9/1/2018
PAST LIFE STORY # 1
I recalled this past life in the office of my counselor Nancy Coleman, Ph.D. in Topsham Maine circa 2000. I asked her to guide me as I recalled a past life that was negatively influencing my ability to have money in this lifetime. I have lived below the poverty line since I was in my late 20’s—in the 1970’s. She counted me down into a light hypnotic trance and the first thing I saw was....
....A small but well-built, handsome young man with dark brown curls tumbling about his head. I see him standing, hidden in the shrubbery, staring intensely, through a tall window, into a ground floor room of a fabulous mansion. The vast room is lit brilliantly yet romantically by numerous chandeliers and candelabras. Many elegantly dressed couples are swirling around the ballroom floor. He is watching one young woman in particular who is smiling with excitement, but appears to be somewhat shy. She looks to be in her late teens or early twenties and she is wearing her honey blond hair in an elegant upswept, elaborately curled style. She has dark eyes and her satin gown is copper colored with black velvet trim. His eyes follow her hungrily. She is oblivious that he is watching her. His eyes devour her with hunger and something else—hatred? I know that he is a serf on a pre-revolutionary Russian estate.
He is hardly more than a slave working the land owned by the father of the young woman--a Russian noble who manages his estate’s labor-force with a harsh hand. The young man feels his low place in society keenly and resents it deeply. Daily he watches the family easily enjoying everything he desires for himself, especially the company of the young daughter. He loves her passionately, but she never looks at him. She is entirely unaware of his existence--so far beneath her notice is he. He is often sent to tend the extensive formal flower gardens that stretch out before the front of the palace of the Russian autocrat. And from this vantage point, he frequently is able to observe her comings and goings in her rich traveling costumes. He watches her entering or leaving handsome carriages with other noble people. Sometimes her twin white Samoyed dogs accompany her and he hears her calling to them in court French, “Félicité! Pascal! Viens ici, chéris idiots!” She and her companions fly off daily to one enjoyable pastime after another. He hates her and all of them for this.
Meanwhile he works very long hard hours gardening, farming, building, digging--whatever the Land Lord orders. He must constantly do what he is told...and he knows something is wrong about this. He asks himself, “Don’t I, another equal human being, have the same right to enjoy an easy life as much as they do?” However, they look down on him...and he looks up to them...and despises them all passionately. He feels that they are keeping from him all that to which he has a right. I see him next in his hovel—a rude wattle-and-daub, one-room cottage with white washed interior walls and a small fireplace on one side.
He stands holding a wooden bowl that had held his supper—a bowl of gruel—now consumed, but leaving him still hungry. He stares around him in disgust. He recalls the times he has been in the great house—to clean the chimneys—and he can still see the magnificent paintings on the walls. The portraits hold the greatest fascination for him. He longs to be an artist—a great painter of people’s likenesses. He feels that in his soul this is what he is meant to be. However, as he looks around his bare cottage all he feels is more rage. How can he buy the materials an artist needs to ply his trade? The pittance he is paid is enough to keep himself alive and nothing more! He was once in the city on an errand and he went to a shop that sold supplies for artists and everything called to him so strongly, but it was all so dear! He could never even hope to have enough money to purchase even a few simple colors, brushes and canvas. In addition, at this moment he is cold and does not have enough wood to build up his fire again after having made his dinner, for the master makes his tenants purchase the wood they cut for him and themselves! He has nothing...nothing at all!
In a rage, he throws his wooden bowl into the cold fireplace. It sends a shower of charred bits of wood out onto the hearth.
He angrily kicks them back into the fireplace, turns away, and lies down on his mean pallet of straw with its one moth-eaten blanket and a pillow of bird feathers that he has gleaned from the fowl yard and stuffed into an old burlap grain bag. Tears of indignation trickle down his cheeks as he slips into his one happy possession—the bliss of nocturnal oblivion. Of a sudden, however, things changed for him. It seemed that heaven was smiling upon him momentarily. It happened one day when he was wandering in the forest near his hut, gathering mushrooms into a bag that was slung over his shoulder—mushrooms to add to his dinner pot. As he went, though, he heard an unusual sound. He had to listen carefully to identify it. It sounded like a woman calling for help!
He ran quickly in the direction of the cries and soon broke through the underbrush into a small field that was bifurcated by a high stonewall. On one side of the wall lay a beautiful, Anglo-Karbada, 16 hand bay horse, who was struggling to rise, but could not, clearly because of a broken leg. The serf ran to him and immediately perceived that he would have to be put down. He patted the poor beast and tried to soothe him. Then he heard a groan from the other side of the wall. Climbing to the top and peering over, he saw none other than the daughter of the estate! He quickly climbed over and knelt down beside her. She looked up at him with pain in her eyes.
“Oh, thank God someone has found me, I’ve been here ever so long...and the sun is almost setting.” The serf glanced over his shoulder and noticed that it was just sinking below the tree line. “I thought I might have to be here all night,” she whimpered.
“How did you come to be here alone?” He asked her respectfully.
“I defied my father’s order to go to my room for an infraction of one of his interminable rules. Instead, I ran to the stables, which were empty of staff at the moment and saddled up my father’s horse. Then I raced off for a lark.”
“This does not look like a lark,” the serf observed bluntly.
“No, he took me where he wished, not where I directed him.”
“Well, my cottage is not far from here. I can take you there and then run to your father to tell him.”
“Then you know who I am.”
“Of course Miss. I have seen you often.”
“Your plan sounds like a good one, but I believe I have broken my ankle and cannot walk. Can you just put me back on my horse and lead me home?”
“I fear your horse is done for Miss. His leg is broken.”
