I was able to achieve hypnosis faster the second time around. Except for the normal buzz of Brooklyn at the top of my hearing, I was deep within minutes and receiving images I wasn’t even asked for.
To reach a past life we descend a set of steps from a tranquil garden of healing, over a bridge. Or at least that’s what Herve spoke to me while my visions were very different. Instead of being outdoors in a garden I was inside, again, in a magnificent estate with a domed glass ceiling where I could see the sky above. Birds fluttered across the massive space, confused by the glass perhaps but content in the sun’s warm glow. I was in an indoor garden, one that was neglected and rotten, the entire place was. But it was still somehow peaceful, tranquil and familiar. I could muster a red hibiscus flower in my mind to add some life and color, but the garden itself was ancient and quiet. I don’t care to dissect this, but apparently my safe place is somewhere that no one has been for a very long time.
Descending the steps to the count of 10 always gives me a chuckle, as I ascend into my beautiful, sorrowful, dilapidated garden. However, I was able to thrust myself in the opposite direction and imagine myself rushing down the steps and outside as Herve instructed. But there was a ferocious thunderstorm that impeded my way. I was told to find a path to the most relevant life, and instead I was in a deluge, fighting through it, not seeing anything! My luck, only my brain would contradict me like this!
Then Herve instructed me to find a bridge, the bridge that led me to the next life to explore, but on that bridge the wind picked up and the rain came down even harder. All was dark and grey as I crossed but suddenly…..
A golden field. I ran through it towards a beautiful lonely blue mountain in the distance. It rose so high above the other peaks, seemingly alone on the top of the world, yet still connected to a range. I ran my hand over high golden grass, playing like a happy child, daydreaming, laughing to myself. All the time Matterhorn, the blue giant mountain watched over me, with my parents no where in sight.
I was in Switzerland. The year was 1516. 501 years ago.
Herve asked me if there was a house near. I didn’t see one so I looked. I came upon an old farmhouse with a very triangular roof and steep pitch. It was deserted. I went inside and found dusty tables, benches and a grey stillness over the entire place. But it wasn’t scary and I was delighted to have somewhere to explore. This was my place, where I came to play.
Herve moved me forward and I found myself in a little town. Busy, horses, wood carts, children playing. I spotted a little boy with bright blonde hair. I followed him a bit, we played. I pet a horse nearby. Everything was fun, exciting and I heard myself giggling as I described it all.
Then I was in a shop. I saw an older man, grey hair, wearing ‘spectacles’, he was tall and thin. He made toys for the kids in town, wooden ones. They didn’t work well and he made other things like tools and odd inventions but they never seemed to work either. Herve called him a ‘tinkerer’ and that was accurate. I thought the old man was funny and he liked when the kids came to see him. He gave us all toys and told us stories.
I walked through the streets and heard my mother’s shrill voice. “Marie! Marie!” with the French pronunciation. She was looking for me and I was in trouble for wandering again. She dragged me back home where I saw my father. A big round man with a big round bald head and a little hair by his ears. He had a big warm smile and he winked at me as my mother chided away. She started nagging him too, about not disciplining me, but we just shared a smile. She pulled me to my room and stripped off my play clothes and stuffed me into a dark dress with an ugly dark bow. Then she stuck a dark colored hat on my head that had another ugly bow.
We moved forward just a few days, I believe, when I saw a group of men meeting in the town square. I tried to listen without being seen, and realized they were upset with one of the shopkeepers. The old man that made us toys! They wanted him out, these corrupt political types, not liking someone because he was good and would not do what they wanted him to do. I was so worried for him that I went to my dad. I was whispering to him, I didn’t want my mother to hear. As much as he understood and agreed with me, he said this was how the world was, and that I should not interfere. So I asked him, since he knew more about the world, could he help the old man that makes us toys. He smiled and nodded but in my heart I knew there was nothing we could do.
We moved forward in time again. I was in my 20’s. I was not married yet, to my mother’s dismay, but outside my house stood a young man, shy and sweet, asking for my hand. My parents discussed it with me while the young man waited, and that made me uneasy and nervous. My mother pecked away at reasons why I needed to marry this man while my father very calmly said it was up to me and that I should do whatever made me happy. My only thought was that I felt bad for the young man, he was so nervous, and how awful could marriage to him be? It was another adventure, so I agreed.
My husband was skinny and tall but sort of bent at the top, weighed down by his own doubt and self pity. He wasn’t good at anything and didn’t have a trade, so he did busy work for everyone in town and it was good enough. Years passed and I finally had our first child. I literally had a labor pain while sitting in Herve’s office and he moved me forward to after the birth. And then, there he was. My son. I was holding him, cradling him, rocking him. I knew in that instant that this was my purpose; to have him, to love him, to raise him. He snapped my life onto its course, after a lifetime of daydreaming and hapless wandering.
