Lifetimes in America

[deborah]

This memory came not out of curiosity - but seemed to present itself to me unprovoked. However, it was this memory that opened the doors of curiosity even wider

As I already said - my first past life memory with Daniel was when he was 8 months old and I was twenty-six. I was laying in bed cradling him in my arms. My other two children where asleep. He had been fussing and had just fallen asleep too. It was a warm fall evening, the sun was down and my husband was still at work. The house was very quiet.

I closed my eyes and within a few seconds was viewing a movie, (I don't know what else to call it, it was as if I was looking at a movie screen only I was in the movie). Suddenly I was inside of a covered wagon, I could hear the rain hitting hard against the tarp and the pots and pans hitting the side of the railing. I could hear the horse's footsteps and the wheels grinding over the ground. I was a boy of about ten years old and my sister lay before me in back of the wagon dying. She was five, blond, blue eyes, very petite and frail. I began sobbing and crying. I cried and cried and cried. The pain in my heart and the sorrow I felt cannot be described.

I knew our mother had died, my father was in the front of the wagon driving the horses and could not stop for we would be lost behind the rest of the wagon train. My sister was so weak and sick. I could do nothing to help her or stop it. She had phenomena. I kept telling her "if only you were a boy like me you would be stronger. If only I was mom, I could stop the sickness" I looked deeply into her eyes right before she died. I cried and cried....

I left this altered state of consciousness, I was in my room again, holding my baby. I realized as I cried I was holding my little sister. I had come back as her mother, and she had come back as a boy.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Curiosity – Past Lives and Taboo

 

[Wicker]

American frontier, 1800's

I just wanted to share that I have at least what I think are two past life memories that are causing me a lot of misery in this life. Most people would think I am crazy if I told them this.

In the first one that I have images in my mind of, is one taking place in the USA at a time when there were buildings like in the early western part of the country, unpainted clap-board storefronts on one main street, probably in the 1800's. Everything was so dirty and the streets were unpaved of dirt or mud. My memory is one where I am inebriated, face down on a muddy street and the horses and wagons are running over me, pushing me deeper in the muddy street. I have a black suit and vest on. It is outside of a saloon with a bordello on the second floor. I have pains in my stomach and digestive system, apparently having some serious health problems due to drinking. I can also recall using the services of the women above the saloon. In my memory I really do like those women, especially one in particular. She is very kind and really not a bad person at all. I don't think there was such a thing a love at that time but I really felt close to this woman and felt that she was my only friend. I believe that I died in the street after being run over by a wagon and trampled by the horses into the mud.

The second memory I have is also living out on the plains on a homestead farm. There were not many neighbors living nearby but visitors came to the house occasionally. I was married and had a son which I loved very much. Life was hard but we had enough to live. When my son was little he had a horse that got injured and I had to shoot the horse. I idolozed my son and he grew to be a fine handsome young man, my pride and joy. When he was a teenager, he had a accident and fell off of a horse and was paralyzed from the neck down. It was very hard to care for him as there were no doctors or services to care for a paralyzed person. We tried to do everyting for him at home.

I recall sitting by his bed night after night trying to soothe him but being unable to do anything. One night he asked me to shoot him as I had done to the horse and I did. I shot him in the head. Since the ground was too hard to dig I put his body in an abandoned well we had in the front of the house. When visitors asked about him, I said that he had gone off to find work back east. After that time my wife and I didn't talk to each other anymore.

In this life I have no children and have had problems with my stomach and digestive system for many many years.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Is this possible?

 

[Ailish]

Little girl in 1950's Boston - killed by a car walking home from school


In my life as Jessica, I had no idea what happened. One moment I was walking down the street holding my mother's hand. I let go because I saw a friend across the street. I waved, stepped towards the street, and then there was just excruciating pain. I didn't know at that point that I had been hit by a car because I never saw it coming. I was terrified. I could hear people screaming, hear the activity going on around me, but I couldn't see anything at all.


I remember my mother crying and talking to me. I remember her touching me. I desperately wanted to see her, but I couldn't. My eyes felt like someone had dumped mud into them. I couldn't move, or speak, and I was so scared.


When the regressionist asked me to step back and become an observer, I saw the car, the people around it and in the middle of it all I saw the little girl, crumpled like a broken doll in the street, covered in blood, her mother holding her, also covered in blood. I realized at that point that the reason the little girl could not see was that her eyes were filled with blood, as her head had sustained most of the injuries, and her face was badly damaged.