“Oh dear! Poor Count!” Then apprehension spread over her face. “He is...or was...my father’s favorite. Papa refused to let me ride him—for he is high-spirited--but I wanted to defy him today. Oh, poor Count; what have I done to you?” she called out to him. “He tried to take that wall—even with me pulling with all of my strength on his mouth. And as he rose to take it I simply couldn’t hold on, and I slid off on this side. He went over alone, but I heard him scream as he landed.”
“Yes Miss. There is a pile of tumbled boulders on the other side. It was Providence that you got off on this side.”
“Poor beast! I have been listening to his groans and whimpers as he has attempted to rise off and on for hours. He, like myself seems to have bitten off more than he could chew today. He is—or was-- a gallant, if untamed, beast.”
“Yes Miss. I’ve seen him before, throwing even strong men from their seat. He has a powerful will.” The serf had always entertained a soft place in his heart for this fiercely independent animal.
“ I took him today without anyone’s knowing. My family must be perishing with fright for me by now. Oh, I am in dire straits!”
“Oh I can carry you to my cottage easily Miss. I am strong. And from there I can run for help.”
The girl shrank inside at the thought of being touched by this filthy creature, but she hid it, and instead thanked him for his kindness. The serf, who was rather psychically sensitive, had read the feeling of revulsion that had just rippled through her and it rankled him. His mood changed abruptly; he stood and stepped away a bit, then coolly suggested that she attempt to stand on her own, to which she assented. She did manage to get upright by holding onto the wall. However, as she attempted a step she cried out and crumpled back to the ground in a piteous heap. The serf leaped towards her and again offered to carry her.
“I guess if you must...I mean I hate to put you to the trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he said lifting her lightly into his arms. His heart lifted as well to be finally holding close the object of all his desire. The walk to his cottage was the happiest time he could ever remember in his life. It was with a feeling of desolation that he finally entered his dwelling and lay her down on his pallet, for he thought he would never get a chance to touch her again. He threw his bag of mushrooms down on the table and asked her if she was hungry.
“Utterly famished!”
“Would you care to partake of a simple meal with me? I have a squirrel stew simmering on the fire and I just need to add a few of these mushrooms." The girl was revolted, but didn’t wish to insult him. “Yes, I would be delighted to partake of your dinner, if you have enough,” she answered politely. “You haven’t had your dinner yet?”
“Nay. Not yet, but I can run to your father first if you like.” That was what she truly wanted, but she felt that she must not be rude to her rescuer.
“No, no!” She cried,” You must eat your dinner first...and...and then if you would be so kind as to get my father I would be eternally grateful.”
The Serf felt very pleased inside. She was to share a meal with him! He added the mushrooms and a precious bit of salt he had saved for a special time. He put them into the stew along with some savory herbs...and hoped she would find it fit to eat. And she did! Throughout the meal the Serf had mentally pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. He was actually living his powerful ambition-- to be with her! He hardly noticed, though, that in the back of his mind imaginings of it evolving into something more were forming. He would become anything for her. He would find a way to be a king for her if she would just continue to "know" him. His mind wandered off into a rosy future with her at his side and his bed where they shared the bliss of making children together. He was only half listening to her in the now. And, when he returned to the present, she was clearing her throat in a meaningful way. He startled and gave her his fuller yet not complete attention, for his mind had begun racing to find a way to keep her there longer. By the end of the meal he had a plan. He would gently seduce her and she would succumb to his charms as many a farm maid had.
“Look Miss, it’ll be a good hour before I can be back with your father. Why don’t you lie down again on the pallet and just be comfortable.”
“Yes, I think I might like that. I’m quite worn out with the pain and the excitement, and my fear of what my father will do to me.” She attempted to rise and hobble towards the pallet with him at her side, but she crumpled again with a cry of pain. Again, he carried her—this time from her chair at the table to the pallet and laid her down gently. She sighed with relief. He stood over her and gazed down on her. She was so very beautiful and vulnerable lying there. He so longed to touch her again. He kneeled down beside her, and despite feeling her alarm, he pushed on...he simply had to tell her something of his love.
“I’ve been watching you for so long now. We are about the same age and I’ve watched you grow from a pretty little girl to a beautiful young woman. And do you know what my dream is?” he queried her.
“No....” She said, feeling increasing uneasiness.
“My dream is to one day paint you.”
“Oh really? So you are an artist?” she asked neutrally, pulling away from him a bit.
He didn’t notice. All he could feel was the tremendous desire within him for her to respect him and to see him as a man –one as good as any of the men with whom she was beginning to spend time. “I am not one yet, but I will be. I’ll make paintings as grand as any of those in your father’s house.”
“How delightful.”
“And do you know how I want to paint you.”
“Do tell... me,” she said, quickly shifting quickly from sarcasm to sympathy.
“I want to paint you in your copper colored gown with the black velvet trim.”
“You’ve seen me in that? I only wore that last spring at my birthday ball.”
“Oh yes, I saw you, and I hope you won’t take it amiss if I confess that I stood at the window of the ballroom and watched you dancing so gracefully and looking so beautiful. I thought my heart would break for the loveliness of you.”
The daughter of the house now understood clearly her position. She was at the mercy of a man who was insanely in love with her. Her blood ran cold. How could she extricate herself? Everything in her upbringing called on her to treat him as the servant he was and to demand that he set off immediately to fetch her father. However, it was not natural to her to be commanding. Instead, she decided to play along with him and to humor him. “Well, I am extremely flattered...and you know I want to help you to become what you want...an artist...why I have some pin money and I could buy you some paints and things and you could make a start on your dream.”
However, the serf suddenly saw through her. “No you won’t! You’re just humoring me. You’re afraid of me. You think I’m a lunatic!”
“No! Not at all! I just want you to be whatever you desire.”
“An artist?” And he suddenly shouted with laughter. “What I want to be is your husband...or if not that, then your lover.”
