Monday, October 7, 2013

Reincarnation and an author's journey

Have you ever considered  that a genius or savant in music or mathematics, or any basis of study is so because they have lived a past life which followed their present life's interest? “Consider an example like Mozart; who wrote his first symphony at the age of eight. How could he have accomplished such genius without having the wherewithal to remember a past where he was involved in music and its pursuits?” (Excerpt from Her Past's Present)
In an interview with Michael Poeltl, author of Her Past's Present, he had this to say:
I’ve always been open minded where the paranormal is concerned.  After plenty of desktop research I decided to write a book on the subject of past-lives but knew I would have to experience the process in order to give it a sense of authenticity. I was admittedly excited to get started and after further research looking for a past-life regression therapist that felt like the real thing; I got started.
I lived three lives in the three hours I was under my therapist’s hypnotic suggestion. She would begin each new life by asking me to look at my feet. In my first example I was a little girl, maybe 12, living in France, in a cabin in the woods with my father. He was a woodsman. One day a military escort came and took him away. I never saw him again and died alone in that cabin. My second life was that of an English soldier in WWI. I was dying on the field. Everyone around me was dead. I recognized one of my best friends as the enemy soldier who stabbed me with his bayonet. I died alone amongst the wet muck and barbed wire, thoughts only for my wife (who, as it turns out, is my mother in this life). My third past life lived through this process was as a black slave, chained by the ankle to a line of my people; being marched to a slave ship en route to America. The slave driver whose eyes met mine revealed my daughter, in this life. This was especially disturbing  as after each life lived my therapist asked me to forgive those who’d wronged me; the army for stealing away my father, my enemy for stabbing me through the stomach, and my slaver for obvious reasons, but also because that slave ship sank in rough seas and my wife and child were aboard as well. I died alone in the bowels of that ship, desperate to hold my family once more.

Each life I lived was an emotional experience, each taught me a lesson, the lesson I needed to learn in this life, at the time of my regression. That lesson was to be comfortable with being alone…
Michael Poeltl