I have always tried in my life to let the Spirit lead me. At times, particularly when I was younger, I pretended I was deft and my life reflected that. God never gave up on me though, and slowly the Spirit showed me that it was the fundamentalist ideas I held, that were causing me to not to be able to understand what The Lord meant when he said His word was a double edged sword. The end of chapter 8 made a light go on for me. This work by Dr Weiss is a beautiful thing, and I say that as a Brother to Christ,without fear of losing my place in His Kingdom. This work is the perfect example for the moment, to demonstrate the double edged sword,the very cool thing about the double edged parable is that the reader always decides which edge, he or she shall choose to dissect my attempt at sharing His Truth with you, and is the reason why, per chance Christ walked the Earth at this time, you would say the exact same thing about him now, as you would have some 2 plus days ago as Christ understands time. Now know this, if a fundamentalist now, after THE FACT,says Evil must come before the Good, than that means it was the same those two plus days ago, as Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. So who came before Christ? Now they say antichrist, who was it then? The Law and the Prophets finishing with the Baptist. It is the stance of the Baptist(you know the one that lost his head) and what he was teaching that needs to be addressed. If it was not so, why is it He who is least in Christ's Kingdom? If you do not believe what Christ told you about the prophets, perhaps you prefer to hear it from The Father with regard to the prophets.
9 Mine heart within me is broken because of the prophets; all my bones shake; I am like a drunken man, and like a man whom wine hath overcome, because of the Lord, and because of the words of his holiness.
10 For the land is full of adulterers; for because of swearing the land mourneth; the pleasant places of the wilderness are dried up, and their course is evil, and their force is not right.
11 For both prophet and priest are profane; yea, in my house have I found their wickedness, saith the Lord.
12 Wherefore their way shall be unto them as slippery ways in the darkness: they shall be driven on, and fall therein: for I will bring evil upon them, even the year of their visitation, saith the Lord.
13 And I have seen folly in the prophets of Samaria; they prophesied in Baal, and caused my people Israel to err.
14 I have seen also in the prophets of Jerusalem an horrible thing: they commit adultery, and walk in lies: they strengthen also the hands of evildoers, that none doth return from his wickedness; they are all of them unto me as Sodom, and the inhabitants thereof as Gomorrah.
15 Therefore thus saith the Lord of hosts concerning the prophets; Behold, I will feed them with wormwood, and make them drink the water of gall: for from the prophets of Jerusalem is profaneness gone forth into all the land.
16 Thus saith the Lord of hosts, Hearken not unto the words of the prophets that prophesy unto you: they make you vain: they speak a vision of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of the Lord.
17 They say still unto them that despise me, The Lord hath said, Ye shall have peace; and they say unto every one that walketh after the imagination of his own heart, No evil shall come upon you.
18 For who hath stood in the counsel of the Lord, and hath perceived and heard his word? who hath marked his word, and heard it?
19 Behold, a whirlwind of the Lord is gone forth in fury, even a grievous whirlwind: it shall fall grievously upon the head of the wicked.
20 The anger of the Lord shall not return, until he have executed, and till he have performed the thoughts of his heart: in the latter days ye shall consider it perfectly.
21 I have not sent these prophets, yet they ran: I have not spoken to them, yet they prophesied.
22 But if they had stood in my counsel, and had caused my people to hear my words, then they should have turned them from their evil way, and from the evil of their doings.
23 Am I a God at hand, saith the Lord, and not a God afar off?
Yes indeed he is, and if you do not judge others, you can live without the fear of being judged. So to repeat, the double edged sword is Christ's Word, one side leads to peace and understanding, the other to strife and judgment. Now ask yourself the important question, am I am wielding ,the right side of the blade for myself. Because the bottom line is that your relationship with God is personal, and it's no one else's business what your relationship with God is. Do not let what I say become a stumbling block to you, I am just atoning for my past, in which I thought everyone wanted to know, I stand corrected. Be at peace one and all good night....
...o...