The girl turned white. He was becoming ferocious. She pulled further away from him. However, he reached out and drew her towards him forcefully by her arm. Then he leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. He was breathing heavily now as he whispered fiercely into her ear, “You need a real man, not those pale dandies that you go about with. They’re not men. You need a real man. Like me!”
She pushed him away hard and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Now she was beyond fear and moving into the realm of anger. “How dare you touch me, you disgusting pig keeper! How dare you impose your revolting dreams upon me. I? Your wife? Your lover?” Then she made the very big mistake of laughing loudly and hysterically in his face with her dark eyes flashing at him. He could not bear it. He would teach her to respect him. The raging range of emotions of the past hour had given him an erection that was almost painfully hard. He would use it, if not in love, which she had brutally rejected, then in hate. He would teach her a lesson that she’d never forget. He pinned her down on the pallet and began to tear at her clothes. She tried to fight him off, but he over-powered her. Soon he had freed himself of his trousers and had forced her legs apart. He stared at her terrified face as he drove his member into her body. He was so intent on his purpose that he barely heard her screams any more, much less even begin to imagine the sheer terror that comes over a woman when someone forces their way into their body—into their very being! He no longer cared about seducing her; he was brutal and without compassion; he was only with his tremendous desire to make her feel all the pain of rejection that he had felt all of his life. He wanted her to experience all of the humiliation that he had undergone at her hands and at the hands of her family. He wanted revenge. Nothing else was real to him anymore.
When his emotions and erection were spent, he collapsed on top of her bleeding body. She lay there stunned and silent, tearful pleas abandoned and her eyes vacant and staring. She was utterly catatonic with the amount of hatred he had poured into her body. Slowly, he began to realize what he had done and what the implications were for his life. He then stood up and pulled himself together. All he could think of now was that he had to get away. He threw what few possessions he had into the mushroom bag and ran out the door—leaving it open behind him; leaving a shattered being behind him filled with his rage and her own; with his fear and pain, and her own. She would never be the same.
The serf made his way to a seaport and hired on as a shipmate on a vessel headed for South America. However, before the ship could sail, soldiers of the king and mercenaries hired by the Land Lord found him. He was taken to prison, and thence to trial where he was sentenced to death by hanging. He knew he was guilty, but nonetheless, he died full of bitter resentment and reproach towards the family whose estate he had slaved on, and towards all of the people who had “brought him to justice.”
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As I came out of trance and found myself in Nancy’s office on the couch, I was in a gray state of denial.
We talked impassively about what I had seen, which I had related to her as I had received the images and feelings during the trance. It was some time before the truth of what I had seen dawned on me.
“Oh my God! I was the serf!” I suddenly realized with surprise and dismay. At first, as I had considered the recall, I had identified with the daughter. However, Nancy confirmed it.
“I wondered if you could face it.”
It was a tremendous shock, but it opened the door for me to confess that underneath I had known that he was I and that the daughter was actually my father in this lifetime.
I had endured a horrible childhood with my father in this lifetime; for he, a severely addicted alcoholic, had used my body incestuously from ages 2-13, not only to vent his insatiable lust (which he directed at many other women as well) but to vent his spleen towards females in general. I experienced over and over in this lifetime what he had felt as the Russian’s daughter.
I am sure that before my reincarnation this time that I knew there was a strong possibility that this might happen. However, in our between life agreement, when we cooperatively composed the sketch of possibilities in this life together, I am sure that both of us hoped we could make something better of it than we had before.
However, that did not happen. We forgot, and our learning goes on to this day. During my childhood, we made a mess of it. (Yes, I do believe children actively co-create childhood trauma. I will explain this more at the end of the book.) I have suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder all of this life. And he suffered too in his own way. He hated his life which had begun with an alcoholic father, parental abuse and neglect and very likely sibling abuse as well (he was the youngest or 7 children.) and despite an abiding fear of hell, he committed suicide when I was 18. I am sure many feelings All of this plus his own "sins" contributed to a rash decision on his part to commit suicide at age 54. I was 18. I'm sure his deeply hidden feelings of shame and regret about having used me the way he had was a factor in making this choice.
We had both passed on our feelings of powerlessness, shame, fear, anger and guilt to the other in this lifetime and the other. "Passing on Unkindness" is a terrible psychological phenomenon. It's a way of trying to rid ones self of unbearable self knowledge of one's wrong-doings. He had been abused by his drunken father and he did the same with me. He passed it on. His father (unclaimed bastard child of the King of Denmark) had passed it on to him.
A few years after my father's crossing over, I suddenly had a powerful awareness that he, in his afterlife growth, had just reached the point –on the other side--of being able to look at what he had done. He was at the point in his spiritual development and healing where he was strong enough to experience for himself how it had felt to me. He was about to feel fully what it was like to be the recipient of his incestuous attentions towards me from ages 2-13.
I believe I was sitting in meditation when I suddenly became aware of his signature vibration and what he was doing. I was aware that he was reviewing his treatment of me with his teachers. And as he dove into the awareness, I could hear his agonized screams and later felt his bottomless remorse. He was coming to understand and experience being the recipient of his behavior towards me. He lived it first hand—as it were-- and it was horrifying!
Yet, after that, he was able to go on and do more healing and growth with the help of his teachers, guides and Inner Being. He had learned that he never wanted to be a perpetrator again and eventually he learned to forgive himself and move on.
However, several years more passed before I was able to fully set aside our “sins”--the ones that we had committed together. I had done a great deal of spiritual work by then and had realized and understood more about him—in a compassionate way—and about myself as well. I had come to know about the “Law of Attraction” and Karma too. I saw the negative aspect (there is positive as well) of those things-- not as punishment-- but as a way to feel what others felt when they were the object of our unkindness. We want to realize our Oneness and to know viscerally that we never want to do that again.