It was a horrible thing to witness, but for me, seeing the blood was like reaching a clear understanding of what had happened. Since then, I have been able to let the pain and confusion go, but I still hate crossing busy streets


Ailish

 

[Marta31]

Late 1950's/Early 1960's

I had this vision and I was in some sleep state. It was a vision of a grown woman (I guessed her to be me and I felt she was a mother)....I'm thinking early late 1950's or early 1960's. It was just such a cloudy picture, but I could tell what exactly it was...I was taking my daughter to school or something...could have been a catholic school here in the U.S.

I was walking her to school and suddenly bent down and tied her shoe...but when I was tying her shoe, something hit me and I slowly started to look up at her to get a glimpse of her face. Her young face was very blurry and I could not see it. Something occured to me, but I couldn't quite grasp what it was, I didn't see her face but knew her and felt that she was my daughter in a past life...even though I did not see her face. It was simply on feeling and intuition.

Then as soon as I froze at her blurry face a snapshot (like a photograph) of who she is today had been presented to me (a head shot) right beside her young blurry face. As soon as that snapshot appeared of who she is today, I froze. Then I heard some kind of voice...I'm not sure if it was inner self or some other voice (maybe a guardian angel or a spirit guide), but they were good and watching out for me. What I heard was, 'You are not supposed to see this right now'.

 

[niamh]

We emigrated to the US from Budapest in the 1930's


My name was Magdalena. When I was little, everyone called me Magda, but when I grew up, I got my friends to call me Lena because it sounded more modern and American to me.


I was born around 1930 in an Eastern European city, I'm almost certain it was Budapest. My father was a banker, very well off, a kind man who doted on me. My mother was a proud beauty, strict and traditional. I was a late in life child for my parents. My only sibling was a brother about 8-10 years older than me. I idolized him.


I can remember our house, listening to musicians there, a trip to Warsaw with my father. When I was about 5-6 years old, we had to run away from our home in the middle of the night. My father had made some enemies. Either the military or a paramilitary group were coming to get us. We were Catholic, so I suspect my father's "offense" was political in nature. At the time, I wasn't told exactly what was going on, so that hampers my ability to understand it now.


We were very fortunate, as refugees go. My father was able to keep most of his money. When we ran away, we went to America, to New York. My father bought an apartment in Manhattan. It was large and well furnished. He continued working, he had a job in a bank in New York. He died about 2-3 years after we came to America. I was devastated.


After my father's death, I remember very little about my childhood. My brother died sometime during these years, perhaps in the war (?). The next clear memories I have are of being a young adult woman. I married a fellow named George, who was a friend of my brother's and had been a Naval officer in the war. We had one child, a beautiful daughter named Madeline. When she was still in diapers, I took her and left my husband. Madeline and I moved back in with my mother.


My life changed very significantly at that time. I started using the name Lena then. I dumped Madeline off on my mother, who was happy to take care of her. I spent almost every waking hour OUT somewhere. My memories are a blur of shops, theaters, restaurants, nightclubs, and parties. I drank a great deal and took a lot of Benzedrine. I had a whole string of lovers. My mother considered my behavior shocking and shameful, but I didn't really care, as long as I could keep on having fun.


I met my friend Eva not long after I left my husband. She became the most influential person in my life. She was a foreigner, like me. She was a bit older than me, but still young, beautiful, rich, and full of life. I have many memories of us together, and we are almost always laughing. Unlike me, Eva had a good deal of common sense and compassion. When I was being reckless, she was the person who stopped me from going too far and hurting myself or others . . . most of the time. As I said, she was a lot like me, which meant that she could be self centered and wild, too. We were quite a pair!


This stage of my life went on for about 10 years.


I didn't spend all my time in New York. My mother had a vacation home in Florida and she used to make me go there with her and Madeline. I hated it at first. There was nothing to do there -- no fashionable people and only two bars. One year, I went slumming for recreation. There was a sort of harbor like place nearby (this is where I remember the shipyard scenes from). Near that, some men were building a bridge. They lived in that area in a group of little shacks. I took one of these men as a lover. One of his roommates had a local girlfriend, and she became my lover, too.


After that, I kind of settled down. I don't know if I felt like I had reached the pinnacle of scandalous behavior, or if I was just getting old. I was getting on toward 30 at that time (which would have seemed ancient to me back then) and may have been feeling my age. Anyway, I still went to many, many parties and drank a lot, but I started to spend more time just relaxing. The bridge construction folks had left, and I went down to Florida more often, usually taking Eva with me. I found that I enjoyed the quiet from time to time. Eva got married during this time, by the way. Her husband's name was Charles (I think).


