Hi, I would like to share some of my experiences when I have used hypnotherapy as a test case for past life regressions. I have always been a strong believer in past lives from a young age. I have always felt that as we live our current lives, we are constantly learning and hopefully evolving spiritually.
I knew from when I was 8 years old that I would be a nurse, which I ventually did become. When I started my training, it felt like "coming home".
I was very drawn to complementary therapies, as I strongly felt that whilst conventional medicine can produce amazng results, Mother Nature/God/ The Universe had so much more to offer.
Sometimes, when I met people for the first time, I would see a "snapshot" picture in my head of what they looked like in a past life, very briefly. This has led me over the years to read many books on the subject, conducting my own regressions, with later working with a hypnotherapist to provide further stories. I am going to add my stories as I write them.
I will also add other stories that show sometimes, there is more to life than we can see.
Who knows, maybe, just maybe people are interested in these stories to become a book?
Open to offers on this!!!
The first story is about a young Cornish Miner called Tom, based sometime in the early 1800's.
I would be really interested to hear anyone's opinions.
Tom’s Story.
At first I couldn’t see anything except darkness all around me. Someone was leaning on me, they were struggling to walk. We were both coughing. The air feels very smoky or dusty. Eventually, we can see a change in light, the path becomes clearer. We walk on with renewed effort. We know we will be out of this blasted place.
People are waiting by the entrance of the tunnel. They see us, someone shouts. I can hear people crying. Two men run toward us. Young Davey was taken from me.
A blanket is wrapped around me. My legs almost buckle beneath me, then I’m helped away from the entrance of the mine. I sit on a large boulder, uncontrollably shaking. My hands and fingers are bloody from scrabbling over rocks in the dark.
A tin cup is thrust into my hands. Strong black tea steams out of the cup. There is a bitter acrid taste, even though there is sugar in the drink. I think some whiskey or other spirit has been added as I hold the cup and drink, feeling heat seeping into my hands and burning my gullet as I drink it.
The scene before me is very eerie. Dust and smoke clouds billow out of the mine.
Groups of people are standing around. Men are tying rope around them and placing axes, knives and spades on their backs. New candles are being fixed to their helmets, a determined, grim look on their faces.
Other miners are stumbling out of the mine. They are dazed and blinking in the light. They too are wrapped in blankets by the waiting women. The miners are all silent, the shock clearly visible on their faces, as it must be on mine. Many men are still missing, not yet accounted for.
The memories start intruding on my conscious. There had been a tremendous blast of air, like an explosion, then the roar of the sea crashing through the lower levels of the mine. The blast had blown out the candles, so we were plunged into a frightening, dense blackness. Timbers and rocks noisily crashed around where I huddled in a small side passage. I had been hit by some rocks that rained down in the dark.
Then the silence followed, that felt as deafening as the noise had been.
I could begin to then hear other men groaning, some shouting out names in the dark. Slowly I clambered over boulders and timbers. I seemed to be fairly ok. I could stand, but my left leg and ankle throbbed painfully. I could feel blood seeping down my face and arms. At first I felt quite disorientated, then found the side of the shaft were there was knotted rope along the side. If I followed this, it would take me to wider tunnels, then eventually back up to the outside.
I could hear someone groaning. I recognised young Davey. He called out to me. I felt my way cautiously. A timber had partially pinned him to the floor. He was only 11 and wasn’t strong enough to move the wood away. In the darkness, it seemed more of a task. When I moved the plank clear, Davey screamed out. He had been struck in the chest. I helped him up, and told him that we would get out and that he would be safe with me.
It was difficult walking blindly, supporting Davey.
Time passed slowly, although it had maybe taken two hours to emerge at the surface, it had felt like we stumbled and tripped for much longer. As my shaking subsided, my wounds were tended by some of the women who were helping the local doctor. They all had the same, grim, weary look on their faces. No-one talked of non-consequential things. Names were asked of other men who had been working in the area.
Most certainly the men in the lower levels would have perished from the in surge of the sea. How many, was not yet known.
I sat looking out to sea. It was a beautiful day, the sea glistening and shining how I would imagine diamonds would look in the sunshine. Waves continued their cycle against the rocks and beach below. How could this tragedy take place, when Nature just continued blithely on?
As I looked at the sea, a strong resolve came over me. I would never go beneath the earth again. Nothing would ever make me go down there again. I might not be so lucky next time.