The final moment of full realization came to me when I had a “Real Dream” that involved meeting my father in his after-life reality. Real Dreams are not symbolic like our regular dreams, but they involve our actually meeting another soul—one with whom we have had strong connections. In mine, my father and I wanted to bring about resolution to our lives together...so we will never want to do it again.
In this dream, I was walking down the hallway of a building that felt coldly modern and institutional. There was a metal-framed glass doorway and a large window that looked into an office. I went in and there were two very large men there—shadowy beings who felt like guardians for my father—something like male nurses on a psychiatric ward. However, they were bigger, kinder and more spiritually advanced. They stood off by themselves with their backs to me and spoke in low tones to each other, meanwhile being fully aware of me...and of my father who walked in a bit later. We simply looked at each other soberly and then shook hands. I felt that we shared a clear understanding that we were done with this sort of reincarnational flip-flop drama. We never will have to do this again—not with each other—and hopefully not with anyone else.
This past life recall had come to me in answer to my question—"why am I always so poor, financially. " I can only assume that I had carried a lot of guilt into this lifetime, not only from the Russian lifetime, but from others as well. I also had taken on a load of guilt from my perpetrator—my father. I believe I brought in a great deal of low self-esteem and it was deepened by this childhood sexual abuse.
And if, as Oprah Winfrey has stated, the amount of money one has is often a reflection of one’s self valuation—then I have not valued myself much at all in this life. I have barely scraped by financially since my divorce in 1974, although this year my income has loosened up and become “stretchable.” I attribute this to my getting to know my Inner Being—who—like everyone’s Inner Beings does-- loves me unconditionally! And our Inner Beings want us to love ourselves unconditionally as well.
As "Abraham" (Esther Hicks) says, “You cannot get it wrong, because you can never get it done.” I interpret this as, “We are all imperfect—and that is perfect. And we have eternity to work with it and to refine it.” However, at the same we are meant to understand that any unkindness to another rebounds onto ourselves—immediately-- and also in the long run, until we learn the lesson.
I had a vision concerning the full meaning of that last statement once on an inner journey—perhaps two years ago—a journey through the inner spiritual planes. I was in a very high place and suddenly saw clearly and felt clearly that a full grasp of the implications and repercussions of being unkind to another person or being would scare the bejeesus out of anyone. And they would stop immediately ever being unkind to anyone ever again. We are all One; what we do unto one-another, we do unto ourselves. And here on the Earth plane we have become inured to the full depth of our "sins" towards one-another. We take the outrageous way we treat one another for granted, and as being normal. IT IS NOT! Things will improve dramatically as we evolve spiritually as a race--the Human Race.
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Sometime after I had recalled the Feudal Serf-Life, I read Denise Linn’s book, Past Lives, Present Dreams—about reincarnation and repatterning a past life. I describe repatterning in detail on this page, and you are welcome to read that either later or now. But put briefly, my aim at the time of repatterning the Feudal Serf Life was to change the past life so that it would affect my current life in some positive way. I no longer do that. I think its best to leave the past alone.
I now observe the other life from a distance, seek the significant choice points and follow them out to the end of that life. And from that different life, I try to learn something useful about this one. But I leave the original one to be what it is and to continue to unfold in its own way--which they do.
However, I hadn’t come to that realization yet when I did this Serf-Life repatterning. Nonetheless, I would like to share what I did at this point.
I went into deep meditation and asked for guidance from my Inner Being. Then I reviewed the Serf Life in terms of significant choice points. Interestingly enough, the point was not overtly dramatic. The major choice point , in that life, was at the moment I was raving about not being able to afford to be an artist and I threw the wooden bowl into the fireplace.
In the repatterning exercise, I saw the bits of burnt wood—charcoal—lying about scattered over the hearth, and instead of kicking them back into the fireplace, I picked one up. Then I looked around the room and saw all of my smooth bare white walls. I walked over to one and called up in my mind an image of the daughter of the house; then I began to draw her face—on my wall!
This was a tremendously significant moment, for suddenly I was doing an act of great power--I was making art--and I was fulfilling my dream of being an artist. In that moment, I had become an artist!
I imagine that I did many more drawings on the wall. And since making art is a wonderful way to connect more strongly and consciously with one’s Inner Being, I began to receive excellent advice. I found a way to make more and more portraits. Eventually, I was led to a means of getting the materials I needed to learn how to paint in oils.
From there on, I became quite an accomplished portrait artist and eventually made my way to the seaport where I had been caught in my original serf life, but now I was well-dressed and handsome freeman, and I carried a purse full of gold. I sailed off to South America and became a popular portraitist there among the wealthy. I married the beautiful daughter of a wealthy plantation owner and ended up being master of that plantation after his death.
So my Inner Being led me to a very real probable life, as Seth calls them, in which I got everything I desired. I became an excellent painter of portraits, I made a vast amount of money, I had a beautiful relationship with my loving wife, I begat children and I got to be master rather than servant.
I can still see the image of myself at the head of a massive dining table with my gorgeous wife at the foot and my guests ranged 'round it, enjoying themselves happily through my largess. I am lounging back in my chair—handsome and still youthful—and with a happy look of deep contentment and satisfaction on my face. I believe that that life is just as real as the original one in which I went down a dark road and raped the woman I loved, and was hung by the neck until dead for it.
The choice point where I picked up the charcoal was inspired. In that moment, I dropped the anger, blame, and resentment. I opened up to possibilities of something better. And then my Inner Being created something beautiful for me--a new path—out of almost nothing. Inner Beings are utterly amazing! Mine used a bit of charred wood and a wall washed in white lime to change the course of my life for the better. There were many more choice points I am sure in the repatterned life, but once one has even a slight grip on the existence of one’s Inner Being and the Divine Guidance it is always offering, one can learn to make better and better choices. We are all unlimited beings who are meant to be happy and fulfilled!
