Past life dreams – why I believe some of my dreams are in fact past life memories - part 1
I believe our every day waking life is but one little facet in the multiple facets diamond of who we really are. Our dreams can act as a connection between our present awareness and the other unknown attributes of our Self. And past life memories come to surface in our dreams or by other means when we are ready to own that particular aspects of ourselves.
I was only 14 when my dreams at night time went crazy.
I was still living in Taipei at the time, and the educational system made every teenager into a dull exam machine. During the day, my life was solely focused on studying, but during the night, my skull would burst open and became the backdrop for the most fantastical wonderland.
One night, a very unusual short dream unfold as a prelude to what I would term my “past life dreams”:
In the dream, I am a very young girl about 5 years of age. I am in the middle of a busy night market, where stalls are selling all kinds of food, goods and even little games for entertainment. The spirit is high and joyful.
I soon become attracted to a place so crowded with people, I have to push my way between very tall adults to get to the front. Everyone is staring at a wall with moving images a lot like a movie, except there isn’t a single projector anywhere. A man sees me among the adults and he waves me to the front. I am now standing about 1.5 meters in front of the wall, and I now see clearly a thick white line was drawn by white chalk from the base of the wall to where I now stand.
The man starts to give me instruction. He says, if I want to see my past life, I must stand with my feet parted on either side of the white line. Everyone around me is getting excited and urges me to go ahead and give it a try.
I put my little feet on either side of the white line and look at the wall. Amazingly, images start to appear. I stare at the wall in wonder as my “past life” starts to play in front of my eyes.
This particular dream terminated at this point, only to be followed by a “full length movie” of what I considered my past lives. Those earlier dreams were exceedingly intense and emotional. A dream was a dramatic lifetime. I was only 14, but I would often wake up in the morning full of intense adult emotions of love, hate, anger, remorse or regret.
I will not write about them here, however. Dramatic as they were, I feel they were sensationalized and difficult to prove. Instead, I will write about two past life dreams I had much later that follow an interesting pattern, and the very way they presented themselves convinced me without a doubt of their authenticity (even though still not to the scientific standard obviously).
Have you ever had any past life dreams or memory recall without the help of hypnosis regression?
Past life dream as a Japanese swordswoman
14th September 2000, Auckland.
In this dream, I am exactly as my real life self and not as an altered dream identity.
I find myself as a single tourist wandering in an un-named country village in Japan. I wander into a lovely little garden with a monument. I walk to a stone wall, that’s only knee high. I sit down against the short stone wall and immediately fall asleep, my neck falls downward very sharply.
Instantly, I am a young Japanese swordswoman. Her face is painted white and her eyebrows are painted really high which makes her face look longer then usual.
I am her and know everything about her life. I know, for instance, how she lost her loving parents at a very young age to corrupt governors, who killed innocent people in order to confiscate their properties and their fortune. I knew how she vowed to revenge her parents and all the people who fell victims to the governors’ power and greed over a stretch of many decades. She sought training as a swordswoman when she was still very young. She became so skilful with her sword and so ruthless in the way she pursued and terminated her enemies, she was a real force to be reckoned.
For years, she had been a thorn on the side of the governors. She targeted only corrupted officials and would upset an execution to save any wrongly accused men and women from knife’s edge. She had killed so many men in high positions, the governors had become exceedingly nervous and raised an entire army in order to capture a single female warrior.
All of these I knew in an instant as my own personal history.
But my dream arrived at the last day of her life.
She realized she was surrounded by large armies of soldiers in all directions. She knew her luck had finally ran out and there was no way she could get out of this village alive. She would not allow herself to die in the hands of the people she despised.
She came to this lovely spot surrounded by trees. She walked to the short stone wall and sat down against it. A picture of serenity.
Out came her long sword. She was very calm. Then with a very swift silent flick of her wrist, the super thin blade has slit her throat. The red line on her white throat was so thin it was nearly invisible at first. Out of habit, she wiped a fingertip lightly over the blade, then brought the fingertip to her lips. She tasted the blood and smiled.
She died straight after, her neck fell sharply forward.
Then in the exact spot, in the exact position, with my head falling sharply forward exactly as the dead warrior woman, I woke up as the tourist, still sitting against the short stone wall.
I slowly get up and look around again with a new eye. I am at the very same spot in the village where the swordswoman chose to die. I suddenly realized, the garden and the monument are in fact in memory of her. She was some sort of local hero.
I walk up to the monument and for the first time I see her name and the year of her birth and death in the 19th century carved in the rock. After a quick calculation I realize that she wasn’t even 20 years old at the time of her death.
Then I woke up. For real.
Some thoughts about why this particular past life resurfaces from my subconscious
Perhaps like many of you, I am always very careful around knives. My particular concern however, is not about hurting myself. I have always worried that I might easily hurt others with the knives. It is like I know the feel too well, the feel when a sharp knife plunge into human flesh. As a result, I never handle knife unless absolutely necessary. When I cook, I never use a chopper (very un-Asian of me), I would always only use a small fruit knife.
At the time of the dream, I had been living in Auckland, New Zealand for over ten years. I hadn’t been in contact of any Japanese books, culture, television or movies so I could say for sure I wasn’t “influenced” in any way. I had stopped flying as a flight attendant for two years at that time, so I wasn’t even in and out of Japanese airports or hotels. I had never before, nor after, dreamed about being a Japanese person again.
It is only after many years, at hindsight, that I could really appreciate the timing of the woman warrior dream.
The dream came to me just before everything went really wrong in my life. My best friend Stacy had killed herself earlier that year. My marriage was starting to go off track as we continued to go on separate paths and it would get so lonely that I needed to hang out with my girlfriends more and more to fend off the loneliness. In one more year, my new best friend would betray me in such a horrible way that I would plummet into a prolonged depression. I would finally get divorced in 2003, which felt more like a new lease in life.
Up to that very patchy point in my life, I had been a very mild, innocent and gentle person. I could never talk back, didn't know how to say 'no' and had never learned to fight in a single argument.
The life as the Japanese swordswoman served to remind me subconsciously that I could be strong. I had been strong once, and I could be again. And I needed every single ounce of that strength to get me through.
A downside, however, is anger. It took me a while to learn to be angry and own my anger. Now, it is as if I had unleash a monster that I had not properly tamed. The Japanese swordswoman was a warrior that fed off anger in order to fuel her power in battle. I, however, am not a swordswoman and my untamed anger quickly became a double edged sword.
From my own experience, I’ve learned that anger is really extreme sadness in disguise. An angry person is really a very sad and hurt person on the inside. The Japanese swordswoman’s anger, even though righteous, eventually led to her own death. Seeking inner peace is far wiser then seeking justice.
Instead of killing my enemies, I need to learn to forgive.
Vera Lin, 2012.