, b e y o n d any doubt, that he was being pulled by her, that very soon he would approach her. She could feel h i m c o m i n g near. H e introduced h i m -
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self, and they began to talk. T h e attraction was mutual, immediate, and very strong. W i t h i n a f e w minutes he suggested that they change their seats so that they could sit together. T h e y were m o r e than acquaintances before the airplane left the ground. Pedro seemed so familiar to her. She clearly k n e w h o w he w o u l d move, w h a t he w o u l d say. Elizabeth had been very psychic w h e n she was a child. T h e values and beliefs of her conservative midwestern upbringing had driven her intuitive talent underground, b u t all of her antennae were u p n o w and at full attention. Pedro could had never been Hers had such dark blue ring in the blue sea
n o t take his eyes away f r o m her face. H e so captivated with someone's eyes before. clarity and such depth. Sky blue with a circling them, little hazel islands floating that engulfed him.
In his mind, he once again heard the words of the anguished w o m a n wearing the white dress, the w o m a n w h o had appeared in his recurrent dream. " H o l d her hand . . . reach out to h e r . " H e hesitated. H e wanted to hold her hand. N o t yet, he thought. I hardly k n o w her. S o m e w h e r e near Orlando, thunderstorms began to rock the airplane as it p l o w e d through the night sky. T h e sudden turbulence frightened her, and a brief expression of anxiety swept across her face. Pedro noticed it instantly and his hand grasped hers, to comfort her. H e k n e w it would. T h e electricity touched his heart in the flash of a moment. Elizabeth could feel lifetimes being awakened by the current. T h e connection had been made.
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Listen to y o u r heart, to your o w n intuitive wisdom, w h e n making i m p o r t a n t decisions, especially w h e n deciding about a gift of destiny, such as a soulmate. Destiny will deposit its gift directly at y o u r feet, b u t what you subsequently decide to do with that gift is up to you. If you rely exclusively o n the advice of others, you may make terrible mistakes. Y o u r heart k n o w s w h a t you need. O t h e r people have o t h e r agendas. M y father, m e a n i n g well but partially blinded because of his o w n fears, objected to m y plans to marry Carole. As I look back, Carole was one of destiny's wonderful gifts, a soul c o m p a n i o n across the centuries, appearing again like a beautiful rose, b l o o m i n g in its season. O u r p r o b l e m was our youth. W e m e t w h e n I was only eighteen, having just finished m y freshman year at Columbia. Carole was seventeen, about to begin college. Within a f e w m o n t h s w e k n e w w e w a n t e d to be together always. I had n o desire to see anyone else, despite warnings f r o m family that w e w e r e too young, that I did not have enough experience to make such a critical life decision. They did n o t understand that my heart had the experience of u n c o u n t e d centuries, that it was certain b e y o n d any rational c o m p r e h e n s i o n . It was inconceivable that w e would not be together. M y father's agenda became clear. If Carole and I married and had a child, I might have to leave school, and my hopes of b e c o m i n g a physician w o u l d be dashed. In fact, this had h a p p e n e d to my father. H e had been a premedical student at Brooklyn College during W o r l d War II, but my birth had forced him to w o r k after he left military service. H e never returned to medical school, and his dreams of b e c o m i n g a physician never material-
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lzed. These dreams remained a bitterly unfulfilled p o t e n tial, hovering nearby, gradually attaching to his sons. Love dissolves fear. O u r love gently dissolved his fears and the projection of his fears o n t o us. Eventually w e were married after m y first year of medical school, w h e n Carole was graduated f r o m college. M y father came to love Carole as a daughter, and he blessed our marriage. W h e n y o u r intuitions, y o u r gut-feelings, y o u r spiritual heart all k n o w b e y o n d any doubt, do n o t be swayed by the fear-based arguments of others. Sometimes meaning well, and sometimes not, they might lead y o u far astray f r o m y o u r joy.