PAST LIFE STORY # 1
"The Russian Feudal Serf"
I recalled this past life in the office of my counselor Nancy Coleman, Ph.D. in Topsham Maine circa 2000. I asked her to guide me as I recalled a past life that was negatively influencing my ability to have money in this lifetime. I have lived below the poverty line since I was in my late 20’s—in the 1970’s. She counted me down into a light hypnotic trance and the first thing I saw was....
....A small but well-built, handsome young man with dark brown curls tumbling about his head. I see him standing, hidden in the shrubbery, staring intensely, through a tall window, into a ground floor room of a fabulous mansion. The vast room is lit brilliantly yet romantically by numerous chandeliers and candelabras. Many elegantly dressed couples are swirling around the ballroom floor. He is watching one young woman in particular who is smiling with excitement, but appears to be somewhat shy. She looks to be in her late teens or early twenties and she is wearing her honey blond hair in an elegant upswept, elaborately curled style. She has dark eyes and her satin gown is copper colored with black velvet trim. His eyes follow her hungrily. She is oblivious that he is watching her. His eyes devour her with hunger and something else—hatred? I know that he is a serf on a pre-revolutionary Russian estate.
He is hardly more than a slave working the land owned by the father of the young woman--a Russian noble who manages his estate’s labor-force with a harsh hand. The young man feels his low place in society keenly and resents it deeply. Daily he watches the family easily enjoying everything he desires for himself, especially the company of the young daughter. He loves her passionately, but she never looks at him. She is entirely unaware of his existence--so far beneath her notice is he. He is often sent to tend the extensive formal flower gardens that stretch out before the front of the palace of the Russian autocrat. And from this vantage point, he frequently is able to observe her comings and goings in her rich traveling costumes. He watches her entering or leaving handsome carriages with other noble people. Sometimes her twin white Samoyed dogs accompany her and he hears her calling to them in court French, “Félicité! Pascal! Viens ici, chéris idiots!” She and her companions fly off daily to one enjoyable pastime after another. He hates her and all of them for this.
Meanwhile he works very long hard hours gardening, farming, building, digging--whatever the Land Lord orders. He must constantly do what he is told...and he knows something is wrong about this. He asks himself, “Don’t I, another equal human being, have the same right to enjoy an easy life as much as they do?” However, they look down on him...and he looks up to them...and despises them all passionately. He feels that they are keeping from him all that to which he has a right. I see him next in his hovel—a rude wattle-and-daub, one-room cottage with white washed interior walls and a small fireplace on one side.
He stands holding a wooden bowl that had held his supper—a bowl of gruel—now consumed, but leaving him still hungry. He stares around him in disgust. He recalls the times he has been in the great house—to clean the chimneys—and he can still see the magnificent paintings on the walls. The portraits hold the greatest fascination for him. He longs to be an artist—a great painter of people’s likenesses. He feels that in his soul this is what he is meant to be. However, as he looks around his bare cottage all he feels is more rage. How can he buy the materials an artist needs to ply his trade? The pittance he is paid is enough to keep himself alive and nothing more! He was once in the city on an errand and he went to a shop that sold supplies for artists and everything called to him so strongly, but it was all so dear! He could never even hope to have enough money to purchase even a few simple colors, brushes and canvas. In addition, at this moment he is cold and does not have enough wood to build up his fire again after having made his dinner, for the master makes his tenants purchase the wood they cut for him and themselves! He has nothing...nothing at all!
In a rage, he throws his wooden bowl into the cold fireplace. It sends a shower of charred bits of wood out onto the hearth.
He angrily kicks them back into the fireplace, turns away, and lies down on his mean pallet of straw with its one moth-eaten blanket and a pillow of bird feathers that he has gleaned from the fowl yard and stuffed into an old burlap grain bag. Tears of indignation trickle down his cheeks as he slips into his one happy possession—the bliss of nocturnal oblivion. Of a sudden, however, things changed for him. It seemed that heaven was smiling upon him momentarily. It happened one day when he was wandering in the forest near his hut, gathering mushrooms into a bag that was slung over his shoulder—mushrooms to add to his dinner pot. As he went, though, he heard an unusual sound. He had to listen carefully to identify it. It sounded like a woman calling for help!
He ran quickly in the direction of the cries and soon broke through the underbrush into a small field that was bifurcated by a high stonewall. On one side of the wall lay a beautiful, Anglo-Karbada, 16 hand bay horse, who was struggling to rise, but could not, clearly because of a broken leg. The serf ran to him and immediately perceived that he would have to be put down. He patted the poor beast and tried to soothe him. Then he heard a groan from the other side of the wall. Climbing to the top and peering over, he saw none other than the daughter of the estate! He quickly climbed over and knelt down beside her. She looked up at him with pain in her eyes.
“Oh, thank God someone has found me, I’ve been here ever so long...and the sun is almost setting.” The serf glanced over his shoulder and noticed that it was just sinking below the tree line. “I thought I might have to be here all night,” she whimpered.
“How did you come to be here alone?” He asked her respectfully.
“I defied my father’s order to go to my room for an infraction of one of his interminable rules. Instead, I ran to the stables, which were empty of staff at the moment and saddled up my father’s horse. Then I raced off for a lark.”
“This does not look like a lark,” the serf observed bluntly.
“No, he took me where he wished, not where I directed him.”
“Well, my cottage is not far from here. I can take you there and then run to your father to tell him.”
“Then you know who I am.”
“Of course Miss. I have seen you often.”
“Your plan sounds like a good one, but I believe I have broken my ankle and cannot walk. Can you just put me back on my horse and lead me home?”
“I fear your horse is done for Miss. His leg is broken.”
