I was born more than once. Such a declaration may be considered blasphemy to the religion I once called home, but I stand by my claim. I believe that when my body and spirit part, my spirit travels across a time continuum which fluctuates. What seems like mere days/years in the spirit realm equates to a century gap on Earth. This I believed long before my first past-life regression session, and the after-effects solidified my hypothesis.
I wrote the piece below after my initial session – the images unhidden and the emotions raw – for the words ached to be released. Such is the recollection of my past-life self – a woman bruised physically, emotionally, and spiritually – set in a European countryside in the 18th or 19th century.
How could I have been so foolish? Love coloring truth and reality. Did I ever know him? Or did I only love the façade he showed me?
I had such high hopes for a life well lived. One full of joy, laughter, passion, comfort, and love. I never knew the love of a man – authentic love, that is. I imagined it as a gullible, imaginative teenager who fell at the first man who showed the slightest interest.
He was funny, charming, strong, and confident. He could flush my cheeks with a mere wink. My heart and body fell, leaving my mind silenced.
It didn’t take long for the scars to appear – penetrating my heart and bruising the flesh. The hands that once caressed every inch, soon left visible imprints of his anger and cruelty.
In the beginning, my name on his lips filled me with pride, made me feel special. I was his – he chose me. He loved me and I would forever make him happy. It didn’t take long until I prayed for his silence. For when he called my name it accompanied words no mother would ever let her child utter.
The first time we made love I barely felt the pain as my spirit soared in bliss. The first time he took my body without consent I hid my spirit so as to dim the pain.
I missed him terribly during year one, longing for his prompt return from a hard day’s labor. I craved any moment of his waking and found delight in making him happy. I’d count the hours until day turned to night, pleading with time to hurry.
Now, I treasure each moment he’s gone, dreading the hour I hear his footsteps and smell the whiskey. As I care for my children while the day burns bright, I plead for time to stand still.
I was his and his alone – proud to be his chosen bride. I knew I pleased him in every way that mattered so that he’d have no reason to seek it elsewhere.
After our second child, I was grateful for his wandering eyes and hands. Thankful for the evenings I slept alone and safe.
The moment I saw him I couldn’t imagine a future without him. My identity merged with his – the two of us linked in unbreakable bonds.
As I gaze upon my unrecognizable reflection, I welcome the illness that weakens my body – ready for inevitable future which will cut the ties that bind.
I love and hate my children, grateful for their loving presence yet resentful of their existence that limits my freedom.
A life that welcomed me with laughter and warmth ends with solemn silence and unspoken apologies, the air ringing with regret.
I’m ready now, my battered spirit, to set you free. I must burden you with prayers for my children, parents, and siblings along with the unfulfilled hopes of a life never fully lived. Take me away, far from this place, where time does not exist. Let me rest in God’s kingdom so I may grow in strength and heal my wounds.
Bless my children, bestow upon them grace, unending love, bravery, and strength. May their lives henceforth be better than the one I provided for them. Let them be kind and be treated with kindness, resolve differences peacefully, and love one another.