Hi Deborah! Oh no, it's just that I've been so busy, I haven't had a chance to sit down and write. I would love to share my story! I remember living in 18th-century London, Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Dorset, and it took me years and years to put all the pieces together and figure out that I was a woman named Mary Carter, who married a little short Irishman named Thomas...whom I loved more than anything in the world.
I started to remember this after my first vacation to England, where I'd always wanted to go for as long as I can remember. While I was in London, I felt like I couldn't get lost, and that I'd seen everything before. I just felt like I'd come home at last. I don't remember exactly when I started to recall Thomas -- I can't honestly remember if it was during the vacation, or afterward, when I got home and started regressing myself. A friend of mine gave me a book that had the steps for self-hypnotism, and I started practicing like mad, hoping to remember why London seemed so familiar. Eventually I came up with Thomas -- whose name I didn't know for a further eight years -- and he became the focus of most of my memories, because I didn't then, and still don't, have a boyfriend.
I seem to remember the same scenes over and over again. I remember having sex with Thomas -- something I've still never done! -- and having a baby. I remember when he came to ask my father for my hand in marriage. Horseback riding was something we apparently enjoyed together, and I remember riding with him (each on our own obviously very expensive horses) in the area around Cookham in Berkshire, and near Encombe House in Dorset. I remember our children, and how much I adored our little son; and I remember very vividly when that son told me he wanted to go off to India, and how this upset the whole family -- because Thomas had died of a disease contracted in India, and I didn't want my son to die the same way. And he did. He went off to Madras, and died almost immediately; and I think this made me never want to have children again (and Thomas's death made me never want to have a husband again), because I don't think I could endure that kind of horrible pain once more.
And guess what? I ended up enduring it anyway, even though I've successfully avoided husbands and children. My father and brother have both recently died. So I guess we really do have themes that link resonant lifetimes. Mine appears to be death. What fun!
Anywho, yes, I have wrote a book about my memories. I've been able to confirm and validate most of what I remember, which is nothing special, as you all know, having investigated such things yourselves. I'd be happy to elaborate further...I just have to find the time!
ETA: I just realized that I didn't really answer your question. Here is the first memory that I recorded from a self-regression session in 1986:
A medieval castle in the late 1600s to 1800s, judging from the baroque trim of his coat as he sat behind the piano, immersed in turbulent music. I interrupted his playing as I walked into the room, but I didn’t walk, I was just there, and then he looked up, and his hair was an ash-brown-blonde and styled in the manner of an English or French gentleman of the time, straight and slightly more than shoulder length, cut with short bangs in the front. He looked maybe a trifle upset at being disturbed, and his face was full of a serene quality, although his eyes seemed full of intensity. His features were decidedly masculine, but his eyes were still beautiful, John Taylor-ish of Duran Duran. His hands were masculine, too, and his silk coat was of a sky blue and patterned, in the style of a long coat and knickers, white stockings, and buckled shoes. I was a woman dressed in white and I had wanted to see him, had to see him. I stood at his side at the piano, and when he stopped playing, there was a silence and tension between us.
The above was written before I knew one single thing about British history, so I didn't describe what I was seeing very well. It turns out that this scene with Thomas took place sometime around 1786, probably at Taplow Court, which is a country house not all the far from Windsor Castle. This was the home of Thomas's father, the 5th Earl of Inchiquin; apparently Thomas was said to be his illegitimate son. My name at that time was Mary Wells, and I was the daughter of a rector who owned a house just across the river from Taplow and Cliveden.
More later....Must dash to finish up the things I've left languishing....