I had no family. My dad, William Richards, had also been a miner and had died several years ago from an accident in this very place. My mother, Margaret or Meg as she was known, had also died. Her passing was more recent and I still missed her. Around my neck was the thin grey scarf she had knitted me. It was the last thing she had made for me before her passing. Perhaps that was what had kept me safe today.
The mine is closed for several weeks, while the mine owners try to get parts of the mine safe and working again. People are not paid. The villagers are already poor and struggling.
My earlier decision was still the right one for me. I told no-one of my plans. There was no definite plan, except for the overwhelming desire to go and walk on the earth and drink in the light from the sun that had been missing for so long.
One early morning, before sunrise, I gathered what few things I had, wrapping them into a bundle, taking my tin cup and plate, a small pan and the meagre extra clothes. It was fortunate that I didn’t have much, as I would have had to leave it behind.
Symbolically, I placed my tin hat in the centre of the table. I looked around once more, then, left quietly through the door, stepping out to freedom and away from everything I knew and cared about.
It was cold and damp outside. There were still some stars visible in the sky. In the east, there was a narrow band of light heralding the beginning of the day. I felt sad about leaving the village and the mine, but also felt excited that my adventure was starting. I also thought about never returning to those dark, damp depths of the earth again.
I did have a fear of what I would do and how I would survive, but brushed those thoughts away by concentrating on walking towards the coast path in the near darkness. My friend, the sea was to my left. I could hear the dull roar of the waves against the cliffs. The air felt fresh and clean as I gratefully breathed in deeply to clear my head.
I still didn’t have a plan in mind, or a destination, but felt that when I reached the right place, there would be some kind of sign to show me that I had arrived.
I walked down steep paths that followed the coast routes, and then climbed back up even steeper, narrow paths.
I would find shelter in dry caves, under small upturned boats or small barns if I was lucky.
My days fell into a routine of walking for a few hours from when the sun rose, then resting when the sun was high and bright. I kept close to the coast where possible. I was able to catch fish with my line and hook. When walking across cliffs and headlands, I would be able to trap rabbits.
On days where I had been successful in catching more rabbits or fish than I needed myself, I would walk quietly into small villages and knock at doors where I would eventually exchange my bounty for bread, vegetables and other delights like a small flagon of ale or cider.
I tried to keep myself looking presentable, by washing in cold streams or even the sea. I remember my mother always saying to my father and me “That we maybe miners and poor folk, but that didn’t mean we had to be dirty.” Mother had come from outside the area; she had a bible that she kept with her always. To her, cleanliness was next to Godliness. She was always saying that “God looked after everyone, even those in the depths of the earth. It didn’t hurt to keep clean, God would see us better!”
Mother had some education and could read. She tried to teach me to read, so that I wouldn’t be ignorant. I knew the family names in the front of the bible, mine being the last. I could read some of the words and passages, but struggled with unfamiliar words.
The bible was one of my few possessions I kept safe. I may not have been able to read well, but I knew I carried part of my Mother with me.
As I grew in confidence, I would offer my self for jobs on farms in exchange for overnight shelter and food.
I never stayed in any place more than a few days. Sometimes I would be fortunate to have a ride on the backs of carts, which helped my feet considerably.
To see the sky, the clouds and the rolling countryside or coast every day, was such a blessing for me. Not to have to be in the bowels of the earth from sunrise to sunset made me grateful for each passing week. My eyes didn’t like the brighter days for quite a while, but I thought it was a small price to pay.
Eventually, after several meandering weeks, I left Cornwall for Devon. I came to a farm surrounded by moors. Shrubs of Heather, Gorse and Bracken were in abundance. This scenery was familiar to me, as my cliff top home had also been like moorland. I had intended to stay just a few days then move onwards again. Each day there were always more jobs to do. The farmer was a decent man and was glad of my help, especially as it would soon be Harvest time.
The farmer had a fairly large family, four strapping sons and three daughters. I liked the youngest daughter – Sarah. She was 17 years old, with dark curly hair. She often brought out cups of milk to me when she was milking the cows. She also gave me extra food when she thought no-one was looking.
The farmer asked me about my plans to move on, as they were going to be busier over the next few months. He offered me a place to stay in return for whatever work I could do. I decided that the farm, with its wide expanses of land, moors and big sky above was a good place to be. The earth beneath my feet and not closed in around me, was exactly what I craved.
I liked the farmer and his big family. I missed having family around me for a long time. Besides, there was also the added attraction of Sarah!