113
Many Lives, Many Masters
Dr Brian Weiss
THE TRUE STORY of a prominent psychiatrist, his young patient and the past-life therapy that changed both of their lives
Chapter 7
When Catherine arrived for her next appointment one
week later, I was ready to play the tape of last week's incredible dialogue. After all, she was providing me with celestial
poetry in addition to past-life recall . I told her that she had
related information from after-death experiences, even though
she had no memory at all of the in-between or spiritual state.
She was reluctant to listen. Overwhelmingly improved and
happier, she had no need to listen to this material. Besides, it
was all somewhat "eerie." I prevailed upon her to listen. It
was wonderful, beautiful, uplifting, and it came through her.
I wanted to share it with her. She listened to her soft whisper
on the tape for only a few minutes, and then she made me
turn it off. She said that it was just too weird and made her
uncomfortable. Silently, I remembered "this is for you, not for
her."
I wondered how long these sessions would continue because
she was improving every week. Now only a few ripples remained in her once-turbulent pond . She was still afraid of enclosed places, and the relationship with Stuart was still literally
touch and go. Otherwise her progress was remarkable.
We had not had a traditional psychotherapy session for
months. None was necessary. We would chat for a few minutes to catch up on the events of the week, then move quickly to the hypnotic regression. Whether due to the actual memories of major traumas or daily mini traumas or to the process
of reliving the experiences, Catherine was virtually cured. Her
phobias and panic attacks had just about disappeared. She had
no fear of death or dying. She was no longer afraid of losing
control. Psychiatrists are now using high doses of tranquilizers
and antidepressant medicines to treat people with Catherine's
symptoms. In addition to the medicines, the patients are also
often in intensive psychotherapy or attending phobia group
therapy sessions. Many psychiatrists believe that symptoms
such as Catherine's have a biological basis that there are
deficiencies in one or several brain chemicals.
As I hypnotized Catherine to a deep trance state , I thought
about how remarkable and wonderful it was that in a period
of weeks, without the use of medicines, traditional therapy , or
group therapy , she was nearly cured. This was not just the
suppression of symptoms nor the gritting of teeth and living
through it, a life racked by fears. This was a cure, the absence
of symptoms. And she was radiant, serene, and happy beyond
my wildest hopes.
Her voice was a soft whisper again. "I'm in a building ,
something with a domed ceiling. The ceiling is blue and gold.
There are other people with me. They're dressed in . . . old
. . . some type of robe, very old and dirty. I don't know how
we got there. There are many figures in the room . There are
also some pieces, some pieces standing on some stone structure.
There's a large gold figure at one end of the room. He appears. . . . He's very large, with wings. He's very evil. It's very
hot in the room, very hot. . . . It's hot because there are no openings into the room . We have to stay away from the village. There's something wrong with us."
"Are you sick?"
"Yes, we are all sick. I don't know what it is we have, but our skin dies. It become s very black. I feel very cold. The air
is very dry, very stale . We cannot return to the village. We
must stay out. Some of the faces are deformed."
This disease sounded terrible , like leprosy . If she had once
had a glamorous lifetime , we had not yet stumbled across it .
"How long do you have to stay there?"
"Forever," she answered gloomily , "until we die . There is
no cure for this."
"Do you know the name of the illness ? What is it called?"
"No. The skin gets very dry and shrivels up. I have been
there for years. There are others who have just arrived. There
is no way back. We have been cast out .. . to die."
She suffered a wretched existence, living in a cave.
"We must hunt for our food. I see some type of wild beast
that we are hunting for . . . with horns . He's brown with
horns, big horns."
"Does anybody visit you?"
"No, they cannot go near or they will suffer from the evil,
too. We have been cursed .. . for some evil we have done .
And this is our punishment. "
The sands of her theology were
constantly shifting in the hourglass of her lives . Only after
death, in the spiritual state , was there a welcome, and reassuring constancy.
"Do you know what year it is?"
"We have lost track of time. We are sick; we just await our
death."
"Is there no hope?" I felt the infectious despair.
"There is no hope. We will all die. And there is much pain
in my hands. My whole body is weak. I am old. It is difficult
for me to move."
"What happens when you cannot move anymore?"
"You are moved to another cave, and you're left there
to die."
"What do they do with the dead?"
"They seal the entrance to the cave."
"Do they ever seal a cave before the person is dead?" I was
searching for a clue to her fear of enclosed places.