I had a daughter as well, two years later. We moved ahead in time and I saw our little family at the dinner table, chatting away. I was fixated on my son. He got all my love and attention. I played with him, I doted upon him, I loved him completely. He reminded me of the little blonde boy I played with as a child and that made me happy. Somehow I could remain a child, with my son, and share the happiness I had as a kid with him. I wanted him to know true happiness, as I did at Matterhorn. And, my daughter sat there and swung her legs happily off the bench and looked around curiously the way I did when I was young. But she didn’t feel like she was mine. I wasn’t connected to her the way I was to my son, and I was filled with guilt over it. She was so sweet and innocent and deserving of all her mother’s love, but my son had it, and I spared very little for her. It made me very sad and angry with myself.
Years passed, my son was grown. He wanted to leave our little town, our perfect life and travel. I didn’t understand where he wanted to go or why, and I tried to convince him to find a girl and get married. He refused, with his beautiful bright smile, melting my heart. He was so strong, so confident, so focused on his journey, and nothing like his father. He was the best of me and of my dad. I heard my husband telling me to let him make his own decisions, the way my father defended me against my mother. I literally said to Herve, “I’m just like my mother!”
My son left and my world came to a grinding halt. I was so sad and broken hearted. A few years passed and we heard nothing from him. My daughter was getting married. I didn’t like her choice of a husband, but she was elated. I was happy to see her happy, she deserved that. My husband approved of the young man as well so again I went along with it. But I had my reservations and, ‘if he hurts her I’ll kill him’. Even as her wedding day came, I was focused only on my son again, and the loss I felt so deeply. I mourned him, even as everyone else believed he would return.
My father had a bad cough. My mother was worried. He said he was fine, but he died shortly after. I did not want to revisit his death as it was absolutely tragic for Marie. I felt my throat tighten and the tears rush to my eyes. I told Herve I did not want to go there. I had realized that my father in Marie’s life was my grandfather in this one. My father’s father Peter, who I was so close to. I loved him so dearly and never left his side when I was a kid. He died when I was only 10, but he is still with me. I call him my guardian angel. Along with my mother’s mother, I have some muscle on the otherside.
My daughter had two children of her own. Her husband turned out to be ok. I never had to kill him but I don’t have to like him either. My daughter would bring her kids over to cheer me up but I was still so focused on my son. At this point no one would say ‘don’t worry he’s coming back’, it had been too long and a mother always knows. I was filled with sadness and heartache, even as my home was filled with loving, deserving family, I only wanted my son back.
My husband was hurt at work. Some clumsy non-life threatening injury that only infuriated the poor man. He was tired of working, he was tired of the labor, he was tired of being told what to do. He was too old to do what he’d used to do and now he was working for his peers who now owned their own shops, and he was beneath them. It was hard for him, but he was a good man and I did love him very much.
We jumped forward in time, to after my death. I saw my daughter, her husband and her children at my grave site. Herve immediately intervened and instructed me to go to my death event first. I saw myself alone in the dark, crying myself to asleep. I was alone, I was nearly 70, 68 sticks out in my mind. I literally cried until I died of a broken heart. I had so much guilt for not appreciating or loving my family for all those years, I only focused on the loss of my son. It shattered my life, the day he left, and I never saw him again.
Until I crossed over. Herve instructed me to move into the period of time between lives and the first face I saw was my son’s! In our last session my spirit guides had intervened and did not allow me to see any loved ones so Herve asked where they were now. “They are leaving me alone this time,” I said, and basked in the light of my son’s smile. That was all I needed to heal, and that was all Marie needed to understand the sadness and loss of her life. It is only temporary, and we are all reunited again.
Herve asked me if I recognized my son as anyone I know. I was immediately overwhelmed with emotion. I could feel the tears streaming down my face. “Yes, it’s my nephew.” And so the world gave him back to me again, and our relationship has new meaning now. He is one of the only people in my life that impresses me, spiritually, with his vast understanding of our soul’s journey. He knows we are here to experience, to learn, to grow, and he is such an old soul that I swear he’s back now just for vacation. There is no one as interesting, as warm, as loving, as untraditional and weird, as wonderful and intelligent, as my nephew. Except of course, for me.
We started today’s session with a goal, to find my sadness, the dark pain I carry in my heart. My loss, this person who I mourn. I think we found it, and I can heal now.