Eventually, with the farmer’s blessing, Sarah and I became man and wife. We had our hands tied together with cloth and flowers, then jumped over a broom together. Sarah had flowers in her dark hair. She kept smiling up at me. I’m sure I must have been the happiest man alive!
We had a small cottage built for us about a mile or so from the farm. It had one room downstairs with another small room upstairs. To me it was like a mansion.
We had a few chickens and ducks. We had also been given three reddish-brown cows.
I still worked at the farm during busier times. My favourite job was doing the ploughing behind one of the horses. I had always liked horses, even when I had been working underground. Then, there had never been time to talk and stroke the ponies. They worked as hard, if not harder than the miners.
Over the next few years, Sarah and I had three children. Two boys, Jack and Jimmy, both ginger haired like me, were followed by Josie, our only daughter, who looked just like her mother, with dark tumbling curls.
Their names were carefully added in my Mother’s bible, underneath our names.
We were very happy and content. There was always something to do. The nearest village was about an hours walk, around 5 miles away. It was called Sourton. We would go there to sell milk, eggs or meat if we had any.
Twice a year we would make the journey to Hatherley Mill. It was nearly 20 miles away. It was always a busy place. There were mills there, a bigger, bustling market and little shops. We would take whatever produce we had. Sarah would make jams and pickles. She would be busy for the days before our journey, making pies, cakes, bread. Cheese rounds would be bought out of their nets or barrels.
Sarah would purchase wool or other materials to make clothes for our family.
I never really liked Hatherley, too busy and noisy, too many people. I was always relieved when we were heading back to our little farm.
Jack eventually married a girl from Sourton, then they had they’re own family.
Jimmy never settled and seemed to drift from job to job. He liked to drink, often disappearing for days on end, always worrying his mother and me.
Josie became pregnant when she was almost 17 years old. There was a scandal, as the man involved scarpered, leaving Josie on her own. Time passed, Josie went into labour. Something wasn’t right. She seemed to be in labour for several days in great pain. Sarah and her sisters stayed with her.
We are devastated, Josie delivered a baby girl. The baby was weak and not moving very much. Josie lost too much blood. There was nothing anyone could do for her, she died holding Sarah’s hands. The baby died a few hours later, too weak to survive.
Josie and her baby’s funeral was held in Sourton. There is a simple coffin on the back of a cart with 2 horses. People are around us, the women have their shawls over their heads. They placed posies of flowers on the coffin. Men came upto us with their hats in their hands. Jack and Jimmy are beside us. All Sarah and I can do is hold each other.
Both Josie’s name and the baby, whom we named Meg, were added again to the bible.
I don’t think that Sarah ever recovers from this loss. She’s not hapy like she used to be. Quite often, I catch her sitting by the range, staring into space with such a sad look on her face.
Over the years, my chest becomes increasingly weaker each winter. I seem to have a persistent cough, a legacy from my years underground.
I think I am about 56 when I die. There is a bright white light around me, I feel I can move and breathe freely again. There are people waiting for me. I think I can see my mother and father waiting and smiling at me.
After this regression, I thought I might have been somewhere in the north of England. I think I only travelled as far as Devon. There is a village or town called Sourton on the edge of Dartmoor. It is a very rural area. A few miles away, there is also a larger town called Hatherleigh. This had been a busy market and mill town in years past. The type of cows we had were reddish-brown. These were apparently a specialised breed to the area. Soon after my regression, there was a photograph in the “West Briton“ paper, of a sculptor who makes life size statues. The photograph depicted the sculptor with 2 miners wearing strange tin hats with a candle fixed to them, exactly how I had seen mine.
When I checked on the internet for details of mining disasters at coastal mines, I found several where shafts had been dug under the sea bed, the sea had broken through and flooded parts of the mines. The pressure of the sea forcing its way through into the shafts would blast air forward, extinguishing any lit candles. I felt the time had been around 1810. Sir Humphrey Davey had invented the safety lamp in 1808. It had obviously not been in use where I felt I had worked.
One location in Cornwall that strikes a chord with me is at the ruins of Wheal Coates near St. Agnes. They are built on the cliff tops overlooking the sea 200 feet below. This particular mine wasn’t built until the middle of the 19th century. The panoramic view was very similar to the view in my regression. There were many mines built in coastal areas, so I will need to investigate further. Strangely I always had a fear of being in dark enclosed spaces prior to this regression, it no longer bothers me, or certainly not to the extent it used to.
