spiritual healing
Crying Over My Own Dead Body
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I receive so many special insights reading Medium that I felt I would share a special healing I recently had.
You may share a similar reality or possible results with past life healing.
This is the story of how I healed a past life wound.
The air on this day is quiet — it’s only me in my home, with no plans or activities. A breathable, expansive afternoon. I settle into a large armchair to do my daily meditation. Before I launch the recording sent by my Sufi mentor, my fingers hesitate just an inch above the screen.
Something is gnawing at me on a deep, deep level. I can tell this is a slightly more pronounced tension than normal, a block in my chakra that had twisted tighter. It wants me to address it today. It is a perfect time.
I know this is a synchronicity, a message from the Universe to confront something dark from my past. I sigh and push my feet to the floor, rising, and retrieve a pillow and blanket. It’s time to go deep.
I choose a 40-minute past-life regression meditation on Insight Timer. Just like a coworker messages an unassuming “Hey…” right before a deadline, I already know what this is really about. This past life wound has been bothering me, actually, for as long as I can remember.
The first time I felt this wound lucidly I was 12 years old. While eating cereal beside my two younger brothers one morning a pain in my lower right flank exploded. I burst into tears and shaky breaths while my parents raised an eye of concern and comfort. “It hurts! It hurts!” I wailed. No one around me could give counsel. We went to doctors and of course, all results returned clear. No blockages in my intestine, no burst organs.
Later, during the dark night of my adolescent years, I felt relentless depression and often contemplated suicide. I just wanted to plunge a knife through my belly. For some odd reason, this felt to be the only thing that would bring me peace.
Only after working with this pain in my lower right abdomen intentionally during meditation did I realize that it is a fatal stab wound from a past life.
Unresolved trauma is quite a beast. It will make itself known in your current lifetime and your next one until it is healed.
Today, I prepare my space by burning sage and lying comfortably. Finally, I hit play. I’m not really looking forward to remembering getting stabbed.
The meditation begins with a long body scan. By the end, I’m in complete and deep peace. The energy is right. I can sense my Pleiadian guides beside me. One in particular, named Alara, who stepped forward during my guide activation led by the wonderful Metatron Is Speaking, holds my hand warmly.
In fact, I’m almost asleep by the end of the body scan. Suddenly before me is the large round chestnut face of a brown-haired woman. I jolt into clear and focused awareness, though my eyes remain closed. I know this woman; this woman is my lover.
It had all ended because of her.
I look into her face and see we are wading in a river in Egypt. The banks of the river are sandy and lined with greenery.
My guide Alara shows me a memory from this lifetime, just two years ago when I walked by a river in North Carolina. How random. I understand — this is what the Egyptian river looked like, and my imagination uses this reference to fill in the past life memory.
During past life regressions, we oftentimes cannot retrieve memories as easily as we can retrieve memories of this lifetime. Sometimes our brains will “bump into” a memory from this lifetime. This is not a mistake — the memories hold a similar resonance. We use every perception we have to lead us to our felt experience of that time and place. Your guides may even show you an image from a movie you saw to help trigger your deeper knowing.
I look down at myself. I’m lanky, with dark skin. A man. I’m with a crew of other men my age. We joke with each other, having a good rapport. I steal glances at my not-yet lover as she stands a few yards away.
The vision moves forward and I see that she and I are alone together beside a fire. It is nighttime and we are somewhere far from home. I see poultry crisped on a stick, we are eating it beside one another. I kiss her. The love I feel is like trumpets playing in unison. I will do anything for her, protect her, and care for her. I hold a deep, deep affection for her. It is a strong masculine love, and she gazes into me in full surrender.
Even now as the memories well up in writing, I am emotional in reconciling this forgotten and forbidden love.
It was indeed a forbidden love. The vision ends, and there are no more images, only a barrage of tangled, tight, and despairing emotions. They are the divine feminine, I can tell. They are her emotions.
She was married. Her husband was a well-respected and perhaps politically involved person in Egypt. While in meditation, I can feel the clarity of his vibration. He is incredible. She probably never imagined this, for they had a strong marriage, a mutual respect between equals. Her churning of guilt and fear are not for nothing. She is inexorably passionate about me.
I press pause on the barrage of feelings, almost as to hold my fingers in the air and say, hold on, something else is to be revealed. There’s something familiar about the love she shares with this man.
I recognize it from my own lifetime. It has the same vibration, the same caliber, as a love I have experienced.
It’s now clear. All three of us — my lover, myself, and her husband — are incarnated in my current lifetime. These are people close to me today.
Perhaps this is the reason this specific wound has been so prominent for me, I think.
Then I hear the female meditation guide cue, “It’s time to move to the end of the lifetime and experience your death.”
I groan, not wanting to move forward. I already know what is going to happen! In this dread I return to myself, to my soul, and feel the gentle healing and compassion radiating from my own being. I steady myself. I’m ready.
I’m standing alone in a dirt road. To my right are a few structures, or perhaps mountains. It’s hard to tell, but the shapes are distinct and are colored a brownish red. The sky is yellowing as dusk descends.
The movement is swift, and I am on the ground. Sandy. I remember blood and sweat and sand all mixed together. Her husband had hired someone to take me out. Perhaps she had told him to do it. They had come to their decision, and I was a threat. Wait — couldn’t it be possible that I killed myself? I wasn’t shown an attacker. All I know is that a knife plunged into me as a direct result of my affair with this married woman. Today, in the year 2023, the details hold little, if any, importance. Healing does not happen through he said she said. Healing occurs through processing emotions and overcoming them.
I pay close attention to what I’m feeling as this scene rolls out, so I can heal these emotions in my present day life. I lay on the ground for a long, long time, slowly bleeding to death.
I feel inept, a weak man. I had developed a voracious masculine ego to cover this insecurity. I was boastful in this lifetime. I thought she would surely choose me, and when she didn’t, I developed a gross neediness for her. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had plead for her love I think, as Reyna. As I lie dying I feel ashamed, embarrassed, and lesser than these two who had chosen each other and cast me aside.
The perspective I didn’t take was to recognize my own self worth, even without her in my life. I didn’t recognize that I’d failed to respect an important boundary — my love already had a cherished partner.
Even in these final moments, I can only think of her. My fondness for her swells and my heart grows warm, even as spit dribbles out of my mouth and onto my chest.
Then, the man that I was is gone. Now, I am floating in the sky over my dead body, with Alara beside me. I’m sobbing, in the vision, and in real life as I lay covered by my blanket.
In this lifetime I had been good with my hands, tying many knots. I shudder at the love I feel for myself. I gaze down at my body. I let my tears fall to the dry ground, somber and heavy for this man, for myself of 12, and for myself of today.
Alara tugs at me. It is time to go back, she implies telepathically. It is time to make a swift transition back to the present, completely leaving this scene behind.
I wiggle my toes and open my eyes, returning back to being Reyna Park. I “turn” and thank Alara. I thank all of my guides sincerely. They have helped me cross metaphysical boundaries and retrieve what I need to know. Notice that knowing who my killer was, if even myself, was not necessary information for me. This holds true for this lifetime. The “story” is usually less important than we deem it to be. What we need to know is what the lesson is; and this can usually be deduced through our emotions about the situation. I found out what my lessons were in that life — to respect boundaries and to uphold my self worth. Now, I am to bring my eye to my current life and see if I really have learned these lessons.
I stretch my legs.
I begin to journal.
Cheers,
Reyna
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