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An Excerpt from The Convoluted Universe - Book Four
Chapter 1
MY OWN PAST LIVES
Whenever I am giving a lecture I am invariably asked the same question, “Do you know about any of your own past lives?” I think it would have been impossible to have been working in this field for over forty years and not try to find out about yourself. In the early days I had past life regressions done by various hypnotists. I was as curious as anyone else. That was how I discovered what I did not want my own clients to experience. There were many things about their various techniques that left me feeling uncomfortable, uneasy, upset and disturbed. It was not always a pleasant experience. I obtained information, but the session was not always done in a professional manner. I realized that they were only doing what they had been taught, and had never questioned why they were doing it that certain way. Yet I questioned it. If I was uncomfortable during or after the session I tried to understand why. Then over the years as I developed my own technique, I built in safeguards so none of my own clients would ever have to experience the same unpleasant feelings. This is another reason I always recommend that my students experience their own past life regression, so they will know how to deal with their clients. How can we practice something if we have never experienced it?
During the early years I found out about eight of my past lives. It was important in the fact that I discovered my relationships with my family members, and why we had to come back together again. And I found out why I am doing the work I do. That was very important in itself. Now I no longer need to look for past lives because I think I have discovered all I need to know. It is a valuable tool, but that is all it is, a tool. When you begin to evolve and know yourself then you no longer need to continue going back into the past. To some people it is done more for entertainment value than for therapy. Then it does not serve a good purpose. They can become like “past-life junkies,” looking for the next “fix” out of curiosity. That defeats the whole meaning of past life therapy, that the person becomes comfortable in this life. The past memories are good and valuable information, but they must be put to use in the present body, especially family relations. We have to weave it all together the same way we have woven the memories of our own childhood and other experiences. For good or bad, they are the story of our life and must be dealt with and reconciled. The other lives are only extended memories, and should also be incorporated into our present life. This helps to make the individual a well-rounded and sane personality.
To go back to the story, I discovered about my purpose (the eternal question) in this life. At the time it happened I didn’t even know the rest of my life would be devoted to helping people through exploring their past. I enjoyed the work, and had just begun to write my first book (Jesus and the Essenes), but there was no way I could foresee how vast my work would become. When I had the regression in the home of a friend I had no idea what would come out.
I regressed back to the days of the huge Library at Alexandria in Egypt. All my life I have been fascinated with books. I could read before I entered school, and grammar was easy and second nature to me. I was a child during the Depression so money was very tight. My sister and I did not have any luxuries. There were lots of hand-me-downs and clothes bought at thrift stores. In those days you had to make do with what you had. If it cost money, forget it, you weren’t going to get it (except at Christmas when there were a few toys). That was why I was so excited during the first grade when someone came to our class and talked about the huge library that was not far from our school in St. Louis. They were encouraging us to get library cards and gave us a paper to take home to apply for one. I had already devoured all the books available in our class, and my hunger was at a fever pitch when I heard we could go to a library where hundreds of books were available. The very best part was that it was FREE. I couldn’t believe my ears. Free. I ran all the way home with the paper in my hand to show my mother. My excitement must have been contagious when I showed her the paper and went on and on about how I could get a card to read any book I wanted to and it was free. To make a long story short, my mother got the card, and every few days she would take me the several blocks to the gigantic library where I could check out books. I remember walking the aisles between the shelves and I was in pure heaven as I realized there was no limit to what I could read. Later when I could go by myself I spent hours there, and always carried armloads of books home. I was never without a book, and I spent many hours escaping into the wonderful world of imagination that books presented. In high school if I wasn’t in a class I was in the school library pouring through the encyclopedias. I had a rather strange compulsion that I developed about that same time. In my spare time in study hall I would keep occupied by copying all the words in the dictionary. Each time I would mark where I had left off and continue the next day, just copying word after word in my notebook. I could say that this came from my love of books, but I later discovered through my past life regressions that I had a previous life as a monk in a monastery where my job was to copy manuscripts and texts by hand. But it was a good compulsion because it imbedded the use of words and language into my psyche.