Cornwall for me has always been my home, wherever I’ve been and I have always had a very strong sense of belonging to Cornwall
The next story started off as one story, then suddenly became another life, showing a marked contrast between people's attitudes and belief systems.
Anusha’s and Sapphira’s Story.
This regression episode happened 20th November 2007. This was my 3rd session with Angela Coote, a hypnotherapist. This session turned into a longer session than previous ones and had an interesting twist, in that after passing from this life, I was taken to the Akashic Records in Heaven or the “Other Side”, then shown my next life, then immediately fell into an incarnation in the last part of the next time on earth.
These two lives were very different. I had natural healing, spiritual and psychic skills, that in the first life were acceptable, in my next time I had the same skills and abilities and to my cost, were definitely unacceptable.
I was led through a relaxation visualisation, that made me fall asleep for a couple of minutes, then, I was going through a door. Everywhere was white and bright, it was daytime in a snowy place.
Looking down at my feet, I was wearing light coloured moccasin type boots, with furs wrapped around my legs. I was wearing some kind of long tunic over skin leggings. I was wearing a thicker coat made from animal skins and furs and fur mittens. The coat had a hood with fur around the edges like a parka coat.
I had long dark hair, small braids at sides of my face, with beads in the braids. I was female. My name is Anusha. There is some kind if pack on my back, a papoose, with a baby, held within it , wrapped in furs. I held a rod or spear and was carrying several rabbits.
There were fir trees with snow on their branches. The air was crisp and cold. It wasn’t snowing and was a bright, sunny, late afternoon.
I walked through the trees until I came to a clearing. A small group of large tepees were placed close together. Fir branches were placed against the sides of the tepees to protect them from snowfall.
There are fur coverings around the tepee entrance. I enter the largest tepee. Several people are inside. All appearing to be busy, preparing evening meals. It was mainly women and children present. Food was being cooked over two or three fires.
I go to where an elderly man – “The Grandfather” and an elderly woman – “The Grandmother” are sitting. They are our medicine man and wise woman. My mother is also present. I give my mother the rabbits that I had collected from the traps earlier. I remove my papoose and take my baby out. He is a chubby little boy with masses of dark hair. His name is Analuk. He has eight moons for his age.
The men and young adolescent men to be, are away on a manhood ceremony. They are away for a full month. We are not allowed to speak of them during this time, in case by talking about them, we draw their spirit home too early and make them vulnerable, by weakening their spirits.
This is a quieter time of year. We are in our winter place. We deal with day to day life and the pace is slow and peaceful. We all gather together to pass the long cold nights and talk of the brave exploits of our ancestors. In the warmer weather, we will move to start following the larger animals like the buffalo and the mighty deer. They are our food supply and provide valuable skins for clothing, bones for tools. We hunt them and other animals, we stay in different places for shorter periods of time, then start to make the return journey to the winter camp as the days grow short again.
I am beginning to learn the ways of the medicine man and more importantly for me, the wise woman ways. One day I will take over this role. Our wise woman has no daughters. She has chosen me as I have shown some promise with plants and appear to have some healing skills with injured animals and even people.
The time passes, our men will be returning soon. I am glad, I have missed my man and have important news for him. I believe the spirits have been kind to us and have blessed us with a new life growing inside me. I wasn’t sure before they went away, but now I feel that in another six moons we will have a brother or sister for Analuk.
I start feeling uneasy before the men come back. Something is not right. In the end I share my worries with The Grandmother. She asks that I start getting certain herbs together and strips of skin and fur. She feels something too.
We hear a commotion, some of the younger men run into the camp. There has been an accident, two men are badly injured, another one or two less injured. My man is one of the badly injured men. There had been a suprise attack by a female bear. The men must have been too close to her cave. Perhaps she had cubs and had come out to find food. My man tried to lead the bear away from the younger men, then tried to protect himself as the enraged bear attacked him. He had three deep gashes across his chest as well as some minor injuries. Other men were attacked before the bear was killed. My man had lost much blood from these wounds, but more worryingly was his breathing, coming in loud rasps. The attack had happened several days before.
It had taken the men this long to return home, carrying the two injured men. The other man was treated by some of the other women. The wounds looked bad and had a bad smell with them. I treated my man with The Grandmother’s help and also even The Grandfather’s help. I knew then that it wasn’t good for my man and that soon he would leave this world. We did all that we could.