A year or so after this, Eva moved away temporarily. She went somewhere (I think California?) for several months. While she was gone, I met Richard. He was my One True Love. He was so special to me, I won't even bother trying to describe my feelings because I can't. Anyway, we got engaged only a few months after we met. When Eva got back, she and I got busy planning a big wedding. My mother didn't want me to marry Richard because he was a Jew, but I didn't care. I loved him and he was a good influence on me. I stopped my wild ways and even began spending time with Madeline, voluntarily.


The wedding was still a few months off when Eva and her husband invited Richard and me to go out on their boat. (I still can't tell if it was a large sailboat or a small yacht, but you get the idea.) Eva, her husband, and I were on the boat, waiting for Richard, when I managed to stumble, get hit over the head, and fall overboard. Eva's husband fished me out of the water. I was taken to the hospital. My head injury was very serious. I remember lying in the bed with Richard on one side and Eva on the other. He looked worried and I didn't understand why. Eva went to get a cup of coffee and I felt myself rising up out of my body. I knew then I was dying and that Richard had thought that I would. I didn't want to go before Eva got back, and tried to keep holding on to Richard's hand, but eventually I had to give up. This was in about 1962.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Lena

 

[tpicco]

Tenements of Hell’s Kitchen in the late 1800's

THE VISION: I had a very distinct vision of walking into the lobby of an ornately decorated hotel. The lobby looked Victorian. Other people around me were dressed in appropriate clothes for the era, and the lobby of the hotel had an early cast-iron-cage elevator in the lobby. I paused and watched it as it ascended, fascinated by it. I crossed the lobby and approached an open set of double doors. The room beyond was a little darker, a ballroom, music was playing inside and people were dancing. I scanned the crowd, and on the far side of the room, I saw a woman who seemed to stand out for some reason. She seemed a little brighter, as if a key light was on her, although there was no apparent logical reason this brighter appearence.

Fast forward ten years, past two other girlfriends and a failed marriage. It’s late 1983 and I am getting to know a woman named Donna. We are very drawn to each other, but she was attractive, sweet and someone most males would feel drawn to... Our relationship begins, and one evening a couple of months later, we started talking about dreams, dream images, and how well dreams can be interpreted.

Donna tells me she has had a recurring dream, always exactly the same, ever since she was a little kid. I said, go ahead, tell me about it. In her dream, she is standing in a ballroom during what appears to be the Victorian era. People are dancing, but she keeps scanning the crowd. After a few moments, she glances across the room at the open double doors and sees a man standing there. Behind him she can see a cast-iron-cage elevator. The man appears to stand out, as if he is in a low watt beam of light. And then she would wake up.

A little startled, I asked her to thoroughly describe everything she can remember about the decor and what she can see. With absolutely NO prompting from me, she describes “my” hotel in accurate detail... the wallpaper., the curtains, the window placement, where the band was, etc etc etc... I was, needless to say, shocked.

Over the time of our relationship (about 3 years) we learned what we could... piecing together gut feelings, dreams and psychic workshops... at one point we both had a "past life recollection" workshop... This is what we put together:

I was a poor Irishman, named Mark, who grew up in the tenements of Hell’s Kitchen in the late 1800s (coincidentally where I live now, having moved in 27 years ago.) I was determined to get out of poverty at any cost, and began to make some money apppearing around town in local theater, doing some kind of variety act. I distinctly remember returning to the old neighborhood in a brand new suit, showing off, having a drink at one of the bars. I was shallow and a bit of a cad.

However this wasn’t enough for me, so I looked to marry into money. I met and courted a naive daughter, named Rachel, of wealthy parents. I did not love her and saw her as a meal ticket, but she dearly loved me. I proposed, she accepted, but her father saw right through me and refused to let her marry me. I took off, never looking back. She fell apart emotionally, and shortly thereafter committed suicide by drowning herself in a lake upstate New York.

I did not have a good life... I think when you live so obsessively about one issue, you end up impoverishing yourself, literally. I eventually died in a poverty ward, in the late 1920s, coughing as I died...

Donna ended up actually remembering her suicide, and her death... and she said, recalling dying as a suicide as very very different. There is no tunnel, no light to greet you, no life flashing before your eyes, etc etc... It’s just limbo, waiting waiting waiting waiting to be reborn... She said it was horrible and seemed to go on forever... We have no right to kill ourselves, she says...