"I do not know . I have never been there . I'm in the room
with other people. It's very hot. I'm against the wall, just lying
there."
"What is the room for?"
"It is for the worship . . . many gods. It's very hot."
I advanced her in time. "I see something white. I see something white, some type of canopy. They're moving somebody."
"Is it you?"
"I don't know. I will welcome death. My body is in so much
pain."
Catherine's lips were drawn thin in pain , and she was
panting because of the heat in the cave. I took her to the day
of her death. She was still panting.
"Is it hard to breathe?" I asked.
"Yes, so hot in here . . . feels .. . so hot , very dark. I
can't see . . . and I can't move. "
She was dying , paralyzed
and alone , in the hot , dark cave . The mouth of the cave was
already sealed shut. She was frightened and miserable. Her
breathing grew more rapid and irregular, and she mercifully
died, ending this anguished life.
"I feel very light . . . like I'm floating. It's very bright
here. It's wonderful!"
"Are you in pain?"
"No!" She paused, and I awaited the Masters. Instead , she
was whisked away . "I'm falling very fast . I'm going back to
a body!" She seemed as surprised as I was.
"I see buildings, buildings with round columns. There are
many buildings. We are outside. There are trees—olive trees—
around. It's very beautiful. We are watching something . . . . People have on very funny masks; these cover their faces. It is
some festivities. They're dressed in long robes, and they have
masks that cover their faces. They pretend to be what they're
not. They are on a platform . . . above where we sit."
"Are you watching a play?"
"Yes."
"What do you look like? Look at yourself."
"I have brown hair. My hair is in a braid." She paused. Her
description of herself and the presence of olive trees reminded
me of Catherine's Greek-like lifetime fifteen hundred years
before Christ, when I was her teacher, Diogenes. I decided to
investigate.
"Do you know the date?"
"No."
"Are there people with you that you know?"
"Yes, my husband is sitting next to me. I do not know him"
[in her present lifetime].
"Do you have children?"
"I am with child now." Her choice of words was interesting,
somehow ancient and not at all like Catherine's conscious
style.
"Is your father there?"
"I do not see him. You are there somewhere . . . but not
with me. " So I was right. We were back thirty-five centuries.
"What do I do there?"
"You are just watching, but you teach. You teach. . . . We
have learned from you . . . squares and circles, funny things.
Diogenes, you are there."
"What else do you know of me?"
"You are old . Somehow we are related . . . you are my
mother's brother."
"Do you know others of my family?"
"I know your wife . . . and your children. You have sons.
Two of them are older than I . My mother has died; she died
very young."
"Has your father raised you?"
"Yes, but I am married now."
"You're expecting a baby?"
"Yes. I' m afraid . I do not want to die while the baby is
born."
"Did that happen to your mother?"
"Yes."
"And you're afraid it will happen to you also?"
"It happens many times."
"Is this your first child?"
"Yes; I am frightened. I expect it soon. I'm very big . It is
uncomfortable for me to move . .. . It is cold. " She had
moved herself ahead in time. The baby was about to be born.
Catherine had never had a baby, and I had not delivered any
in the fourteen years since my obstetrics rotation in medical
school.
"Where are you?" I inquired.
"I'm lying on something stone . It's very cold . I'm having
pain. . . . Somebody must help me. Somebody must help
me."
I told her to breathe deeply ; the baby would be born
without pain. She was panting and groaning at the same time.
Her labor lasted several more agonizing minutes, and then her
child was born. She had a daughter.
"Do you feel better now?"
"Very weak .. . so much blood!"
"Do you know what you will name her?"
"No, I'm too tired. .. . I want my baby."
"Your baby is here," I ad-libbed, "a little girl."
"Yes, my husband is pleased." She was exhausted . I instructed her to take a short nap and to awaken refreshed. After
a minute or two, I awakened her from the nap.
"Do you feel better now?"
"Yes. .. . I see animals. They are carrying something on
their backs. They have baskets on them. There are many things
in the baskets . . . food . . . some red fruits. . . . "
"Is it a pretty land?"
"Yes, with much food."
"Do you know the name of the land ? What do you call it
when a stranger asks you the name of the village?"