The drums started, the chanting began. I begged my man to stay, that his son needed him and his new baby would also need him. I needed him. A strange noise filled my ears, it was a while before I realised the noises came from me and was being picked up by the other woman. My man had passed to spirit. I felt as if a knife had cut me in my chest.
I buried my man under rocks the next day with all the tribe helping. Three bear claws had been given to my man as an amulet to the next world. The claws would have a part of the bear’s spirit. As the bear was also dead, she would now be his protector and guide in the next world. I was also given three claws on a necklace. The claws not only had the bear’s spirit, but also some of my man’s.
Days passed, I couldn’t eat, couldn’t talk. I found it difficult to look after Analuk. Then two weeks after burying my man, I started bleeding heavily. I knew from helping other women that I had lost my new baby. My grief was so raw and painful. I didn’t think I would live, that I would join my man.
Time passed I had to get better for my son. He was part of my man’s spirit. I couldn’t fail him too. The days got longer, the snows went. Our tribe started the process of taking down our winter camp, ready to follow the coming season’s bounty.
I eventually succeeded the Grandmother’s position when she too passed to the next world. My hair was white when it was my turn. My son had grown up to be a very fine, courageous man, just like his father in looks and temperament.
I was surrounded by my tribe and felt ready to go. I looked at everyone and my son. I still had the bear claws, I passed them to my son, breathed my last as I closed my eyes. I could feel my body become light like a feather. I could see myself on the fur skins. I turned, The Grandfather, Grandmother, my mother were waiting. Behind them was my man. I was so happy. More faces and hands lined the way. I could hear singing.
The next part became hazy, I don’t think we are to remember too much about our other home, as we would want to be back there sooner than we should. I was taken to a room with many large books. I was then taken to a large stone font with water in it. I was shown a large lake with a surrounding forest. As I looked at this image, I found myself falling into the watery image.
I was spontaneously taken midway of my next life. Much time had passed since my last time. I felt excited that I would be able to help people again. The people were very different. They had white skin, so did I. They wore strange clothes. The women wore long dresses with white collars and white caps. The time was around the mid to late 1650’s.
The family I was born into didn’t understand my natural skills and abilities. From a young age, I had shown that I was different from other children. I knew when the weather would turn for the worse. I knew if someone was hurt. Many times as a child I had been severely punished for speaking my truth. I was feared and ostracised by the small village we lived in.
By the time I was 14 or 15 years old, I was made to live in a wooden hut on my own. That was okay, as by then I preferred my own company and that of the gentle woodland creatures. Food would be left for me by the door. I was still avoided by most of the villagers. The occasional brave few visited me when they had an injury or infection, which I would willingly treat with herbs and use of poultices. They would leave me food, or skins from animals or rarely, money or cloth.
I began to hear rumours of terrible things happening to other women like me who knew the ways of nature. They were being branded as witches and were classed as evil, part of, or in league with the devil. I worried about this and tried to send prayers out to these unfortunate women. I thought I would be ok, as I was so young. Whilst I was cast out of village life and people were supposed to be punished if they were found to have any involvement with me, I was generally left alone.
Then one day it happened, I was dragged out of my home by a group of village elders. I was accused of many things, causing illnesses, crops failing and of course of being a witch. I was terrified. People I had known my whole life, many of whom I had quietly helped, looked at me with great fear.
I pleaded my innocence, but to no avail. I was thrown into the deep lake with my hands bound behind me. Unfortunately for me, I had taught myself to swim a little and could hold my breath. Even with my long dress and heavy petticoats, I was able to rise to the surface, coughing and spluttering.
The crowd gasped in fear when it was obvious I hadn’t drowned. I knew what was to come. I was dragged to a stake in the ground, surrounded by firewood. I could feel my panic and terror. I was gagged and tied to the stake. I could see and feel the flames coming closer. There was so much smoke and a terrible smell.
I was helped to come out of my regression at this point and helped to feel calm and view the scene as a film. When I came around, I had been crying.
I have often said in the past that I felt that I had been tried as a witch at least once in past times.
Two lives with similar skills and abilities, but such a different reaction from people.
I feel it is important for other people to understand that there is a cycle of life that we are all a part of. We grow through these past times and learn many things. Sometimes we are able to bring past skills with us and be accepted for who we are.
Our time on earth can be short or longer, but each time we will gain something new, learn the good and bad of people and grow spiritually.