In present day, after a few years, as much as we were in love, we ended up breaking up. She wanted kids, I couldn’t give her kids, and she also felt it was important for her to learn to live without me, a lesson she skipped out on in the Victorian age... Ironically, I fell apart after we broke up and it took me years to get over her... perhaps a lesson for the callous Irish cad who didn’t care about people...

 

[tpicco]

Possibly the Johnstown Flood

I was a relatively wealthy and prosperous businessman in a 19th century town. My wife and daughter were out of town at her mother’s and I was home with my son. A wall of water swept through town, and my eight year old son and I were swept away, but I tried to keep hold of him. Through some severe battering about I lost my grip on him and he was swept away from me. I survived, but my son’s body was never found. As I was describing this, I was clearly seeing distinct fragments and images and deep feelings were flowing through me. I was crying by the time I finished talking, nearly sobbing. (I have reason to believe this may have been the famous Johnstown flood in America, .)

As my wife continued to ask, I described my life with after my wife and daughter returned, my never-ending sorrow and guilt over my son’s death, the mistress I took to try and divert myself from all the pain. And even the “current” life connections were clear. Who had reincarnated with me this time and what “roles” they played in the other lives...

 

[Sunny1994]

A young black woman hit by a car in the 1960's

In the Dream, I am a young Black woman...more like girl, maybe 17-18.

I am in a Parking Lot with alot of other Kid's just hanging out. I am upset, but at the time I wasn't sure why. A bit later a young guy show's up, and I know that he is important to me.

He keep's looking towards me, but when I try to get his attention he ignores me. It get's to the point that I am very upset, and go over to him. It seem's that I am pregnant and the baby belong's to him.

He is young and scared, and just decides to deny any responsibility and we have had issues about this for awhile now. While I am standing by him talking to him, actaully crying and screaming. I look up and that is when I see our Reflections in the side on a Car. I am a bit taller then him, and kinda heavy. I have sweat pants on and just look a bit rough. I have my hair pulled up on my head kinda like a bun, but it look's kinda cone shaped---odd, I know.

As we are arguing another girl walk's up, who is his sister. She is a bit older then me, and she takes me by the shoulder and leads me away as I am crying. She is very nice, and conforts me but I am still very upset and embarrased. I take off running to go home. As I am headed to cross the highway she hollers at me. I try to stop, but I am going too fast to be able too.

After that I woke up. I know that must of been my Death in that Life. It was so vivid, and the feeling when I couldn't stop really shook me. I woke up really short of breath and scared to death. This Dream I did not see anything that could really give me a time line. Except for the Vehicles in the Parking Lot.

And, to be honest, I do not know much about car's either. But, For some reason the late 60's come to mind. Which could make sense because I was born in 1975 in this Life. I am not certain what the Location was, but I do believe here in the U.S.

Jill

 

[tiltjlp]

Raymond's Life in St. Louis, 1904


I got an Imprint of a PL in St. Louis. But since I’ve always had an interest in the St. Louis 1904 World’s Fair, I had my doubts. Well, no doubts remain, I had a PL in 1904 as an elderly black man named Raymond.


Seconds after the CD began, I experienced a brief out-of-body episode, where I saw both the World’s Fair and the St. Louis Brown’s ball park, which seemed to be fairly close to each other. While I was too high to make out many details, I did hear crowd sounds. This seemed to last just a few seconds. Then I was seeing myself as the elderly black man inside what surely was the St. Louis Brown’s club house.


I first saw the elderly black man sweeping the floor. Then a ball player walked into the room, and addressed the black man as Raymond, and asked him to “work out the soreness in his arm and shoulders”. Using a thick lotion from a brown glass bottle, Raymond started rubbing the ball players arm and then his shoulders.


The next thing I remember is waking up, and the CD was done playing. I don’t know how long I had dozed off for, but an hour and a half had passed from when I had started. Dozing off isn’t uncommon for me, since I suffer from sleep deprivation. I hope to learn more about my life as Raymond, including maybe a last name, and if he worked at the Fair, since that has always been a huge interest of mine. This was by far the most detailed PL memory I've ever received.


What rings true for me about this PL, is that the St. Louis Browns were one of baseball’s worst teams ever. So if I had been a ball player, as I had first thought, it sure would not have been what I would call a famous past life.


