REINCARNATION STORIES

I’m not sure about reincarnation, but I’ve been interested in it for several years for one reason: My daughter.

When she was little, she always seemed like an “old soul.” In fact, she barely seemed a child. Late in her second year, she started talking about “Old Mommy.”
I never asked questions but she brought the subject up a lot. She also was inclined to call me “New Mommy,” on occasion.

She told me that Old Mommy had lots of kids. Old Mommy had pushed her into a hole and she never woke up after that. Most commonly her comments about Old Mommy would come up when I would do something unextraordinary, like hugging her at night when she was scared. “You are much nicer than Old Mommy,” she would say.

She told me that Old Mommy was very mean to her and that she was scared of her. She said she came to me so that she could have a good mommy.

The one thing that stood out in my mind was a comment she made when she was three. I had dressed her and gone into the living room. I sensed her presence. She looked me and said, “Thank you for my clothes. When I lived with Old Mommy my clothes were raggy and there were always holes in my socks.” What was SO odd about that was not just the knowledge of things like airplanes or other people. It was the extreme gratitude for little things at an age where a show of gratitude is virtually non-existent unless it is forced. What three year old knows the discomfort of holes in their socks?

She is eight now and has no memory of Old Mommy. She spoke of Old Mommy regularly and I should have paid more attention. I wish I had asked questions. But I didn’t want to unintentionally lead her. I am willing to learn and I want to know what exactly happened to my daughter.

The strange thing was I knew this woman was a part of me, like we were married, but I had no idea who she was. I was taller in the dream, about 6′, and my wife or girlfriend was about 5’8”. it seems like late 18th century in the U.K., but I suppose it could also be colonial America.

The dream goes from frolic to nightmare when she starts riding towards town. It’s a dangerous place that we knew we should stay out of. I had to follow her, though, to see to her safety, but I was upset she was riding there. I  couldn’t keep up with her and eventually lost her in town. I looked for her through these drab streets for what seemed like hours. The feeling was desperate and scary.

Then I’m being surrounded by some bad men. The man in front of me with dirty blond hair and cap is backing up my horse into an alley and I know my life is in peril. I continue to be backed up and then…nothing. I assume I got hit in the head by someone behind me and died.

I think I was in my late 20’s. I guess I was killed for my horse, clothes and the money in my pockets. Someday if I could afford It I’d love to have a past life regression reading because I’m sure this man’s identity is recorded somewhere and maybe I could get a name.

J

I was in the Peace Corps and served in Cameroon, West Africa. During Peace Corps training in Quebec, being an artist, I occasionally helped the trainers by drawing illustrations about what they were teaching us. They commented more than once about how I automatically knew what African scenes looked like. When I arrived in Cameroon, it flashed in my mind as we were in the air over Douala, where I would end up being posted, “He’s down there.”

A couple of months later, when working in that city, I met a young African to whom I became close. He seemed familiar to me. Many years later I had a reading by a psychic who told me I had been a slave named Cornelia “somewhere in the South in the early 1800s” and that I had been brought over pregnant, then lost the baby in what they called a “hospital” (which was a dirty building at the time).

During this present life, though I am white and now in my 60s, I have always loved black music, rarely ever white music unless it is black inspired (such as swing). In my earlier days (I have since had a hip replacement which has slowed this down), I was, if I say so myself, a very good dancer. I have had total strangers, including black men, come up to me on the dance floor to tell me how well I could dance. At a Cameroonian wedding in Philadelphia, one told me I danced “like a Douala girl.”

I believe that the man I met in Africa in this lifetime was, in that earlier lifetime, either the father of the baby I lost or possibly my father or brother. I need to add that when I watched Roots years ago or if I watch any show with slaves or bigoted Southerners in it, I get all riled up, even to the point of yelling at the TV!

The episode took place in a stone castle, either in England or Ireland. The crew went into a cellar where there were huge, dusty pots/vases. I suddenly felt ice cold, and tears came into my eyes for no reason. It’s happening again just as I type this…like a profound sadness; a hopelessness.

