Ancient walls of basements and rats and water dripping in summer frozen in winter repeat over and over again. Thus begins the first memories of something. Then my toes are cold inside good boots. I wear wool gloves with the fingers cut out, my fingers are cold and I put them under my armpits from time to time.There is the sound of bicycle churning nearby. This doesn’t make any sense. I’m in a basement speaking to a teen that is riding a stationary bicycle. I’m speaking a language I can’t recognize to the boy. He is tired but he keeps riding. I lean over with my jeweler’s lenses with engraving tools in hand.“They’re coming,” the boy whispers. I nod. We pack in seconds and run…
These images reappeared before people talked about past lives. One memory was being kicked in the face by a horse on the family farm. It was a spontaneous memory of a past life triggered by close proximity with a horse. I thought that was all I would remember in 1965 and 66.
Years later after having graduated from college and moved to California from New England in 1982 the memories began again.
I was part of the Resistance in WWII in Poland. I had been a senior engraver at the Polish Mint and was asked by the Resistance to make metal plates for false papers so Jewish citizens could escape.
I was captured days before my 50th birthday and I was interrogated and tortured and died of a heart attack.
In July of 2002 I fell in-love with a woman that was much younger than me who was my daughter in my first last past life.
Many memories returned including the many reconstructive surgeries on my head and nose. I stayed with a friend of the family in Warsaw. He was a mentor and an important man at the Polish Mint. He eventually adopted me and my name was changed to a gentile name, much to my parents dismay. He mentored my education and my early entrance into University.
I met my wife in the town near my parents farm. My family was relieved that she was Jewish and they thought I would move back home. She moved into my flat in the city until out daughter was born. We took a cottage near the farm and I commuted back and forth from the city. Our second child was born 6 months before the Nazis took over.
I stayed away from my family because of my unclean urges towards my daughter who when she turned twelve – we feel in-love with each other. My guilt kept me away, nothing physical had happened but I stayed away to ensure nothing would happen.
My people were quickly rounded up and put into the ghettos. I escaped because I had been adopted. But my grand city life was ending and I became part of the Resistance. Around the time I had died my wife and children were being moved to a camp. A woman took my 6 month old daughter as her own and released my wife and older daughter into the snow where they froze to death.
Spontaneous memories of past lives and misdeeds serve as a way to expand our consciousness beyond our smaller corporeal existences. The key is not getting identified with the glory or the horror of any past life, but to remember the greater mission. Each of has a personal and a greater mission. The end of the greater mission is to serve higher consciousness.