John


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Meet me in St.Louis

 

[Brooklyn_Fan]

Born in Brooklyn, 1940's


I was born in the Late 40's (although I don't have an exact date). When I was a kid, I lived somewhere in Brooklyn NY. I was a HUGE Dodgers fan (I still am) and I can remember how upset and angry I was when they decided to go to LA after the '57 season.


I remember going to the games as a kid in the mid-late 50's and jostleing with others to watch the game through the gap in the outfield fence because we didnt want to shell out the money for a seat in the bleachers.


I remember when it was a special occasion and i would get to go to Coney island and shovel down Nathans hot dogs and ride the rides (I'm still a huge coaster freak... and my favorite this time has always been a classic wooden coaster- The Beast).


At some point, I remember moving out to rural New York state to live with my extended family because my parents died. It was a car wreck, I think, but I dont remember exactly, one of those blocks I have to work on.


I didnt like living out there... they were too hickish and backwards for me.. and I was only 12 or 13. But I had a huge chip on my shoulder...


I have always liked music, and that time was no different, I was a HUGE beatles fan (although the legions of screaming fangirls drove me nuts).


I loved sports cars. And I actually saved up to get one, a candy apple red 1964 Jaguar XKE convertable. I loved that car, which is a good thing, since I spent a heck of a lot of time fiddling around under the hood of that darn thing (British cars are infamous for being extremely unreliable erector sets). In retrospect its amazing I didnt kill myself in that car, because I drove it like a maniac... and had the speeding tickets to prove it.


I was completely into baseball and played on the local high school team. I was a Catcher (Like my Idol Roy Campanella) and actually wasnt too bad... I actually managed to wrangle my way into a scholarship at a university. Not a big university, but a university nevertheless. And I was real proud of it.


All in all, everything was going pretty good for me, until I royally screwed up. I got caught with a not insignifigant amount of a particular illegal substance.


I was given a choice. I could go to prison or I could go into the military (this is actually true... It took some time to verify it, but it did happen). I didn't want to go to prison, so I went into the Army and was sent to Vietnam with the 1st Cav (I remember the patch very vividly).


I was a combat medic, and it was my job to keep my guys safe. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I tried, it seemed I didn't do a very good job. I died in 1969 or 1970 in a prison camp. It was not a pleasant experience.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread How much do you remember...

 

[DecoDoll]

Edith Van Doran, born in Oklahoma circa 1910


In the last 2 years I have been inundated with memories of a particular past life.


Here's some backround information on this past life:


My name was Edith Van Doran, and I was born in Oklahoma about 1910 give or take a few years. I remember coming from a religious, argricultural family.The droughts/dust storms brought my family out to the the San Joaquin Valley in California where they worked as migrant workers. I made my way down to Los Angeles by myself eager to make a life for myself. I got there and took some low paying jobs and eventually in 1934, met a LAPD detective named Sam Dougherty, he who at the time was in his very early 30's.


The strongest memories are probably of what was most positive in my life. I have very vivid memories of us being married. We had a small bungalow in Pasadena ( I've never been to Pasadena or really to LA at all). I can remember so many details of what the house looked like, especially the kitchen, because I was a housewife and probably spent most of my time there.


I think the biggest thing I remember was my love for him. I was so in love, everything was great. Probably what you would call a true soulmate...


Not sure how long we were married, but tragedy eventually struck. Sometime in the late 1930's-1941, he was involved with some scandel ( what I knew instinctively, and later verified by research) was LA was rife with scandel and coruption at this period, the mob was running everything. I think as a police detective, he knew something, or was going to ruin something for somebody and who ever that was, was probably the mob, had a hit taken out on him and had him killed. I don't know how he was killed,I might have known, but it's blocked off from my memory now. I also had a little girl, her name was Frances. My only memories of her are of her a toddler. I don't know what happend to her, but I have a feeling her death might have been connected in some way to his.


I am not sure how I died that is blocked from memory, but I probably took my own life, the last memory I have is of driving up a road by myself, feeling alone and distraught, probably after loosing everyone in my life that I cared about.

 

[moyz23]

African American Doctor - Graduated from Medical School in 1973


I've remembered my most recent PL, and it's making me realize that this PL has had a big effect on my life now. A couple of years ago, I had a dream that I was a 10 year old black boy running away from some older (white) boys in a grocery store. At the time, I just wrote it off as a weird dream, but I've meditated on that and have been able to learn more about that PL.


