Bagpipes on the Beach

Bagpipes on the Beach
by Jen Freer
Today a friend of mine asked me, “How do you know when you’ve had a past-life regression dream?”

This was an excellent question, as it made me delve into the distinct details that set these dreams apart from a regular dream or a lucid dream. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a lucid dream, but in my regular dreams, the setting always seems to be present day and I’m usually myself in my dreams. I rarely see myself in my regular dreams. Most of the time, I see everything from my own eyes.

The other people in my regular dreams are usually people I know or representative of people I know. Even if there is someone in my dream I don’t know, or don’t recognize to represent someone I know, I am at least still me in the dream.

The other thing I notice about my regular dreams is that none of them really make sense, or something totally whacky happens when they are making sense to make them suddenly…yeah…NOT make sense. The sequencing is odd, too. My regular dreams roll a lot like those Old Spice commercials: I’m in the club dancing like a fool, and then I’m on the golf course teeing off, and then I’m floating down a canal on a gondola – look up, look down—I’m on a horse. And it’s all the same day. Oh, and there are gargantuan snakes dropping from the tree branches when I’m hanging out in the woods with my friends. I’m not even kidding. I sometimes wake up wondering if I smoked crack before I went to bed.

Past-life regression dreams are way different. For starters, I don’t recognize anyone in the dream, but yet I feel very connected to them. Every single past-life dream I’ve experienced has taken place in a different time period. The first one I had took place in the 1930s or 40s. I could tell by the clothing people wore, the cars they drove, and the appliances and décor in the homes. Everything was so retro. My second past-life dream took place during World War I. The most recent one I had took place so long ago, I can’t even tell you what time period it was; all I know is that the transportation was horse and wagon. No, not even a buggy; just a rudimentary wooden wagon.

The accents of the people in this most recent past-life regression dream sounded quite Gaelic. I’m not sure where they were from, exactly, but when I visited on a hunch, I saw photos there of historical stone homes that looked a lot like those in my dream. The dark waters in which the people in my dream played reminded me of the very lochs in which the “Lochness Monster” had been allegedly sighted. One of the men in the dream even mentioned “Nessy” when an unidentified water creature bit the big toe of the matronly strawberry-blonde woman in my dream.

My past-life regression dreams play out in chronological order, just like most well-told stories. The time-period and setting details are exquisite. And, even though the people are not anyone I recognize from this life, there is always a familiarity—a connection—and I can usually identify which person in the dream is who I was in that past life. I also tend to remember every last detail of my past-life regression dreams as if they really happened, whereas, in my regular “Old Spice” dreams, I only remember bits and pieces.

The things that amaze me most about my past-life regression dreams are mostly the historical details. The clothing. The transportation. The landscape. The architecture. And even the accents! I mean, I’m no historian, so I really don’t know what these things looked like in the past, except for what I’ve seen in movies and on television. I’m also no traveler, so I’ve never been to Scotland, and I don’t know the Highlands from the…Lowlands? I really have no clue. I don’t even know anyone from Scotland. The only Scottish accents I’ve ever heard are that late-night talk-show host and bad imitations on movies.

It’s odd, though. Just a few weeks ago when I was walking the Lake Michigan shoreline, I thought I’d heard bagpipes playing in the distance, and I suddenly felt comforted, the way a care package delivered to summer camp seemed to cure homesickness back in the day. The strangest thing is that I’ve never even considered the sound of bagpipes musical until that moment. As I climbed the dune to the parking lot that evening, I discovered it was, indeed, an older gentleman playing “Amazing Grace” on the pipes. Mystery solved. But the greater mystery was why I felt soothed by the sound. Now that I know I have ties to Scotland, I guess that may be the very reason why. Perhaps it was the bagpipes on the beach that inspired this deep connection to this particular past life to reveal itself in my dreams.

Then there is this long-term cosmic influence tidbit from that hints toward such revelations:

That Silver Thread
Jupiter Sextile Saturn
Jun 23, 2010 to Aug 22, 2010
There’s a link between each and everything you’ve ever done and where you are now. It’s all contributed to making the present the best possible place to be. In other words, do take time to thank all of your former incarnations, both in this life and in others.

Hmm. Bagpipes on the beach. Who knew?

This is where it gets weird

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This blog was written in the spring of 2008, before I accessed my Akashic Records and learned I have actually lived a total of 39 past lives.

WARNING: This blog is about reincarnation. If you are opposed to the idea of reincarnation, STOP READING.

Even if you don’t believe in reincarnation, you’ve probably caught yourself saying something along the lines of “not in this life,” or “in my next life, I want to come back as…” or “I must have been (enter adjective here) in a past life.” The question is, do we actually believe we’ve lived other lives or that our souls will regenerate to a new life after we die when we catch ourselves saying things like that?

Well, I can only speak for myself, and I KNOW I’ve lived other lives.

