Past Lives
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Victoria Pitt
On Reincarnation and Soul Memory.
Recovering, then proving past life memories is freeing - and life changing
About nine years after my first regression experience I found the courage to start doing regression in groups and on a one on one basis. I used a tape that I had made. I used a dialogue that I had found in a book but I changed it to my satisfaction, relying on my own past experience.
When regressing one person or a group I always use the cassette. It leaves me free to watch and study the client for any reaction that is not showing in their voice. For myself I have had amazing messages with time and dates delivered while the tape is playing. A voice seems to superimpose itself over mine and reveal pertinent information.
I went through a series of discoveries of past lives while trying to root out an attachment I felt for someone who was actually injuring my life. I discovered many past lives lived in Germany and in England. Once again I had dates and places supplied by this other voice. I continued to work on past lives.
In one session I saw myself as a little girl begging on a bridge in London. I was dirty and barefoot but I was not as dirty as the bridge that I stood on. There seemed to be what I now recognize as soot that covered everything. I begged with a boy older than myself. I was eight years old, he was twelve. Although we looked like brother and sister, because of our blond hair and blue eyes. We were in fact not related but in many ways closer than brother and sister.
I had parents and a home of sorts. Michael was without a home and he did not know who his parents were. He was terrified of being caught begging and being sent to a prison. I always the brave one, sold fortunes on that bridge to people who would stop their coaches and give me farthings to tell them their fate. The small amounts of money I received I shared with Michael. I received some notoriety for the accuracy of my two line rhyming forecasts. There were many coaches that would stop to obtain a reading and to question me further. One such couple came quite often. I knew they traveled a long way. I also knew that investments bought them to London.
They would seek me out and ask specific questions and I would tell them the words that would come. Michael was always with me. They also questioned us about who we were and where we lived. Both of us were frightened by their questions and were very evasive. We were ready to take flight but their money was more than generous. Their visits became more frequent. One day the coach came and the driver asked us to go with him to their home. Someone from inside the coach in fact reached through the open door and scooped us off the bridge into the coach. I started to cry but Michael said he would protect me. We were dirty, both in body and in our clothing and worse we were cold. The inside of the coach was shiny and clean and we were given blankets to put around ourselves. How long we traveled I do not know. Which direction we went from London I did not know. We were warm and we were fed. I worried about my parents and what they would think when they realized I was gone. I was sobbing and not talking to anyone but Michael. We were not harmed. At what point the attendant in the coach realized I was blubbering about parents. Suddenly he was concerned and halted the coach. Both men then started questioning us. Too frightened to lie we told of my parents and of Michael's homelessness and that we were not brother and sister.
The two men held a conference, now wondering what to do. They wanted to return Michael to the bridge. If I was upset before, I became hysterical now. I had always been with Michael from earliest memory. I said I would not go with them if Michael was to be returned. He would not last without me to help earn the money he needed to eat. They had their orders and they would abide with them until they reached the farm. The journey seemed to take forever. I slept against Michael. I took comfort from the slim body that I rested on. We still did not know why we were there.
We arrived at a manor that seemed like a palace to the two of us. While I was taken to the house, Michael was taken from me and taken to a shed not far from the back door of the house. I was taken to the kitchen where the couple, who I recognized from the bridge, waited. They seemed more like brother and sister to me than man and wife. It was a strange relationship.
They said that they had assumed that Michael and I were brother and sister and that we had no family. They dispatched a coach for my parents but there was no talk of returning me. They told me that my fortunes had always been helpful and they wanted to keep me on the farm and give me a home. I was not being adopted, I was to be a servant. As long as I could keep telling them the future and provide the warnings and the forecasts I could stay and Michael would be given work in the dairy. He would be fed and clothed. I remember that my parents did come. They had to do nothing. I just remember that they with my little sister lived in a stone cottage within easy walking distance of the farm. I cannot remember that my father worked. I lived there only part time.
The words continued to come and the fortunes of the farm and their investments which seemed to be in London rose and fell by what I told them. I was able to give warnings in time to save their money and the farm thrived. The farm seemed very large to me but later I was to find out that it was barely 200 acres. I carried tea up the dark stairwell in the farm house for years. I could see the stairwell and the almost black wood paneling. Their rooms were opposite sides of the hall. The words kept coming. I was treated well as a servant at that time. It was very late 1700's. My kitchen duties were fair and I did not mind. Michael thrived in the dairy, he loved the outdoors and was a good herdsman.
Michael and I find a new and easier life...