"Cathenia . . . Cathenia. "
"It sounds like a Greek town," I prompted.
"I don't know that. Do you know that? You have been away
from the village and returned . I have not. "
This was a twist .
Since, in that lifetime , I was her uncle , older and wiser, she
was asking me if I knew the answer to my own question. Unfortunately, I did not have access to that information.
"Have you lived all your life in the village?" I asked.
"Yes," she whispered , "but you travel , so you can know
what you teach. You travel to learn, to learn the land . . .
the different trade routes so you can put them down and make
maps. . . . You are old. You go with the younger people
because you understand the charts. You are very wise."
"Which charts do you mean? Charts of the stars?"
"You, you understand the symbols. You can help them to
make . . . help them to make maps."
"Do you recognize other people from the village?"
"I do not know them . . . but I know you."
"All right. How is our relationship?"
"Very good . You are very kind . I like to just sit next to
you; it's very comforting. . . . You have helped us. You have
helped my sisters. . . . "
"There comes a time , though , when I must leave you , for
I am old."
"No." She was not ready to deal with my death. "I see some
bread, flat bread, very flat and thin."
"Are people eating the bread?"
"Yes, my father and my husband and I. And other people
in the village."
"What is the occasion?"
"It is some . . . some festival."
"Is your father there?"
"Yes."
"Is your baby there?"
"Yes, but she's not with me. She's with my sister."
"Look closely at your sister," I suggested , looking for that
recognition of a significant person in Catherine's current life .
"Yes. I do not know her."
"Do you recognize your father?"
"Yes . . . yes . . . Edward . There are figs, figs and olives
. . . and red fruit . There is flatbread. And they have killed
some sheep . They are roasting the sheep. "
There was a long
pause. "I see something white. . . . "
She had again progressed
herself in time.
"It's a white . . . it's a square box. It's where
they put people when they die."
"Did someone die, then?"
"Yes .. . my father . I don't like to look at him . I don't
want to see him."
"Do you have to look?"
"Yes. They will take him away to bury him. I feel very sad."
"Yes, I know . How many children do you have?" The reporter in me was not letting her grieve.
"I have three, two boys and a girl."
After dutifully answering my question, she returned to her grief. "They have put his body under something , under some cover. . . . " She seemed
very sad.
"Have I died by this time, too?"
"No. We are drinking some grapes, grapes in a cup."
"What do I look like now?"
"You are very, very old."
"Are you feeling better yet?"
"No! When you die I'll be alone."
"Have you outlived your children ? They will take care of
you."
"But you know so much." She sounded like a little girl.
"You will get by. You know a lot too. You'll be safe. "
I
reassured her, and she appeared to be resting peacefully.
"Are you more peaceful? Where are you now?"
"I don't know."
She had apparently crossed over into the
spiritual state , even though she had not experienced her death
in that lifetime. This week we had gone through two lifetimes
in considerable detail. I awaited the Masters , but Catherine
continued to rest. After several more minutes of waiting, I
asked if she could talk to the Master Spirits.
"I have not reached that plane, " she explained . " I cannot
speak until I do."
She never did reach that plane. After much waiting, I
brought her out of the trance.
Chapter 8 S103
Three weeks passed before our next session. On my vacation,
lying on a tropical beach, I had the time and distance to reflect on what had transpired with Catherine: hypnotic regression to past lives with detailed observations and explanations
of objects, processes, and facts which she had no knowledge
of in her normal, waking state; improvement in her symptoms
through the regressions, improvement not even remotely
achieved by conventional psychotherapy over the first eighteen
months of treatment; chillingly accurate revelations from the
after-death, spiritual state , conveying knowledge she had no
access to; spiritual poetry , and lessons about the dimensions
after death, about life and death, birth and rebirth , from Master Spirits who spoke with a wisdom and in a style well beyond
Catherine's capabilities . There was , indeed , a lot to contemplate.