I've remembered my mother, my wife and my daughter. I've also been able to remember that I was a doctor and I believe I graduated from medical school around 1973. I liked being a doctor, but I found that some patients and other doctors were less likely to accept my opinions/diagnoses because of my race, which of course really distressed me. I think that after that PL, I asked or chose to be a white woman in this particular life and I wanted to become a doctor and experience people taking my diagnoses seriously (without having to get a second opinion from someone else in the office).

 

[Eteponge]

1940's/1950's Jazz Trumpet Player


Since I was a small child I've had dreams of a peculiar city that I've obviously never been to in this lifetime, that looks to me like it's from the 1930s or 1940s (although it could be much earlier). I've had dreams of several areas and locations within this peculiar city, and now that I'm older I've recently started having them again.


I started getting mental flashes awhile ago of myself as a very slim, aged black man, in his 70s or 80s, with a trumpet in his hands, in a surrounding that seems 1940s or 1950s, within this same town in my dreams. Sometimes he is sitting around talking with his elderly friends, reflecting on his youth, othertimes he is playing his trumpet to old jazz music, sometimes he is just holding it.


The other week, while having one of these flashbacks, I put the question to myself, "Who am I?", and I instantly got the mental image and audiable response in my head of this same aged black man smiling and proclaiming, "I'm Lenny!", in sync with me myself audiably in real time proclaiming this at the same time and in the same manner.


That's all I have to go on. I strongly do not get the feeling that Lenny was someone famous or well known, just an ordinary old black man who lived an ordinary life, but obviously loved Trumpets and Jazz.

 

[lonewolf]

California Newlywed circa 1920


When I did my first PL regression a year ago practically the first thing I remembered was as a newlywed, driving in my husband's car from the California ranch where I lived in childhood to our new home in Los Angeles, circa 1920. I remembered a long, dusty journey, a honeymoon visiting perhaps some National Parks, and especially just the feeling of happiness and contentment having him there next to me.


Later I remembered a moonlit walk, holding hands, and the first embrace and kiss - it was magical! Though from a different perspective than what I'm used to now.


Lonewolf


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Memories of your first love

 

[michaldembinski]

Mental image of 1920s truck


The last few nights, before dropping off to sleep, I've had this image appear in my mind. It's an American truck, from the 1920s. It's old and shabby, but I've managed to get it to work. It's rolling down a small hill. Looks exactly like this, except it's grey and battered. I was delighted when this pic turned up, validating my vision with its shape.


http://www.hankstruckpictures.com/pix/trucks/road_trip_may2004/day07/dsc_2818.jpg


The Internet is a wonderful tool for helping with visual validation. Googling images for American Trucks, 1920s soon came up with the results.


The image fits in with my story of my immediate past life; raised on a farm (Kentucky), as a boy I was obsessed with mechanics. As a result, when drafted into the US Marines in June 1944, I was not sent to fight as an infantryman in the 'meatgrinder' battles of the Pacific War, but rather had my skills put to use as an aircraft mechanic on an island airbase, late 1944-1945.


Michal

 

[journey215]

New England in the 1700s?


I've always had this feeling or dream or memory about a woman in New England. I'm in a small, very neat house with a dirt floor. I'm looking out of a window towards a little town or village. Not a glass window, but a window with a wooden shutter. Sometimes I am cooking in a kettle over an open fire. I can feel my heavy black skirts. The bottom of the skirt is dirty. My back hurts, and I'm hot.


In the recent regression, Denise asked us to start by looking down at our shoes. Wow, I can see them so clearly. They have big gold buckles. I looked at some of the reference material on this site and found similar shoes from the 1730's. That's awesome.


Anyway, I'm wearing a skirt and blouse or shirtwaist type dress, my hair is up, and I'm wearing a hat or bonnet. I think I'm walking home from church. And here's the part that affected me so deeply that I went running to the internet to find out if anyone else had a similar experience: I'm just heartbroken with grief over the death of my little boy. He was five years old and had light brown curly hair. I'm very aware that the people of the town think I should have gotten over it by now, but I can't. I'm angry and I want to cry but I won't. I'm thinking how my boy was worth 10 of them, no a HUNDRED of them, and how can they think I will ever get over losing him. It's so sad I'm almost crying just thinking about it again.


Over the past few days, I think I have remember a little more about this life, it seems that she mellowed out a little after saving a little orphaned rabbit that she kept as a pet. She fed it cow's milk and raw eggs from an eye dropper. That seems like a strange thing to feed an animal but there you go. Later in life she founded a school or a library or something like that and was always considered cold and eccentric . . .


Journey


This post and discussion is continued in the thread New England in the 1700s