The view then panned over to the staircase. I knew that staircase. I knew that I had spent years watching it in the dark, waiting for someone to come down and discover me. And I knew that I had been buried under one of the vases, in the dirt floor. I knew that I had been a young woman (as I am now), and I knew that I had at least one child, probably two. I can’t quite recall their names, or mine. I also knew that I had been having an affair with a cruel man, and that he had killed me and left me there alone.

I believe that my head was bashed into a wall as he held my hair, and I can somewhat remember leaving my body and watching him strangle me and then bury me. These memories came later, but they feel like truths. I suppose I remember being a ghost more than my actual past life – the emotions were so very intense. I didn’t want to “move on” because I never knew what happened to my children. Obviously, at some point, I left. Perhaps someone helped me, or perhaps I saw the spirits of my children once they themselves passed on. I guess I’ll never really know.

I do know that I’m crying again, right now, and I haven’t even seen an image of this cellar in years. But the vision of it is firmly imprinted in my mind; all I have to do is recall it, and I feel again as if I am desperately waiting for something, after having been murdered and forgotten.

Of course, all of this really freaked me out, because I had never even thought about the concept of past lives – I was just trying to eat my dinner! This whole experience was 10 years ago – I’m 24 now – but it still really affects me. I have poured over every episode of the ghost shows I used to watch, but can’t find the one I watched that day.

I have tried to doubt myself, to think that maybe I was just imagining everything, but never before have I suddenly and without a doubt known things to be true. The first thing that came to my mind was “My body is there, under that vase.” Nothing like that has ever happened to me, before or since.

Anyway, my grandmother passed away in November, 1972. My mother soon got pregnant with me. I was born in March, 1974. When I was around three years old, in 1977, we took a short cut through the cemetery that was right behind our house. We were approaching my grandmother’s tombstone when I suddenly blurted out, “There is where I sleep,” pointing in the direction of my grandmother’s grave. That totally freaked everyone out. As we approached closer, I pointed again, “There, that is where i sleep.” Sure enough, I was pointing to my grandmother’s grave. My mum just about fainted.

She decided to test me a short time later with things around the house. For example, she used several knitted sweaters. I would point out the ones my grandmother had knitted, stating that “I” had done them. My mother tried to trick me and brought out a sweater my mother had actually knitted, asking if I had knitted this as well. I said, “NO, you did.” She continued to try and trick me. I insisted that “NO, YOU knitted that one, because I remember.”

My mother and siblings told me of this experience. I have vague memories of being scared of the hallway, too. I would always dash past it when it was time for bed. My grandmother had passed away in that hallway, before I was born.

The word “Finally” popped into my mind and I felt as if the man I was staring at had waited a long time to see me. Eventually he turned around and walked out of the room. Immediately I ran inside and informed my father. He searched the house and found no one or any signs of forced entry.

After that, random things would happen every few months. A man opened my bedroom door one night and peeked his head in. I thought it was my father, so I told him goodnight and that I loved him. It was so dark that he was just a shadow, but he nodded his head and closed my door. I said something to my father about it the next day, and my dad told me he did not check on me the night before.

Things have moved and I’ve seen shadows. I’ve caught a few electronic recordings with this man’s voice, and in one of them he whispered his name: it was Walter.

I’m 18 now and over the course of three years, I have developed a sort of bond with Walter. I feel like I know him in a way. He has always seemed familiar to me. And one night, I think I found the answer as to why he is around.

My sister, two of her friends and I decided to do an Ouija board in my front yard. And Walter came through for 45 minutes. We figured out early on that Walter seemed strangely connected to me, and we realized that he only answered the questions I asked.

Walter explained to me that I lived another life before this one, one that he was involved in. He said my name was Rose and we met in 1912. I was his nurse in a war. He told me that we fell in love with each other quite quickly. He said I was very beautiful, with long red hair. I found this bit kind of funny, because ever since I was a little girl I have loved red hair. He then revealed that I died and a few years later, he died as well, though he did not reveal how. Walter told me he’d been searching for me for a very long time and that he finally found me when I was fifteen years old. I was fifteen when I saw him in my boiler room.

I asked him why it was that I am now living again and he isn’t, to which he responded “Fate.”