“Oh dear! Poor Count!” Then apprehension spread over her face. “He is...or was...my father’s favorite. Papa refused to let me ride him—for he is high-spirited--but I wanted to defy him today. Oh, poor Count; what have I done to you?” she called out to him. “He tried to take that wall—even with me pulling with all of my strength on his mouth. And as he rose to take it I simply couldn’t hold on, and I slid off on this side. He went over alone, but I heard him scream as he landed.”
“Yes Miss. There is a pile of tumbled boulders on the other side. It was Providence that you got off on this side.”
“Poor beast! I have been listening to his groans and whimpers as he has attempted to rise off and on for hours. He, like myself seems to have bitten off more than he could chew today. He is—or was-- a gallant, if untamed, beast.”
“Yes Miss. I’ve seen him before, throwing even strong men from their seat. He has a powerful will.” The serf had always entertained a soft place in his heart for this fiercely independent animal.
“ I took him today without anyone’s knowing. My family must be perishing with fright for me by now. Oh, I am in dire straits!”
“Oh I can carry you to my cottage easily Miss. I am strong. And from there I can run for help.”
The girl shrank inside at the thought of being touched by this filthy creature, but she hid it, and instead thanked him for his kindness. The serf, who was rather psychically sensitive, had read the feeling of revulsion that had just rippled through her and it rankled him. His mood changed abruptly; he stood and stepped away a bit, then coolly suggested that she attempt to stand on her own, to which she assented. She did manage to get upright by holding onto the wall. However, as she attempted a step she cried out and crumpled back to the ground in a piteous heap. The serf leaped towards her and again offered to carry her.
“I guess if you must...I mean I hate to put you to the trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” he said lifting her lightly into his arms. His heart lifted as well to be finally holding close the object of all his desire. The walk to his cottage was the happiest time he could ever remember in his life. It was with a feeling of desolation that he finally entered his dwelling and lay her down on his pallet, for he thought he would never get a chance to touch her again. He threw his bag of mushrooms down on the table and asked her if she was hungry.
“Utterly famished!”
“Would you care to partake of a simple meal with me? I have a squirrel stew simmering on the fire and I just need to add a few of these mushrooms." The girl was revolted, but didn’t wish to insult him. “Yes, I would be delighted to partake of your dinner, if you have enough,” she answered politely. “You haven’t had your dinner yet?”
“Nay. Not yet, but I can run to your father first if you like.” That was what she truly wanted, but she felt that she must not be rude to her rescuer.
“No, no!” She cried,” You must eat your dinner first...and...and then if you would be so kind as to get my father I would be eternally grateful.”
The Serf felt very pleased inside. She was to share a meal with him! He added the mushrooms and a precious bit of salt he had saved for a special time. He put them into the stew along with some savory herbs...and hoped she would find it fit to eat. And she did! Throughout the meal the Serf had mentally pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. He was actually living his powerful ambition-- to be with her! He hardly noticed, though, that in the back of his mind imaginings of it evolving into something more were forming. He would become anything for her. He would find a way to be a king for her if she would just continue to "know" him. His mind wandered off into a rosy future with her at his side and his bed where they shared the bliss of making children together. He was only half listening to her in the now. And, when he returned to the present, she was clearing her throat in a meaningful way. He startled and gave her his fuller yet not complete attention, for his mind had begun racing to find a way to keep her there longer. By the end of the meal he had a plan. He would gently seduce her and she would succumb to his charms as many a farm maid had.
“Look Miss, it’ll be a good hour before I can be back with your father. Why don’t you lie down again on the pallet and just be comfortable.”
“Yes, I think I might like that. I’m quite worn out with the pain and the excitement, and my fear of what my father will do to me.” She attempted to rise and hobble towards the pallet with him at her side, but she crumpled again with a cry of pain. Again, he carried her—this time from her chair at the table to the pallet and laid her down gently. She sighed with relief. He stood over her and gazed down on her. She was so very beautiful and vulnerable lying there. He so longed to touch her again. He kneeled down beside her, and despite feeling her alarm, he pushed on...he simply had to tell her something of his love.
“I’ve been watching you for so long now. We are about the same age and I’ve watched you grow from a pretty little girl to a beautiful young woman. And do you know what my dream is?” he queried her.
“No....” She said, feeling increasing uneasiness.
“My dream is to one day paint you.”
“Oh really? So you are an artist?” she asked neutrally, pulling away from him a bit.
He didn’t notice. All he could feel was the tremendous desire within him for her to respect him and to see him as a man –one as good as any of the men with whom she was beginning to spend time. “I am not one yet, but I will be. I’ll make paintings as grand as any of those in your father’s house.”
“How delightful.”
“And do you know how I want to paint you.”
“Do tell... me,” she said, quickly shifting quickly from sarcasm to sympathy.
“I want to paint you in your copper colored gown with the black velvet trim.”
“You’ve seen me in that? I only wore that last spring at my birthday ball.”
“Oh yes, I saw you, and I hope you won’t take it amiss if I confess that I stood at the window of the ballroom and watched you dancing so gracefully and looking so beautiful. I thought my heart would break for the loveliness of you.”
The daughter of the house now understood clearly her position. She was at the mercy of a man who was insanely in love with her. Her blood ran cold. How could she extricate herself? Everything in her upbringing called on her to treat him as the servant he was and to demand that he set off immediately to fetch her father. However, it was not natural to her to be commanding. Instead, she decided to play along with him and to humor him. “Well, I am extremely flattered...and you know I want to help you to become what you want...an artist...why I have some pin money and I could buy you some paints and things and you could make a start on your dream.”
However, the serf suddenly saw through her. “No you won’t! You’re just humoring me. You’re afraid of me. You think I’m a lunatic!”
“No! Not at all! I just want you to be whatever you desire.”
“An artist?” And he suddenly shouted with laughter. “What I want to be is your husband...or if not that, then your lover.”