I read everything I could get my hands on, and this love of books and the desire to learn continued all my life. Even today when I write one of my books, I research it “to death.” After I have completed the sessions and the real work of writing the book begins, I spend hours (and sometimes all day) in a library gathering my facts. To me that is heaven to search for hours, and finally come up with the treasure of finding one elusive fact. When I wrote my three books on Nostradamus: Conversations With Nostradamus, I read every book ever written on the great master. Some of them were out of print and the only copy would be available from the Library of Congress, which was obtained through Library-Loan at the University of Arkansas. When I wrote my books on Jesus: Jesus and the Essenes and They Walked With Jesus, I read every book ever written on the Dead Sea Scrolls. When I wrote my book about the origin of the American Indian race: Legend of Starcrash, I spent three years doing research into all the old Indian legends and history that I could find. All of this research has paid off because when I give lectures I have all this information in my mind and I am confident about what I am talking about. My earliest magazine publisher once said, “Research is very important. It is obvious that you have done your homework. And it would be just as obvious if you had not done it.” I think it is a shame now that young people don’t know how to do real research. They spend a short amount of time on the Internet compiling a few facts, without knowing the glory and wonder of combing through dusty piles of books in a library, and finding some forgotten or lost text. This is why I call myself, “the reporter, the investigator, the researcher of lost knowledge.”
So I suppose it should not have come as too great of a surprise when I returned to a past life at the great and grand Library at Alexandria before its destruction in the fifth century. In that lifetime I was a man who worked in the library. I could not read the precious scrolls on the shelves, but I knew which ones were the oldest and most important. Many learned scholars came to the library, and I would find the scrolls they wanted to see. I watched in envy as they sat at tables opening the scrolls and reading them. I knew the most important scrolls were kept up high on the top shelves. There was one man in particular, dressed in a black robe, who came in often. I always knew in advance which scrolls he would want. I enjoyed this work even though I couldn’t read. I was like a caretaker of the books.
Then came the fateful day of the destruction of the great library. I was there among the books when a great horde of men stormed into the library destroying as they went. In horror I watched as they grabbed scrolls from the shelves and piled them in the middle of the room. I screamed in terror as I saw them reach for the scrolls that were kept on the top shelves. Tears ran down my face as they tore at them with no respect for the knowledge they contained, and threw them into the growing pile. I knew I could not stop them, so I grabbed what scrolls I could and ran out of the building, just as they set fire to the stacks. My arms were full of scrolls and my eyes were so tear-filled that I couldn’t see where I was going as I stumbled into the street. Just in time to be run over by a passing chariot. As I rose out of my body I looked back and saw it lying crumbled on the street among my armload of scrolls. The library fire was spreading and consuming the building.
I saw that this lifetime explained my love of books, why I can’t stand to see a book mistreated and my desire to get the lost knowledge back. When I told this story at a conference panel when I was asked the question about my past lives, one of the others on the panel quipped, “Yeah, but did you have to try and rewrite the entire library?” The audience roared in laughter because we knew she was referring to my many books. Yes, this was probably the explanation, and it put my mind at ease. But that was not the end of the story. There was more that came to light in the 1990s.
I was invited to go to Bulgaria because my books on Nostadamus had been accepted for translation by Zar Publishers, Ltd., a publisher in Sophia. Drago had discovered my books and made arrangements with the publishers to translate into their language, and they wanted me to come and lecture there. I had been traveling all over the world, but had never been to Bulgaria or any of the Soviet countries at that time. The war in Yugoslavia had just broken out. My son was worried, “Mom, you can’t go over there. Look at the map! Sophia is just over the border from Yugoslavia.” I have never felt in danger anywhere I have gone. I have always felt it was an honor to be asked to go and speak. Somehow I knew everything was going to be all right. And I was correct, it turned out to be one of the most wonderful experiences of my life.