When I was a wee lil unchurched towhead, reincarnation was a totally natural inclination to me. OF COURSE I’d lived past lives! I WAS Huck Finn, yo!! Or maybe I had been Tom Sawyer. Or maybe…just maybe…I was Samuel Clemens, and THAT is how I knew those boys so well. Hey, stranger stuff has happened. How does a seven-year old who has never read either story know who Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer are, anyway?

Aw, maybe my mom had read those stories to me. I honestly don’t remember everything about those days. I just remember my mom was THE BEST story reader in the WORLD. Except those Laura Ingalls stories sure did put me to sleep – FAST!!

I DO remember believing in reincarnation for whatever reason, though.

Since high school I have had this thought that I must have been a real stuck-up wench in one of my past lives because I’ve always had this snooty-girl mentality that even I cannot stand at times. I mean, she’s the kind of bitch I want to smack and say, “BURP if your tummy hurts, Buffy!” JEEZE!! “Loosen the corset, Camille!” Ya know?

Anyway, yeah, crazy, I know. Especially since I grew up in middle-class suburbia and I was the first in my family to earn a college degree besides my dad who never did anything with his teaching degree because he slammed a high school student against a wall as a substitute teacher; I do believe he lost his teaching certificate  for that. Classy, huh? So, yeah, I never really had any reason to be proud or feel privileged.

When I ran away (er WENT) to college in Boston, there was a moment in my college dormitory building that I realized I HAD to have lived at least ONE other life. It was when I went exploring in this old building known as “Charlesgate.” It had been a hotel, a hospital, and it was even rumored at one time to have been a brothel. It was haunted unlike anything I’d ever experienced. EVERYone seemed to have a story of some strange happening or another in that place. Eight floors of eeriness. I thought I’d never get out. Before I learned how haunted the place was, however, I went roaming around, checking things out – admiring architecture and original woodwork. It was when my eyes wandered across an ornate tile decoration that I realized something that freaked me out: I’d BEEN here before. But…I’d NEVER been there before. Whoa. Creepiness. It was like, for a very brief moment, I had stepped into another dimension – one from the past. One I was not so sure I wanted to revisit.

Fast forward 19 years to the present. A few months ago I woke from this dream that I knew should really be making me feel extremely uncomfortable, but it didn’t. In fact, it had the opposite affect on me. It felt extremely familiar and…good…which is odd considering the dream was about an older man – easily in his late 30s to early 40s – and a very young girl who looked to me to be somewhere between 12-15 years old. I understood from the dream that the man was married with two children. I could tell by the clothing style that it was the early 1940s and by the building interiors that it took place in a city very much like Boston. It was still very unclear to me who this young girl was, however. Until…well…the erotic stuff started. I was not in this dream at all, so it made no sense why I was dreaming this…and feeling these feelings. It occurred to me when I woke with these extremely warm, dreamy, VERY familiar feelings that this was no ordinary dream. Nope. This was a past-life regression dream. That fact didn’t really dawn on me until about four hours after I woke up and I couldn’t seem to get the dream out of my mind. It wasn’t until that evening that I bravely sat down and allowed myself to get into a deep discussion with my spirit guide Joe about my past lives. I still have not flushed out all the details of these past lives – I’ve only scratched the surface on most because there is only so much I feel I can handle at once, you know?

I don’t know how many total past lives I’ve lived. I know there are at least five, but three are very distinctive. Most of you who regularly read my blogs know that I feel I have a soulmate – well, not just A soulmate, but THE soulmate – the “forever love of a lifetime” kind of soulmate. I recognized the deep soul connection by the dramatic flash in her eyes when we first met. I learned that I have shared three past lives with this fellow soulmate, the most recent being the regression dream from the 1940s. She was a famous older male athlete (married with two children) having an affair with a young girl – MOI. Yeah. Forbidden love.

The two other lives were also forbidden love situations. In the first of our three past lives we’ve shared, she was a Native American man and I was the daughter of a rich white man (that’s probably where the snooty girl comes from). Our affair produced a half-breed baby boy. One month later, daddy dearest shot and killed my Cherokee lover. In our second life together, I again was the daughter of a rich white man, and we lived in South Africa. She was a hot young African stud with a chiseled chest and a handsome face. Our intensely taboo affair led to another death at the hands of my tyrant father. Again, a child had been conceived. Oh, and, if you’re wondering, no, the famous older male athlete did not die at the hands of my furious father; the athlete committed suicide after we were caught and exposed or exposed and caught – not sure exactly how that happened. Yes, offspring was also produced in that life as well. Anyone see a pattern here?

I was recounting all this newly discovered information with my niece (who is only five years younger than me) the other day, which is a blessing in itself – to be able to discuss something of this nature with a relative and she doesn’t bat an eye – and I jokingly said: “I’m not sure why we’re lesbians this time around; maybe it’s so she can’t get me pregnant?”

Without missing a beat my niece said, “Yeah, and luckily your dad is dead this time around, so he CAN’T KILL HER.”

Now, isn’t that the most precious, but yet the WEIRDEST thing a niece could ever say to her aunt?