The girl turned white. He was becoming ferocious. She pulled further away from him. However, he reached out and drew her towards him forcefully by her arm. Then he leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. He was breathing heavily now as he whispered fiercely into her ear, “You need a real man, not those pale dandies that you go about with. They’re not men. You need a real man. Like me!”
She pushed him away hard and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Now she was beyond fear and moving into the realm of anger. “How dare you touch me, you disgusting pig keeper! How dare you impose your revolting dreams upon me. I? Your wife? Your lover?” Then she made the very big mistake of laughing loudly and hysterically in his face with her dark eyes flashing at him. He could not bear it. He would teach her to respect him. The raging range of emotions of the past hour had given him an erection that was almost painfully hard. He would use it, if not in love, which she had brutally rejected, then in hate. He would teach her a lesson that she’d never forget. He pinned her down on the pallet and began to tear at her clothes. She tried to fight him off, but he over-powered her. Soon he had freed himself of his trousers and had forced her legs apart. He stared at her terrified face as he drove his member into her body. He was so intent on his purpose that he barely heard her screams any more, much less even begin to imagine the sheer terror that comes over a woman when someone forces their way into their body—into their very being! He no longer cared about seducing her; he was brutal and without compassion; he was only with his tremendous desire to make her feel all the pain of rejection that he had felt all of his life. He wanted her to experience all of the humiliation that he had undergone at her hands and at the hands of her family. He wanted revenge. Nothing else was real to him anymore.
When his emotions and erection were spent, he collapsed on top of her bleeding body. She lay there stunned and silent, tearful pleas abandoned and her eyes vacant and staring. She was utterly catatonic with the amount of hatred he had poured into her body. Slowly, he began to realize what he had done and what the implications were for his life. He then stood up and pulled himself together. All he could think of now was that he had to get away. He threw what few possessions he had into the mushroom bag and ran out the door—leaving it open behind him; leaving a shattered being behind him filled with his rage and her own; with his fear and pain, and her own. She would never be the same.
The serf made his way to a seaport and hired on as a shipmate on a vessel headed for South America. However, before the ship could sail, soldiers of the king and mercenaries hired by the Land Lord found him. He was taken to prison, and thence to trial where he was sentenced to death by hanging. He knew he was guilty, but nonetheless, he died full of bitter resentment and reproach towards the family whose estate he had slaved on, and towards all of the people who had “brought him to justice.”
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Out of Trance
As I came out of trance and found myself in Nancy’s office on the couch, I was in a gray state of denial.
We talked impassively about what I had seen, which I had related to her as I had received the images and feelings during the trance. It was some time before the truth of what I had seen dawned on me.
“Oh my God! I was the serf!” I suddenly realized with surprise and dismay. At first, as I had considered the recall, I had identified with the daughter. However, Nancy confirmed it.
“I wondered if you could face it.”
It was a tremendous shock, but it opened the door for me to confess that underneath I had known that he was I and that the daughter was actually my father in this lifetime.
I had endured a horrible childhood with my father in this lifetime; for he, a severely addicted alcoholic, had used my body incestuously from ages 2-13, not only to vent his insatiable lust (which he directed at many other women as well) but to vent his spleen towards females in general. I experienced over and over in this lifetime what he had felt as the Russian’s daughter.
I am sure that before my reincarnation this time that I knew there was a strong possibility that this might happen. However, in our between life agreement, when we cooperatively composed the sketch of possibilities in this life together, I am sure that both of us hoped we could make something better of it than we had before.
However, that did not happen. We forgot, and our learning goes on to this day. During my childhood, we made a mess of it. (Yes, I do believe children actively co-create childhood trauma. I will explain this more at the end of the book.) I have suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder all of this life. And he suffered too in his own way. He hated his life which had begun with an alcoholic father, parental abuse and neglect and very likely sibling abuse as well (he was the youngest or 7 children.) and despite an abiding fear of hell, he committed suicide when I was 18. I am sure many feelings All of this plus his own "sins" contributed to a rash decision on his part to commit suicide at age 54. I was 18. I'm sure his deeply hidden feelings of shame and regret about having used me the way he had was a factor in making this choice.
We had both passed on our feelings of powerlessness, shame, fear, anger and guilt to the other in this lifetime and the other. "Passing on Unkindness" is a terrible psychological phenomenon. It's a way of trying to rid ones self of unbearable self knowledge of one's wrong-doings. He had been abused by his drunken father and he did the same with me. He passed it on. His father (unclaimed bastard child of the King of Denmark) had passed it on to him.
A few years after my father's crossing over, I suddenly had a powerful awareness that he, in his afterlife growth, had just reached the point –on the other side--of being able to look at what he had done. He was at the point in his spiritual development and healing where he was strong enough to experience for himself how it had felt to me. He was about to feel fully what it was like to be the recipient of his incestuous attentions towards me from ages 2-13.
I believe I was sitting in meditation when I suddenly became aware of his signature vibration and what he was doing. I was aware that he was reviewing his treatment of me with his teachers. And as he dove into the awareness, I could hear his agonized screams and later felt his bottomless remorse. He was coming to understand and experience being the recipient of his behavior towards me. He lived it first hand—as it were-- and it was horrifying!
Yet, after that, he was able to go on and do more healing and growth with the help of his teachers, guides and Inner Being. He had learned that he never wanted to be a perpetrator again and eventually he learned to forgive himself and move on.
However, several years more passed before I was able to fully set aside our “sins”--the ones that we had committed together. I had done a great deal of spiritual work by then and had realized and understood more about him—in a compassionate way—and about myself as well. I had come to know about the “Law of Attraction” and Karma too. I saw the negative aspect (there is positive as well) of those things-- not as punishment-- but as a way to feel what others felt when they were the object of our unkindness. We want to realize our Oneness and to know viscerally that we never want to do that again.