Over the years I had treated many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of psychiatric patients, and they reflected the entire
spectrum of emotional disorders. I had directed inpatient units
at four major medical schools. I had spent years in psychiatric
emergency rooms, outpatient clinics, and various other settings,
evaluating and treating outpatients. I knew all about the auditory and visual hallucinations and the delusions of schizophrenia. I had treated many patients with borderline syndromes and hysterical character disorders, including split or
multiple personalities. I had been a Career Teacher in Drug
and Alcohol Abuse , funded by the National Institute of Drug
Abuse (NIDA) , and I was very familiar with the gamut of
drug effects on the brain.
Catherine had none of these symptoms or syndromes. What
had occurred was not a manifestation of psychiatric illness.
She was not psychotic, not out of touch with reality, and she
had never suffered from hallucinations (seeing or hearing
things not actually there) or delusions (false beliefs).
She did not use drugs, and she had no sociopathic traits. She
did not have a hysterical personality, and she did not have dissociative tendencies. That is, she was generally aware of what
she was doing and thinking, did not function on "automatic
pilot," and had never had any split or multiple personalities .
The material she produced was often beyond her conscious
capabilities in both style and content. Some of it was particularly psychic, such as the references to specific events and facts
from my own past (e.g., the knowledge about my father and
my son), as well as from her own. She had knowledge that
she had never had access to , or accumulated , in her present
life. This knowledge, as well as the whole experience , was
alien to her culture and upbringing and contrary to many of
her beliefs.
Catherine is a relatively simple and honest person. She is
not a scholar , and she could not have invented the facts,
details, historical events, descriptions, and poetry that came
through her. As a psychiatrist, a scientist, I was certain that the
material originated from some portion of her unconscious
mind. It was real, beyond any doubt. Even if Catherine were
a skilled actress, she could not have recreated these happenings. The knowledge was too accurate and too specific, lying
beyond her capacity.
I pondered the therapeutic purpose of exploring Catherine's
past lives . Once we had stumbled into this new realm, her
improvement was dramatically rapid, without any medicine.There is some powerful curative force in this realm, a force
apparently much more effective than conventional therapy or
modern medicines. The force includes remembering and reliving not just momentous traumatic events, but also the daily
insults to our bodies, minds, and egos. In my questions, as we
scanned lifetimes, I was looking for the patterns of these insults, patterns such as chronic emotional or physical abuse, poverty and starvation, illness and handicaps, persistent persecution and prejudice, repeated failures, and so on. I also kept
an eye out for those more piercing tragedies, such as a traumatic death experience, rape , mass catastrophe , or any other
horrifying event that might leave a permanent imprint. The
technique was similar to reviewing a childhood in conventional
therapy, except that the time frame was several thousand years,
rather than the usual ten or fifteen years. Therefore my questions were more direct and more leading than in conventional
therapy. But the success of our unorthodox exploration was
unquestionable. She [and others I later would treat with hypnotic regression] was being cured with tremendous rapidity.
But were there other explanations for Catherine's past-life
memories? Could the memories be carried in her genes? This
possibility is scientifically remote. Genetic memory requires
the unbroken passage of genetic material from generation to
generation. Catherine lived all over the earth, and her genetic
line was interrupted repeatedly. She would die in a flood with
her offspring, or be childless, or die in her youth. Her genetic
pool ended and was not transmitted. And what of her survival
after death and the in-between state ? There was no body and
certainly no genetic material, and yet her memories continued.
No, the genetic explanation had to be discarded.
What about Jung's idea of the collective unconscious, a
reservoir of all human memory and experience that could
somehow be tapped into? Divergent cultures often contain
similar symbols, even in dreams. According to Jung, the collective unconscious was not personally acquired but "inherited" somehow in the brain structure. It includes motives and
images that spring anew in every culture, without relying upon
historical tradition or dissemination. I thought Catherine' s
memories were too specific to be explained by Jung's concept.
She did not reveal symbols and universal images or motives.
She related detailed descriptions of specific people and places.
Jung's ideas seemed too vague . And there was still the in between state to consider. All in all, reincarnation made the
most sense.
Catherine's knowledge was not only detailed and specific,
but also beyond her conscious capacity. She knew things that
could not be gleaned from a book and then temporarily forgotten. Her knowledge could not have been acquired in her
childhood and then similarly suppressed or repressed from consciousness. And what about the Masters and their messages ?