From the moment I got off the plane I was treated like some kind of rock star or celebrity. There was a huge crowd of reporters waiting at the gate when we entered the terminal. I was totally shocked. I had never had such a reception anywhere else in the world. I remember one reporter shoving a microphone into my face, and asking in broken English, “What do you think of Bulgaria?” I really couldn’t reply because I had just gotten there. My books on Nostradamus had created a sensation that I was totally unprepared for. Reporters came to my hotel and set up interviews and TV appearances everywhere I went. There was even a press conference that would have equaled one by the President. I was subjected to an hour of questioning that was back and forth through my translator, Drago. Then I attended a meeting where I was questioned for two hours by doctors and scientists. They all wanted to know about hypnosis being used for past life regression and therapy. They had never heard about it before. They said that when they were under Russian domination nothing was allowed to be taught that did not originate in the universities. It was against the law. I asked if I would get into trouble discussing this. They said, no because I was a foreigner. But their interest was sincere and I felt like I had opened up a Pandora’s box.
During my week long stay there I was kept busy with many appearances, interviews and lectures. When I gave a lecture the auditorium was totally full, and the crowd was so great that once I was pushed against a wall. Their enthusiasm was so great that it frightened me. Drago pulled me into an elevator and took me to another floor to wait until the crowd calmed down. He said, “I forgot to warn you. The Bulgarians are a very passionate people.” When he felt it was safe we went down for the lecture. Afterwards when I tried to leave, there were people approaching me crying and pointing to others near them. That was when I saw a man in a wheelchair, and another woman who was obviously experiencing chemotherapy for cancer. They were respectfully grasping at me with tears in their eyes. I asked Drago what was going on. He said they had brought these people out of the hospital to see me. They were hoping for a cure or healing. I wanted to know why they thought that. Was this what was reported in the newspapers after the interviews? Had they completely misunderstood what I did? He said it didn’t matter, they were desperate for help, and they thought that I was some kind of healer. All I could do was look at them with compassion and try to explain that I could not help them. (It was about five years later that I discovered how to use my technique to heal.)
My whole time spent there was full of these types of occurrences. Toward the end of our stay Drago came to our hotel and said that a Russian film maker wanted to do a documentary about me and my work. She wanted to film m
e doing a past life regression. It didn’t matter that she did not understand English, the translation would be dubbed in later. I told him I would try, but who would be the subject that I would use for the demonstration? He said he was volunteering to do it. He felt it would go well because he understood English and we knew each other, so we would be comfortable. I agreed, even though I wondered what would happen. What if it wouldn’t work, and he wouldn’t go into a past life? These were certainly unusual circumstances, and there are no guarantees that anything would happen. Even if we were successful, ninety percent of regressions are dull and boring, mundane simple lives. So I didn’t know if we would get anything that would be useful to them. Yet I felt I had no choice but to try it.
Drago took me and my daughter Nancy to the hotel where the filming and interview would be held. When we walked into the room the technicians were busy setting up lights and equipment all around the bed they wanted me to use. Then the Russian woman brought out a young pretty blond girl dressed in a sexy blouse and shorts, and announced that she would be the one I would regress for the show. I told her that it had to be someone that spoke English, and the girl replied in a high-pitched naive voice, “Me speak English!” And flashed a cute smile. I knew this would never work, but I also knew the woman thought it would make good television to show a young sexy girl lying on the bed. I then announced that we had decided to use Drago because he was comfortable with me and could speak English. Drago was a good looking man with dark hair and a beard, but definitely not sexy. She had no choice but to accept our decision. Since I had no idea what was going to happen, I wanted to put as many odds in my favor as I could. Later after the session I thought they might have thought we cooked the whole thing up, and had planned it in advance. But we had no idea what was going to come out, if anything. We certainly had had no time to rehearse or invent anything.
Drago settled on the bed with all the cameras, microphones and equipment gathered around us. If he was nervous he gave no sign of it as he relaxed and I began the session. My daughter, Nancy, was sitting behind me out of the camera’s range. Then the unexpected happened, and I could only listen and conduct the session in amazement. He went back to a lifetime where he was a scholar and teacher who focused on astrology and numerology. He was constantly studying and spent a great deal of time at – (Are you ready??) – the Library at Alexandria. I couldn’t believe it and I asked him many questions about the library to see if it sounded like the same place. It did indeed. He was reporting the same scenes that I had seen. While I was busy asking questions to verify it, I glanced behind me at Nancy. I knew that she had heard my story, and by the expression on her face I knew she realized what was happening and the importance of it.