er 23 It is not more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection. VOLTAIRE
E l i z a b e t h called m e f r o m Boston. She had extended her vacation. P e d r o had returned f r o m L o n d o n immediately after his business there was concluded. H e was in Boston, too, to be w i t h Elizabeth. T h e y w e r e already falling in love. T h e y had b e g u n to compare their experiences of past lives, w h i c h they b o t h r e m e m b e r e d vividly. T h e y were discovering each other, once again. " H e really is special," she c o m m e n t e d . "So are y o u , " I reminded her. Following m y experiences with Elizabeth and Pedro, my practice has taken an indescribably beautiful leap into the mystical and magical. W h e n I c o n d u c t large w o r k shops in w h i c h each participant is presented with the opportunity to experience deeply relaxed and hypnotic states, the frequency of magical events rises dramatically. T h e range of experiences extends far b e y o n d past lives 165
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and reincarnation. Beautiful spiritual and mystical events emerge frequently and with life-transforming p o w e r . I have been blessed to help facilitate these events. H e r e is what happened in o n e t w o - w e e k span. A reporter for a local newspaper attended a w e e k e n d series of seminars and workshops in Boston. She wrote the following. Many people in Weiss' past-life regression workshops related profound emotional and spiritual experiences. One exercise was particularly dramatic. Weiss had the lights turned down and asked everyone in the room to find a partner. He directed the pairs to look into each other's faces for several minutes while he guided the meditation with his voice. When the exercise was over, two women who had never met shared that they'd each seen themselves as the other's sister. One woman said she kept seeing a nun in her partner's face. When she told her partner this, the woman replied that in the previous day's session she'd had a past-life memory in which she was a nun. Most amazing was a local woman who saw in her partner's face her nineteen and one half year old brother who'd been killed in World War II. Her partner was a younger woman from Wisconsin who explained that she had also had a past life memory the day before; that of being a nineteen-and-a-half-year-old man in army boots and fatigues, killed in a war that had to be earlier than Viet Nam. The healing experienced by the local woman was palpable in the room. "Love dissolves anger," said Weiss. "That's the spiritual part. Valium doesn't do it. Prozac doesn't do it."
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And love heals grief.
T h e brilliant psychotherapist, cellular biologist, and author, Dr. J o a n Borysenko, was standing next to me, responding to m y keynote address, "Spiritual Implications of Past-Life T h e r a p y , " given at the Boston conference. H e r blue eyes danced as she related a ten-year-old story. At that time, she was a highly respected researcher on the faculty of Harvard Medical School. D u r i n g a conference on nutrition at a Boston hotel, at w h i c h J o a n was one of the speakers, she h a p p e n e d to run into her boss, w h o was attending a medical conference at the same hotel. H e was surprised to see her there. Back at w o r k , her boss threatened her. If she ever again lent the n a m e of H a r / a r d University to such a frivolous affair as a nutrition conference, she w o u l d n o t be w o r k i n g at Harvard anymore. Times have changed enormously since then, even at Harvard. N o t only is nutrition n o w a mainstream area of teaching and research, b u t some faculty members at H a r vard are c o n f i r m i n g and expanding o n m y w o r k with past-life regression therapy.
T h e next w e e k e n d I c o n d u c t e d a t w o - d a y seminar in San Juan, P u e r t o R i c o . Nearly five h u n d r e d people attended, and again there was magic. M a n y people experienced early-childhood, in-utero, and past-life memories. O n e participant, a forensic psychiatrist well respected in Puerto R i c o , experienced even m o r e . D u r i n g a guided meditation on the second day of the conference, his inner eye perceived the shadowy figure of a y o u n g w o m a n . She approached him.