This came through Catherine but was not of Catherine . And
their wisdom was also reflected in Catherine's memories of
lifetimes. I knew that this information and these message s
were true. I knew this not only from many years of careful
study of people , their minds and brains and personalities, but
I also knew this intuitively , even before the visit from my
father and my son. My brain with its years of careful scientific
training knew this, and my bones also knew.
"I see pots with some type of oil in them." Despite the
three-week hiatus, Catherine had quickly lapsed into a deep trance. She was enmeshed in another body, in another time.
"There are different oils in the pots. It seems to be some type
of storehouse or someplace where they store things. The pots
are red . . . red , made out of some type of re d earth. They
have blue bands around them, blue bands around the top.
I see men there . . . there are men in the cave. They're moving the jars and the pots around, stacking them up and putting
them in a certain area. Their heads are shaved . . . they have
no hair on their heads. Their skin is brown . . . brown skin. "
"Are you there?"
"Yes . . . I'm sealing up some of the jars . . . with some
type of wax . . . sealing the top of the jars with the wax."
"Do you know what the oils are used for?"
"I don't know."
"Do you see yourself? Look a t yourself. Tell m e what you
look like." She paused as she observed herself.
"I have a braid. There's a braid in my hair. I have some type
of long . . . long-material garment on. It has a gold border
around the outside."
"Do you work for these priests, or the men with the
shaved heads?"
"It is my job to seal the jars with the wax. That's my job. "
"But you don't know what the jars are used for?"
"They appear to be used in some religious ritual. But I'm
not sure . . . what it is. There's some anointing, something
on the heads . . . something on your heads and your hands,
your hands. I see a bird, a gold bird, that's around my neck.
It's flat. It has a flat tail, a very flat tail, and its head is pointing down . . . to my feet."
"To your feet?"
"Yes, that's the way it must be worn. There's a black . . .
black sticky substance. I don't know what it is."
"Where is it?"
"It's in a marble container. They use that too, but I don't
know what for."
"Is there anything in the cave for you to read so that you
can tell me the name of the country—the place—where you
live, or the date?"
"There's nothing on the walls; they're empty. I do not know
the name."
I progressed her in time.
"There's a white jar, some type of white jar. The handle
on the top is gold, some type of gold inlay on it."
"What is in the jar?"
"Some type of ointment . It has something to do with the
passage into the other world."
"Are you the person to be passing now?"
"No! It is no one I know."
"Is this your job, too? To prepare people for this passage?"
"No. The priest must do that, not me . We just keep them
supplied with the ointments, the incense. . . . "
"About how old do you appear to be now?"
"Sixteen."
"Are you living with your parents?"
"Yes, a stone house , some type of stone dwelling . It's not
very large. It's very hot and dry. The climate is very hot."
"Go to your house."
"I'm there."
"Do you see other people around in your family?"
"I see a brother, and my mother is there, and a baby, somebody's baby."
"Is that your baby?"
"No."
"What is significant now? Go to something significant that
explains your symptoms in your current lifetime. We need to
understand. It is safe to experience it. Go to the events."
She answered in a very soft whisper. "Everything in time .
. . . I see people dying."
"People dying?"
"Yes . . . they don't know what it is."
"An illness? " Suddenly it dawned on me that she was again
touching on an ancient lifetime , one that she had regressed to
previously. In that lifetime , a water-borne plague had killed
Catherine's father and one of her brothers. Catherine had also
suffered from the illness, but she had not died from it. The
people used garlic and other herbs to try to ward off the
plague. Catherine had been upset because the dead were not
being properly embalmed.
But now we had approached that lifetime from a different
angle. "Does it have something to do with the water?" I asked.
"They believe so. Many people are dying."
I already knew
the ending.
"But you don't die, not from this?"
"No, I do not die."
"But you get sick. You become ill."
"Yes, I'm very cold . . . very cold . I need water . . .
water. They think it comes from the water . . . and something black. . . . Someone dies."
"Who dies?"
"My father dies, and one brother dies also. My mother is
okay; she recovers. She's very weak. They must bury the people. They must bury them, and people are upset because it' s
against religious practices."
"What was the practice?" I marveled at the consistency of
her recall, fact for fact, exactly as she had recounted the lifetime several months ago. Again this deviation from the normal burial customs greatly upset her.