The next scene I saw was years later. I had flowers in my hair and soft leather slippers on my feet. My dress was rough but it was a pretty blue. I remember how happy I was. It was the day I was to marry Michael. My memory was that of an outdoor ceremony performed by a man in a robe. We had friends and family who stood with us. We were given a home, a small stone cottage that was in the same cluster of tiny homes where my parents lived. I still worked. I still brought the tea. I still cooked. I knew I was valued. I had Michael and that was all that mattered.
At this point I know the readers will think that "Ah, there is the man she is having problems with today." They are wrong. I did not recognize that man. I certainly knew someone was missing out of my life though. I felt such love for this man even though I did not know who he was.
The scene switched again, I had been able to bring babies with me to work. My services were required. It was a happy life. Michael and babies and the big house. I was treated more like a daughter as time went on, but I carried the tea nearly daily to my master and mistress, always in their separate bedrooms.
The last scene I remember was lying in a bed. I was pale and a long white sheet was pulled up around my neck and covered the rest of my body. I knew I was dying. Michael was with me. He sat beside my bed. I had given birth to a third child. The other two a boy and a girl were not in the room. Only Michael. I wondered if I had had a boy or a girl. I looked up and there ahead of me was a baby girl. I reached up for her and put my arms around her. I went back to Michael to tell him we were alright but his head was on the chest of the body on the bed and he was sobbing. I could not get his attention. I took my baby daughter and went to the light.
I wondered what this past life had to do with my present life. I could find nothing. I did not know Michael,, but I felt tremendous love for this man who had been my husband and who were my children? I wondered about this for a long time. One day I wondered if that life had anything to do with the fact I always had terrible child deliveries. I was always happy while carrying a child, but the moment that I was in labour I tried to stop it. With every pregnancy I had to have medical intervention to deliver a baby. With my fifth it was so bad I had to have a caesarian.
Maybe that was the Soul Memory from past life. Michael had been lost to me when I delivered a child. Who and where was Michael? This is not the end but the beginning of another adventure and I would find some answers. See the story following for the continuation.
SOUL MEMORY - REMEMBERING CAN BE LIFE CHANGING!
My life changed and I found myself sort of homeless. Mostly because I was travelling so much. I had very little time to do regression work but I always carried the tape. Meeting with the people who were part of my circle one evening they asked to do a regression. I was between trips to the United Kingdom and it was a good time to do another one. I put on the tape still hoping to find Michael, the other man in my life, or anything else that spirit wanted to give me.
In truth the other man was out of my life but I sensed a loss without Michael. It seemed once I had found him I needed to know who and where he was. Instead of any further information I was shown the front entrance of the manor where I had worked. I was also shown the road with a bend that was just past the gate. I knew that was of little help as the possibility of ever finding that home again was so unlikely if not impossible. I had been hoping for a name or an area anything that would be a clue. There was only a picture.
I wandered through England and attended school at the Arthur Findlay College of Spiritualism. I was six weeks into a two month trip. I was invited to go back home with the girl who had been my room mate at the college. It was a new area for me as I had never been to Norfolk County before. This was my second two month journey through England. They were journeys and not holidays. I call them my Vision Quests.
On the third day I was there, my friend went to work and I walked the mile into town to explore. I walked the ancient streets of the historic town and as the day drew to a close I saw a sign that said Tourist Information. I walked towards the very old building that housed both the museum and information centre.
When my hand touched the door I knew that if I opened that door something in my life would change. An involuntary shudder rippled through my body but curiosity would never let me turn back. I found myself in a darkened hallway that seemed to be midway between the Information Centre and the Museum. I was aware of an attendant to my right. More through the narrow wall rather than what I could see. As I turned to face him all sorts of scenes flashed through my mind. Somehow I knew our lives were meant to be linked, but although puzzled and thrilled at the same moment, I knew how complicated this could be. I saw a faceless woman that brought him tea, while he smoked a pipe in front of a fireplace. I envied her, I felt jealous and suddenly very lonely. I wanted him for myself. Had the light been better he may have seen me blush at my very sensual thoughts.
I could make this much longer, but to come to the point, I returned the next day to see the museum. I discovered he was a widower and he asked me to go for dinner. I spent the next twelve days with him. He did smoke a pipe, but did not have a fireplace, although he did like tea. I had fallen in love with him at first sight. I had never done that. Now we had to separate. I had hopes we could carry on with the relationship at a distance. I returned home to Canada and two months later his letter, the third one, arrived. It read, "I am coming to Canada and I want you to come back to England with me." The fireplace, tea and pipe happened in Canada.