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"Tell t h e m I am well," she directed him. "Tell t h e m Natasha is well." T h e psychiatrist felt "very silly" as he related his experience to the entire group. After all, he k n e w n o b o d y named Natasha. T h e name itself is a rarity in Puerto R i c o . And the message related by the ghostlike girl had no connection to anything happening in the conference or in his personal life. " D o e s the message have any m e a n i n g to anybody here?" the psychiatrist asked the audience. Suddenly a w o m a n screamed in the back of the auditorium. " M y daughter, my daughter!" H e r daughter, w h o had died suddenly in her twenties, only six m o n t h s before, was n a m e d Ana Natalia. H e r m o t h e r , and only her m o t h e r , called her Natasha. T h e psychiatrist had never m e t n o r heard of Natasha or her m o t h e r . H e was as unnerved by this extraordinary experience as was the mother. W h e n b o t h had regained their composure, Natasha's m o t h e r s h o w e d h i m a p h o t o of her daughter. T h e psychiatrist again g r e w pale. This was the same y o u n g w o m a n w h o s e shadowy figure had approached h i m w i t h her amazing message. T h e next w e e k e n d I led a conference in M e x i c o City. O n c e again, w o n d e r f u l magic was breaking o u t all around me. T h e familiar arms-turning-to-gooseflesh feeling was happening w i t h stunning regularity. After a meditation, a w o m a n in the audience began to cry happily. She had just experienced a past-life m e m o r y in w h i c h her current husband was her son. She had been a male in a medieval lifetime, and she, the father, had abandoned him. In this present life, her husband has always feared that she w o u l d leave him. This fear had no rational
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basis in the current life. She had never even threatened to leave him. She reassured h i m constantly, but his overw h e l m i n g insecurity devastated his life and was poisoning the relationship. N o w she understood the real source of her husband's dread. She rushed to telephone h i m w i t h the answer and with her reassurance that she w o u l d never leave h i m again. Relationships can sometimes heal incredibly fast.
At the e n d of the seminar's second day, as I was signing books, a w o m a n came through the line, crying softly. " T h a n k y o u so m u c h ! " she whispered as she took m y hand. " Y o u d o n ' t k n o w what you have d o n e for me! "I've had terrible pains in m y u p p e r back for the past ten years. I've b e e n to doctors here, in H o u s t o n , and Los Angeles. N o b o d y has been able to help me, and I've suffered terribly. In the past-life regression yesterday, I saw myself as a soldier being stabbed in the back, just below the neck. Just w h e r e my pain is. T h e pain disappeared, for the first time in ten years, and it's still gone!" She was so happy she could not stop smiling and crying. Lately I've b e e n telling people that regression therapy can take weeks or m o n t h s to w o r k , that they should not get discouraged because the process seems to be going slowly. This lady r e m i n d e d m e that progress can also be unbelievably rapid. As she walked away, I w o n d e r e d w h a t other miracles the future w o u l d bring.
T h e m o r e I see m y patients and w o r k s h o p participants recalling m e m o r i e s of their past lives, and the m o r e I witness their magical and mystical experiences, the m o r e
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I am reminded that the concept of reincarnation is only a bridge. T h e therapeutic results of walking over this bridge are beyond question. People get better, even if they d o n ' t believe in past lives. T h e belief of the therapist isn't important either. Memories are elicited and symptoms resolve. So many people, however, b e c o m e fixated on the bridge rather than finding what lies b e y o n d . T h e y obsess about m i n o r details, names, historical accuracies. Their whole focus is on discovering as m a n y details f r o m as many past lives as they can. T h e y are missing the forest for the trees. Reincarnation is a bridge to greater knowledge, wisdom, and understanding. It reminds us of w h a t w e take w i t h us and what w e do not, of w h y w e are here and of w h a t w e need to accomplish in order to m o v e on. It reminds us of the incredible guidance and help along the way, and of our loved ones returning with us to share o u r steps and to ease our burdens.
er 24 Finding myself to exist in the world, I believe I shall in some shape or other always exist; and, with all the inconveniences human life is liable to, I shall not object to a new edition oj mine, hoping, however, that the "errata" of the last may be corrected. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
L/ver the years, m a n y of my patients have become my teachers. T h e y constantly bring m e gifts of their stories and experiences, gifts of their k n o w l e d g e and spiritual understanding. S o m e have b e c o m e m y dear friends, sharing their lives as well as their gifts. Years ago, b e f o r e Many Lives, Many Masters was p u b lished but after m y w o r k with Catherine and dozens of subsequent regression patients, a patient brought in t w o messages for m e . She had received the messages in dreams and w r o t e t h e m d o w n u p o n awakening. T h e y came f r o m Philo, a person I, too, had seen in dreams and later identified in m y first b o o k . This patient did n o t k n o w about my dream experiences. T h e " c o i n c i d e n c e " of the same name was interesting. Did the messages c o m e f r o m her subconscious mind? From an outside source, such as Philo? F r o m a forgotten m e m o r y of s o m e t h i n g she had read or heard earlier in her life? Perhaps it does not matter. T o paraphrase my 171
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daughter, A m y : " R e a l is a matter of existence, and it existed in her m i n d . " M y messages f r o m Philo also spoke of the mind.