The Beetle’s song “Love is all there is” teaches us that it is true. Energy cannot be destroyed. When we pass, we leave our solid bodies that transported and protected us for many years. We are still “Us”, just in an energy form. Sometimes there can be long periods of time that we don’t re-incarnate. These times are used to gain spiritual knowledge and understanding. We are all on a long journey back home.
Death or crossing over have been long feared, but it too is part of our cycle of living.
June Bentley-Mackay
03/04/2011
The third story takes me to a time in the future, so like all the others, this is my viewpoint and my experience.
Simon’s Story.
This story is from a regression session. Instead of going back into the past, I was asked to explore a time far into the future. The year appeared to be around 2187. This session was held 6th March 2008.
My legs are bare, I am wearing loose long clothes with sandals. I’m not able to see very well, I am blind. I hold a stick in my hand. The stick has a smooth round crystal on the top. There is something in the crystal that helps me see a little better. I think I have some kind of implant in my head that receives signals from the crystal.
It feels a very warm day. I think I’m quite elderly, but still active and able to look after myself fairly well. There is no one around me, but there are people on the periphery of my daily life who provide basic care/input to keep me safe.
My hands are fairly large with knobbly knuckles. I think I’m tall, although not as tall as in my younger days. I walk with a slight stoop. My face feels free from facial hair, I think I’m either bald or have a receded hairline.
I’m outside, the ground feels a little rough, but it is a well known path that I walk regularly. I feel for a hedge at the side of me, walk a bit further. The hedge ends, a curved wall appears, I feel for the stone bench where I usually sit for a short break in my walk. I can hear birds singing. I enjoy the warmth of the day, although I’m careful to keep my face in the shade of my loose hood. My clothes are thin material, loose trousers with a long loose tunic.
I’m not sure what country I’m actually in, it feels like a place in the Mediterranean or Northern Africa. I think the whole of Europe is actually now one big state or country.
A group of people from different areas govern the country. Something major happened in the past. I remember my grandparents telling me of a great war that had happened. There was also a volcanoe that had been extinct for thousands of years, became very active and caused much damage and loss of life. Generally the population is much smaller than in my grandparents time.
I had a family when I was younger, something happened to them. I am not able to dwell on negative thoughts. I think I may have been outspoken about the way things were run in the past. I have vague memories that I was taken somewhere. People like me were fitted with an implant that helped us to think “correctly”.
I’m not sure what happened to my sight. I think it may have deteriorated from the job I did, not able to remember that. I think I had repeated infections to my eyes that over time damaged my vision.
I’m not worried and feel fairly peaceful and happy with my life. There is a kind of routine to my life. I get up, eat a simple breakfast, do what small chores I can, then venture out for my daily walk around the large walled garden. The path will take me back to my house.
My house is very simple, but uses a lot of technology. The sun’s rays, while harmful to the skin, are used in most houses to provide electricity and hot water. My house is like a small dome built into the hillside. The roof is covered in grass. There are types of openings in the roof which fill the house with natural light.
Inside, my house has no straight lines or hard edges. Everything is curved. All furnishings are simple, no fussiness. I have all I need and quite enjoy my monastic lifestyle. I have learnt as I’ve aged that acceptance is sometimes a better way to live.
I rarely interact with people. As I mentioned earlier, there are people on the edges of my life. Food appears as I need it. I’m provided with clean clothing regularly. I don’t leave my surroundings. There are no shops, as everything I need is provided. I don’t have money as there is no where to spend it.
I think there are many of these “Micro-Communities”, where either people with a disability who are independent and had a past history of standing against the government or “The Committees”, now live isolated from others, but cared for.
The system is definitely one of a “Big Brother” society. Life appears very simple, but technology is used to monitor mine and everyone else’s activities. When I return to my domed house (appears like a Teletubby or Hobbit house!), I remove my crystal from my walking stick. It fits into a computer screen and either uploads or downloads information, that will show my guardians of my day to day existence. I am sent basic updates on what is happening outside. These days I accept what I hear, but take it with a large pinch of salt. After all, I’m no longer able to change things.
My life is simple, probably not one envisioned in the lost years of my youth. I am happy and reasonably free.
June Bentley-Mackay
03/04/2011
I hope that these stories have maybe piqued an interest in you finding out about re-incarnation for yourselves. We are all on a journey, sometimes it's smooth, a lot of times it can feel quite rough. Some of it we have agreed to before we are born into this life, so that we can grow spiritually.