The faceless woman was me. I did return to England and this stay was for four months. During the four months I was there we went on a painting tour up the coast of Norfolk. It was a trip of six days. The first night we were there, Alan took me for a drive to share a scene he had painted the year before. It was a castle ruin that I had seen in his paintings. We got turned around and drove a small narrow road. As we drove, once again my body rippled with chills and I knew that something significant was about to happen. But what? I glanced at the road ahead and saw nothing.
Alan realizing his mistake, turned the car around again. As we retraced our steps my body was racked with skin crawling, hair raising sensations. I saw the manor. I saw the home where I had lived in the 1700's The gate, the entrance, the curve in the road was just as I had been shown. It was a little less well groomed but certainly recognizable. I was in shock.
It must be told that for all my beliefs, Alan is a total skeptic. (He does support me in mine.) I said nothing. I didn't know what to say anyway. We finally attained the castle site and as I stood there I knew that I had also been there before. I could hear the arguing that echoed through the ruins. I stood in one of the ruined halls and my body was almost in shock. Feathers have always been blessings for me and as I walked, two black feathers were stuck shaft first in such a way that by stooping ever so slightly I could put my hands on each feather. I removed them from their place and held them in my hands. I knew that what I felt and saw was truth. I did not recognize the ruins or the drawing of the original castle. I was puzzled by that. Alan, sensing my quiet, asked me if I was alright? I reassured him I was fine. A million thoughts were coursing through my mind. There were puzzles too, things I could not understand. My mind was trying to work through them.
Finally Alan got my attention again. What is going on, he wanted to know? I said nothing, trying to dismiss him. What could I say? I have just had a flashback of a former life? He knew of my work but I did not want him to think I was a total flake. I realize that was not only unfair, it was underestimating the man. Finally he faced me and said, What did you see? He knew something wasn't right. I will tell you if you promise to hear me out. I am not asking you to accept, only to listen. We returned to the car and he sat quietly while I told him of the bridge, the manor, Michael, my talent for clairvoyance even then, my death in childbirth, the vision I had of the entranceway and knowing I had been to the castle before. I told him I did not recognize it and that I couldn't understand why. I told him of the angry voices.
He did not laugh. He asked what year all this took place. I told him it had started in the 1770s. He said the castle wouldn't have looked like the picture as it was already in ruins when I was there, but not nearly as ruined as it was now. Much of the building material had been removed over the centuries. He made it all make sense. We drove back and past the manor. He asked if I knew what year the manor had been built? Without hesitation I answered, 1700. I just knew. He said, we'll come back, once we finish the watercolour work and I get some more time off, we'll come back.
He'll never know how much I loved him at that moment. I had shared something so personal that I had needed courage to do it, and he had listened and offered help, he did not laugh. We were coming back.
Weeks later, when I had dismissed the hope of going back to continue our investigation, he had brought tea back to bed and said, I think today would be a good day to go to the coast again. There is a small art gallery I want to see and we need to go back and investigate the manor. I was both elated and frightened. I was frightened that this foray might effect our relationship.
We drove up the coast and Alan conducted his business. We turned south east and drove back to the small village and what I believed was my past. The same chills started as we neared the farm manor. We had no name for it, we had no name for the owners. I did not know where to start. But Alan did. We started at the village post office. In his wonderful (to me) cultured English he enquired about the name of the large manor. No one knew the name for the home, it just carried the village name. (I am protecting the name of the village, the castle and the home for the sake of their privacy.) In Blank Village, it was the Blank Manor as it was Blank Castle. He enquired about the owners and was given a name. It was a name he recognized instantly as a manufacturing name in England.
When we left the Post Office, I wondered aloud, what now. Just wait, he said. We found the village church, an old Normandy church built in the 12th century. You'll be surprised how much history there is in a village church. He thought that if we read gravestones, something might ring a bell. He took one side and I took the other. "What year do you think you died and what do you think your name was?" I answered as best I could and we parted on our quest to read gravestones. In my mind I knew I had been literate, about 26 when I died and I knew my name was something like Maury or even Maura. I did not know a last name.
The old gravestones are often weathered and unreadable. These were also that way and there was a section of the old graveyard that was fenced and inaccessible. We went into the church which was open. I was disappointed, Irecognized nothing. Yet if this was the village church, I would have been required to attend. I told Alan my remembrance was of going through the back yard to the church and maybe there was a chapel at the back of the manor. He said that was possible. We drove once again past Blank Manor, and again turned around as we had so many times in the past. I was still sure this was truth.
As we drove past the back entrance Alan turned the car into the yard. I looked at his face but he was intent on the house. I could see a thoughtful expression on his face. Stay here, he said and left the car.
To be continued. . . Here's the Conclusion of this amazing story.
MEMORIES REVISITED - Victoria visits the Manor of her soul memories and proves her story
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