To BLW. The mind in each of us can comprehend all other things but is unable to know itself. For let it say what it is and whence, whether it is spirit or blood or fire or some other substance or only so much, whether it is corporeal or incorporeal. We are ignorant of when the soul enters the body. You've done good work in guiding beings to recognize that moment. It is a good beginning. Your friend, Philo
T h e other message came a w e e k later and dealt with the nature of G o d .
To BLW. We must remember, too, that the transcendent Being is the only cause, the father and the creator of the universe. That he fills all things not with His thought only but with His essence. His essence is not exhausted in the universe. He is above it and beyond. We may say that only His powers are in the universe. But while He is above His powers, He includes them. What they do, He does through them. N o w they are visible, working in the world. From their activity we get a clue to the nature of God. I dees Philo
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I can perceive great truths in these words, whatever their source.
I have m e t famous psychics and mediums, priests and gurus, and I have learned many things f r o m them. Some are incredibly talented, and some are not. It has b e c o m e clear to m e that there is n o direct correlation b e t w e e n psychic abilities and level of spiritual evolution. 1 r e m e m b e r a conversation I had with Edgar Mitchell, the w e l l - k n o w n astronaut and researcher of paranormal p h e n o m e n a . In his laboratory, Edgar had studied a famous psychic w h o could affect energies and by doing so could m o v e a compass point t h r o u g h a magnetic field and even m o v e objects by the p o w e r of his mind, a p h e n o m e n o n k n o w n as telekinesis. Despite these obviously advanced psychic abilities, Edgar noticed that the character and personality of this psychic w e r e definitely not consistent w i t h a high level of spiritual awareness. H e was the first to point o u t to m e that psychic abilities and spiritual d e v e l o p m e n t are not necessarily connected. I believe that the psychic abilities of some people increase as they progress spiritually, as they b e c o m e m o r e and m o r e aware. This is m o r e of an incidental acquisition rather than an essential step. O n e ' s ego should not b e c o m e inflated merely because the level of one's psychic abilities increases. T h e goal is to learn about love and compassion, about goodness and charity, not about b e c o m i n g a famous psychic.
Even therapists can b e c o m e extremely psychic, if they allow it, while w o r k i n g with their patients. Sometimes I can pick up psychic impressions, intuitive knowledge, or
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even physical impressions relating to the patient sitting in the comfortable chair across f r o m m e . A few years ago I treated a y o u n g Jewish w o m a n w h o was extremely despondent. She was feeling out of place, feeling that s o m e h o w she was in the w r o n g family. T h e center of b o t h of m y palms began to ache with a sharp pain as I talked to her, and I couldn't figure out why. I looked at the arms of m y leather chair. T h e r e was no break in the leather, no sharp edges, n o reason for this kind of pain. Yet it was getting even m o r e severe and beginning to sting and to burn. I looked at my hands, and 1 could see n o marks or impressions, n o cuts, n o reason for this. T h e n a t h o u g h t appeared suddenly 111 m y mind: This is like being crucified. I decided to ask her what this meant. " W h a t does the crucifixion mean to you? D o y o u have some c o n n e c t i o n with Jesus?" She just looked at me, her face blanching. She had been secretly going to church since she was eight years old. She had never told her parents about this feeling that she was really Catholic. This sensation in m y hands and the c o n n e c t i o n w e had made w e r e able to help m y patient break the logjam of her life and to k n o w that she was not crazy, she was not bizarre, that her feelings had a basis in reality. She began, finally, to understand and to heal. Eventually w e found a p o w e r f u l past life she had experienced in Palestine t w o thousand years ago. W e are all psychics, and w e are all gurus. W e have merely forgotten. A patient asked m e about Sai Baba, a great holy man in India. Is he an avatar, a divine incarnation, a descent of deity to earth in incarnate form?