As the teacher he wore black robes and usually asked to see the most important scrolls, and then sat at a table studying them. Then we came to the momentous day when the library was attacked and burned. He was also inside the library as the horde came through and started destroying the scrolls by fire. He said later he was swept with emotion, and wanted to cry, but he held it back because he knew there were others in the room and the cameras watching. Otherwise, he would have burst into tears. In his desperation he grabbed as many scrolls as he could and tried to save them by carrying them out of the building. But the library was now on fire, and as he ran toward the entrance, part of the roof began to collapse and he was struck across the shoulders by a falling rafter. Thus he also died clutching the precious scrolls.
When we were finished I didn’t say anything. I waited until we were walking back to the hotel. Then I said, “Boy, do I have a story to tell you!” The next morning when he came to our hotel he confided, “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. But all of my life I have always had pain across my shoulders. I never knew what caused it. It disappeared immediately after the session.” Then I told him about my experience in the library. We assumed that we were there at the same time, however, we probably didn’t know each other, as he was a scholar and I was merely the keeper of the scrolls. We could only wonder at the similarities.
The rest of my stay in Bulgaria was equally eventful, but I will not go into it here. Except to say that before I left, the organization (Association of Phenomena) that brought me over there presented me with the Orpheus Award on a TV program. It was given for the highest advancement in the research of psychic phenomenon. Until that day it had only been given to Bulgarians. I was the first foreigner and the first American to ever receive the award: a large and heavy metal statue shaped like a stylized flame.
When Drago took me to the airport I said to him, “Isn’t it amazing that we had to go half way around the world to meet again after fifteen hundred years.” He smiled and said we were both trying to bring back the lost knowledge. Me through my regression work and my writing, and him through bringing in people to speak and have their books published in his country.
After the documentary aired Drago called and said that it had created such a sensation that the station was inundated by calls wanting to know more about past life regression and reincarnation. A few years later he told me that past life therapy was now being used and taught in Bulgaria. I suppose they used the technique that was shown in the film. A strange story of the reuniting of two souls across time and space. And I wonder if I was responsible for introducing a whole new way of thinking into a country half way around the world. Such are the strange ways of fate.
Another of my past lives was also verified, although not in such a dramatic way. That past life occurred in Athens at the Parthenon. Although during the regression I wasn’t sure where it was, except that it had a Grecian feel. I was a woman living in a large house with a patio in the center, husband and children, and with enough money to have servants. I have since seen pictures of ancient living quarters in Greece that were exactly as I remembered. It felt so familiar looking at the photos. But that was not the main point of the regression. I went to a scene where I was running through the streets at night, and I had the overwhelming feeling of absolute terror. As I ran I kept looking behind me because I knew someone was chasing me. I ran up a hill to a large temple. There I paused for a minute to catch my breath, and when I did I saw a panoramic scene in front of me. I could see a bay far beneath me and could make out ships with sails on the water. It was very dark, and the moon reflected on the dark water. Then I turned around toward the temple. I ran up the steps leading inside, and saw there were no doors, only enormous pillars. Running through these there was an open feel to the building, as though there was lots of space. There on a platform was an enormous statue of a seated woman. She had one arm outstretched and was holding a huge lantern that provided light to the building. I flung myself down on the steps in front of the statue and lay face down. I was crying hysterically as I begged and beseeched her for protection. Then I heard a noise and turned over just in time to see a soldier standing over me. Death came instantly as he plunged a sword into me.
Bits of information came slowly after the session. I knew that my husband in that life was a proud domineering man that thought of me as a possession. I apparently had been speaking out and expressing my opinions too much for his liking, and he ordered my assassination. Also I have a dissatisfaction with religion in this lifetime. I think it came from that life because I apparently was a follower of the goddess of that temple. And yet here in the time of my greatest need she did not help me. I felt she had deserted me. This upset me more than the manner of death.