"People were put in caves. The bodies were kept in caves.
But first, the bodies had to be prepared by the priests. They must be wrapped and anointed. They were kept in caves, but
the land is flooding. . . . They say the water is bad . Don' t
drink the water,"
"Is there a way of treating it? Did anything work?"
"We were given herbs, different herbs. The odors .. . the
herbs and . . . smell the odor. I can smell it!"
"Do you recognize the smell?"
"It's white. They hang it from the ceiling."
"Is it like garlic?"
"It's hung around .. . the properties are similar , yes. It's
properties . . . you put it in your mouth, your ears, your
nose, everywhere. The odor was strong . It was believed to
block the evil spirits from entering your body. Purple . . .
fruit or something round with purple covering , purple skin
to it. . . . "
"Do you recognize the culture that you're in? Does it seem
familiar?"
"I don't know."
"Is the purple a fruit of some sort?"
"Tannis."
"Would that help you? Is that for the illness?"
"It was at that time."
"Tannis," I repeated, again trying to see if she was talking
about what we refer to as tannin or tannic acid.
"Is that what
they called it? Tannis?"
"I just .. . I keep hearing 'Tannis.' "
"What in this lifetime has buried itself in your current lifetime? Why do you keep coming back here? What is it that is
so uncomfortable?"
"The religion," Catherine quickly whispered , "the religion
of that time . It was a religion of fear . . . fear . There were
so many things to fear . . . and so many gods."
"Do you remember the names of any gods?"
"I see eyes. I see a black . . . some type of .. . it looks
like a jackal . He's in a statue . He's a guardian of some type
. . . I see a woman, a goddess, with some type of a headpiece on."
"Do you know her name, the goddess?"
"Osiris . . . Sirius . . . something like that . I see an eye
. . . eye , just an eye, an eye on a chain. It's gold."
"An eye?"
"Yes. . . . Who is Hathor?"
"What?"
"Hathor! Who is that!"
I had never heard of Hathor, although I knew that Osiris,
if the pronunciation was accurate, was the brother-husband of
Isis, a major Egyptian deity. Hathor, I later learned, was the
Egyptian goddess of love, mirth, and joy.
"Is it one of the
gods?" I asked.
"Hathor! Hathor." There was a long pause. "Bird . . . he' s
flat . . . flat, a phoenix. . . . "
She was silent again.
"Go ahead in time now to your final day in that lifetime.
Go to your final day, but before you have died. Tell me what
you see."
She answered in a very soft whisper. "I see people and
buildings. I see sandals, sandals. There is a rough cloth, some
type of rough cloth."
"What happens? Go to the time of your dying now. What
happens to you? You can see it."
"I do not see it . . . I don't see me anymore."
"Where are you? What do you see?"
"Nothing . . . just darkness . .. . I see a light, a warm
light." She had already died , already passed over to the spiritual state . Apparently she did not need to experience her actual death again.
"Can you come to the light?" I asked.
"I am going." She was resting peacefully, waiting again.
"Can you look backward now on the lessons of that lifetime? Are you aware of them yet?"
"No," she whispered. She continued to wait. Suddenly she
appeared alert, although her eyes remained closed, as they always did when she was in hypnotic trances. Her head was
turning from side to side.
"What are you seeing now? What's happening? "
Her voice was louder. " I feel . . . someone's talking to
me!"
"What do they say?"
"Talking about patience. One must have patience. . . . "
"Yes, go on."
The answer came from the poet Master. "Patience and timing . . . everything comes when it must come. A life cannot
be rushed, cannot be worked on a schedule as so many people
want it to be. We must accept what comes to us at a given
time, and not ask for more . But life is endless, so we never
die; we were never really born . We just pass through different phases. There is no end. Humans have many dimensions.
But time is not as we see time, but rather in lessons that are
learned."
There was a long pause. The poet Master continued.
"Everything will be clear to you in time. But you must have
a chance to digest the knowledge that we have given to you
already." Catherine was silent.
"Is there more I should learn?" I asked.
"They've gone," she softly whispered. "I don't hear any -
body."
next chapter 9
PART 4
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