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"I d o n ' t k n o w , " I replied, " b u t in some sense, aren't w e all?" W e are all gods. G o d is within us. W e should not be distracted by psychic abilities, for these are merely signposts along the way. W e need to express our divinity and our love by g o o d deeds, by service. Perhaps n o o n e should be anyone else's guru for longer than a m o n t h or t w o . R e p e a t e d trips to India are not necessary since the real j o u r n e y lies within. T h e r e are distinct benefits to having one's o w n transcendent experiences, to begin o p e n i n g up to the realization of the divine, to the understanding that life is so m u c h m o r e than meets the eye. O f t e n t i m e s you d o n ' t believe it if y o u d o n ' t see it. O u r path is an inward one. This is the m o r e difficult path, the m o r e painful j o u r n e y . W e bear the responsibility for our o w n learning. This responsibility cannot be externalized and d u m p e d on s o m e o n e else, o n some guru. T h e k i n g d o m of G o d is within y o u .
ue I am certain that I have been here as I am now a thousand times before, and I hope to return a thousand times. GOETHE
rom time to time, I hear f r o m Elizabeth and Pedro. T h e y are happily married n o w and live in Mexico, w h e r e Pedro has b e c o m e involved in politics in addition to his businesses. Elizabeth cares for their beautiful little girl, w h o has long b r o w n hair and loves picking flowers f r o m their garden and chasing the butterflies that flutter around her. " T h a n k you for everything," Elizabeth w r o t e recently. " W e are so happy, and w e o w e so m u c h of it to y o u . " I d o n ' t believe they o w e m e anything. I d o n ' t believe in coincidences. I helped t h e m to meet, b u t they w o u l d have m e t anyway, even w i t h o u t me. That's h o w destiny works. W h e n allowed to flow freely, love overcomes all obstacles.
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Dr. Weiss maintains a private clinic in Miami, Florida, where he has expanded his offices to include welltrained and highly experienced psychologists and social workers w h o also use regression therapy in their work. In addition, Dr. Weiss conducts seminars and experiential workshops nationally and internationally as well as training programs for professionals. H e has recorded a series of audiotapes in which he helps you discover and learn techniques of meditation, healing, deep relaxation, regression, and other visualization exercises. For more information, please contact: T h e Weiss Institute P O Box 560788 Miami, Florida 33256-0788, USA Phone:(001) 305 598-8151 Fax: (001) 305 598-4009 Website: www.brianweiss. c o m
W e all have a soulmate, someone who is special to us. In his book, psychiatrist and past-life therapist D r Brian Weiss describes the extraordinary case of two of his patients, Pedro and Elizabeth, whose shared lives and lifetimes unfolded quite separately in his office. Could they have loved - and lost - each other across time? D r Weiss explains that you may be awakened to the presence of your soul companion by a look, a dream, a m e m o r y or a feeling. Finding and reuniting with your soulmate will bring you profound bliss and happiness, safe in the knowledge that you are together always, to the end of time. 'A gripping love story that transcends time as we know it
Is Real takes
Only Love
us on a journey of special love shared by two who
continue to be together in many lifetimes.This makes you truly believe that we all really do have soulmates and that "Only Love Is Real".' DR R A Y M O N D M O O D Y A u t h o r of Life After
Death
'Psychiatrist Brian Weiss parts the veil between the worlds and gives us a glimpse of the true beauty of the human soul, its growth in relationships and the ultimate reality of love as both the source and completion of our journey.' J O A N B O R Y S E N K O A u t h o r of Fire in the Soul
A fascinating story that will open your mind, Explore the mystery, wisdom and wonder of life and love.' B E R N A R D S SIEGEL M.D. A u t h o r of Life, Medici
www.piatkus.co.uk ISBN 978-0-7499-1620-6 Cover design by Button Design Printed in Great Britain
£9.99