It was just an interesting regression, and I occasionally said that I knew I had lived in Greece during those ancient times. But it meant nothing more than that ... until ... in the 1990s during my constant traveling all over the world I was invited to go to Athens in Greece. My books were being translated into so many languages that I felt it was a necessity to go where the books were. I had always wanted to see Greece, so I accepted to go and do some lectures and book-signings. I stayed with a wonderful lady who arranged everything. Eleni lived on the outskirts of Athens in an old three-story mansion with only herself and her dog “Droopy.” She wanted to show me Athens and the surrounding countryside. So one day we went by train into the main part of Athens and she took us to see the Acropolis, the Parthenon. This was the highlight of the trip because I always wanted to see it. We climbed up a dirt street that led to the ruins. They were being repaired and rebuilt so there was scaffolding and piles of stone blocks all around the building. Yet when I walked up the steps leading to the interior it all felt so familiar. I have heard people talk about deja vu, the feeling of having been in a place before, but I had never experienced it. Now I was. The platform was there, but there was no statue. In the museum located beneath the Parthenon it was explained that much of the building and its statues had been destroyed over the years. This was the temple of Athena, the patron goddess of Athens, and her statue was in the temple in those ancient times. There were no pictures left, but only verbal and written descriptions. It was supposedly a huge statue that almost touched the roof of the building. They said the statue was standing and holding a smaller goddess in one hand and a shield in the other. This did not match the vivid memory that I had of the statue, but I do not think that is a contradiction or a mistake. Because no one knows exactly how the statue looked. I saw it seated with an outstretched arm and a hand holding a huge lantern. Yet everything else was correct. When I walked out of the front of the temple I looked around from the high vantage point. I said to Eleni, “If this is the right place, then I should be able to see some kind of bay from here.” She nodded, and pointed. Below were many houses and streets that blocked some of the view, but there was visible a part of the Mediterranean, and there were boats visible on the water. I was so excited. I recounted how I had run up the street and thrown myself down in front of the statue. It didn’t seem to matter that I had died violently in that place. I was exhilarated about my discovery that my memories were real and had been verified.
So in the beginning my work was mostly the research of history through the information I discovered using the deepest possible level of trance, the somnambulistic level. I wrote several books in the 1980s and early 1990s before something unexpected began to happen. Another element came in (slowly at first) that had more knowledge and was able to facilitate healing. At first this was unexpected, but it seemed to have so much power and knowledge that I allowed it to help. When I look back at my early books I can now see that it was there all the time, I just didn’t recognize it. I started calling it the Subconscious because I didn’t know what else to call it. But it is not the subconscious referred to by psychiatrists. I have discovered that is a childish part of the mind, the part that can be used in the lighter levels of trance to help with habits. I saw that this part was far more powerful. I called it the Subconscious, and “they” said they did not care what I called it since it did not have a name anyway. It would respond and work with me. For the purpose of this book I will call it simply the SC. I now know it is the greatest power that there is. It contains all knowledge of everything that has ever been, and everything that ever will be. So it can answer all the client’s questions and give wonderful advice. Advice that I would never be able to come up with. I found that it knows everything about everybody. There are no secrets, so naturally it can help because it sees the bigger picture. Then I began to see its wonderful and awe-inspiring ability to heal instantly. This has now become the most important emphasis of my work and what I am teaching all over the world. “They” used to say that this is the therapy of the future. Now they are saying it is the therapy of Now. I have found the SC has the answers to everything. It is so huge and so big, and is total love. Why not work with something like that? It takes all the burden off of me, the therapist. I just have to ask the correct questions and then sit back and watch the magic. And I do see miracles happen every day in my office. My students all over the world are also reporting similar miracles. So I feel we have found something of great importance. This is also where the information comes from that I write about in these books. Remember, I am only the reporter, the investigator, the researcher of “lost” knowledge. I have to put all the pieces together to form the bigger picture. Which is no easy task, yet it is one that I love.
So let us continue the journey into the unknown, and discover what new surprises the SC has for us
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