The final moment of full realization came to me when I had a “Real Dream” that involved meeting my father in his after-life reality. Real Dreams are not symbolic like our regular dreams, but they involve our actually meeting another soul—one with whom we have had strong connections. In mine, my father and I wanted to bring about resolution to our lives together...so we will never want to do it again.
In this dream, I was walking down the hallway of a building that felt coldly modern and institutional. There was a metal-framed glass doorway and a large window that looked into an office. I went in and there were two very large men there—shadowy beings who felt like guardians for my father—something like male nurses on a psychiatric ward. However, they were bigger, kinder and more spiritually advanced. They stood off by themselves with their backs to me and spoke in low tones to each other, meanwhile being fully aware of me...and of my father who walked in a bit later. We simply looked at each other soberly and then shook hands. I felt that we shared a clear understanding that we were done with this sort of reincarnational flip-flop drama. We never will have to do this again—not with each other—and hopefully not with anyone else.
This past life recall had come to me in answer to my question—"why am I always so poor, financially. " I can only assume that I had carried a lot of guilt into this lifetime, not only from the Russian lifetime, but from others as well. I also had taken on a load of guilt from my perpetrator—my father. I believe I brought in a great deal of low self-esteem and it was deepened by this childhood sexual abuse.
And if, as Oprah Winfrey has stated, the amount of money one has is often a reflection of one’s self valuation—then I have not valued myself much at all in this life. I have barely scraped by financially since my divorce in 1974, although this year my income has loosened up and become “stretchable.” I attribute this to my getting to know my Inner Being—who—like everyone’s Inner Beings does-- loves me unconditionally! And our Inner Beings want us to love ourselves unconditionally as well.
As "Abraham" (Esther Hicks) says, “You cannot get it wrong, because you can never get it done.” I interpret this as, “We are all imperfect—and that is perfect. And we have eternity to work with it and to refine it.” However, at the same we are meant to understand that any unkindness to another rebounds onto ourselves—immediately-- and also in the long run, until we learn the lesson.
I had a vision concerning the full meaning of that last statement once on an inner journey—perhaps two years ago—a journey through the inner spiritual planes. I was in a very high place and suddenly saw clearly and felt clearly that a full grasp of the implications and repercussions of being unkind to another person or being would scare the bejeesus out of anyone. And they would stop immediately ever being unkind to anyone ever again. We are all One; what we do unto one-another, we do unto ourselves. And here on the Earth plane we have become inured to the full depth of our "sins" towards one-another. We take the outrageous way we treat one another for granted, and as being normal. IT IS NOT! Things will improve dramatically as we evolve spiritually as a race--the Human Race.
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Repatterning the Serf Life
Sometime after I had recalled the Feudal Serf-Life, I read Denise Linn’s book, Past Lives, Present Dreams—about reincarnation and repatterning a past life. I describe repatterning in detail on this page, and you are welcome to read that either later or now. But put briefly, my aim at the time of repatterning the Feudal Serf Life was to change the past life so that it would affect my current life in some positive way. I no longer do that. I think its best to leave the past alone.
I now observe the other life from a distance, seek the significant choice points and follow them out to the end of that life. And from that different life, I try to learn something useful about this one. But I leave the original one to be what it is and to continue to unfold in its own way--which they do.
However, I hadn’t come to that realization yet when I did this Serf-Life repatterning. Nonetheless, I would like to share what I did at this point.
I went into deep meditation and asked for guidance from my Inner Being. Then I reviewed the Serf Life in terms of significant choice points. Interestingly enough, the point was not overtly dramatic. The major choice point , in that life, was at the moment I was raving about not being able to afford to be an artist and I threw the wooden bowl into the fireplace.
In the repatterning exercise, I saw the bits of burnt wood—charcoal—lying about scattered over the hearth, and instead of kicking them back into the fireplace, I picked one up. Then I looked around the room and saw all of my smooth bare white walls. I walked over to one and called up in my mind an image of the daughter of the house; then I began to draw her face—on my wall!
This was a tremendously significant moment, for suddenly I was doing an act of great power--I was making art--and I was fulfilling my dream of being an artist. In that moment, I had become an artist!
I imagine that I did many more drawings on the wall. And since making art is a wonderful way to connect more strongly and consciously with one’s Inner Being, I began to receive excellent advice. I found a way to make more and more portraits. Eventually, I was led to a means of getting the materials I needed to learn how to paint in oils.
From there on, I became quite an accomplished portrait artist and eventually made my way to the seaport where I had been caught in my original serf life, but now I was well-dressed and handsome freeman, and I carried a purse full of gold. I sailed off to South America and became a popular portraitist there among the wealthy. I married the beautiful daughter of a wealthy plantation owner and ended up being master of that plantation after his death.
So my Inner Being led me to a very real probable life, as Seth calls them, in which I got everything I desired. I became an excellent painter of portraits, I made a vast amount of money, I had a beautiful relationship with my loving wife, I begat children and I got to be master rather than servant.
I can still see the image of myself at the head of a massive dining table with my gorgeous wife at the foot and my guests ranged 'round it, enjoying themselves happily through my largess. I am lounging back in my chair—handsome and still youthful—and with a happy look of deep contentment and satisfaction on my face. I believe that that life is just as real as the original one in which I went down a dark road and raped the woman I loved, and was hung by the neck until dead for it.
The choice point where I picked up the charcoal was inspired. In that moment, I dropped the anger, blame, and resentment. I opened up to possibilities of something better. And then my Inner Being created something beautiful for me--a new path—out of almost nothing. Inner Beings are utterly amazing! Mine used a bit of charred wood and a wall washed in white lime to change the course of my life for the better. There were many more choice points I am sure in the repatterned life, but once one has even a slight grip on the existence of one’s Inner Being and the Divine Guidance it is always offering, one can learn to make better and better choices. We are all unlimited beings who are meant to be happy and fulfilled!
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