Past lives...

This past life buisness has been on my mind latley. I have been doing a lot of research on how it supposivly works. I read books from respected scientists, theroys from doctors and phycologists. Its interesting to me how people with vast educations, different beliefs can come together on one idea. I admit I was a skeptic. I was always interested in the paranormal, but I never really believed it until it happened to me in my own home. So believing in a past life isent that far fetched for me anymore. I took all this information I have gathered and began applying it to my own life. Things that I feel are connected in my own personality and my dreams that I have had throughout life. I have always been drawn to literature and story writing. I dont believe that it was just a talent I have been born with. I dont believe that any writer is just born with the gift to tell a story well. I believe that it is the experience and the craft that is learned over several lifetimes. Maybe we dont realize it but perhaps some of the stories written by authors are actually memmories supressed by another life. Or people we meet in our lives that inspire us, are actually a reincarnation of someone who once mattered to you in another life. Perhaps history buffs that spend their life researching a specific era actually lived in that time, that is why they are drawn to it. Maybe doctors who have spent their life healing others, gifted hands of surgens are people who have been healing for more than one life time. Why do we choose things that we love or are interested in? Why are we drawn to people and places? How do those thoughts, those feelings just appear within ourselves. How do family members whom you never met, or even lived in your life time look so much like family members later down the line? I would think that traits are passed but having strong likenesses is a bit odd to me. Expecially since the father or mother outside the blood line is a new gene to the family and it should be deluited out over time. However in some cases, people look idenical to family members that died a hundred plus years before they were even born. Whos to say that life just continues on when you die, except your born again and your given a new name and you might not remember at all that you lived before. In some cases there are people that know things about someone who had lived that they couldnt possibly have known, or they have dreams and memmories of certain places in time yet they couldnt have been alive then. Perhaps your soul mate, is your one destined lover, you just meet them over and over as new people. Maybe what makes you fall in love, is realizing they are just as much apart of you as you are. Maybe thats because your journeys are always meant to intertwine.

I have a reoccuring dream that happens about once or twice every few years. Its strange to me because it feels so natural to me. Like I did that everyday for a whole life time and it was just something that was apart of me. I dream that I am this little, short and petite Equptian girl bent over a peice of parchment scroll making little charcter symbols as a man speaks to me. I assume I am writing what he is telling me to write. I feel the hunger in my dream, my stomach rolls through the pains as the dream plays out. I can smell the paper and the ink on the stick I had carved to draw with. Im sure there are names for the tools I was using but I am amazed at how I know how to use the tools or what they are for. I have never used old tools like that, but if I had to I would know what to do with it. The man in the dream called me scribe. I looked that up and those were slaves or people who were taught to write books for the farrohs or government at that time. It was a craft that not many people knew and because of it the slave scribe was treated fairly better than the others. I was surprised when I looked it up and found out about what a scribe did and what tools they used because that was exactly what I was doing in the dream. I didnt look like i look now but somehow I know that it was myself. I cant explain how, its odd but I knew immedietly in my sleep that I was watching myself work. I worked quickly and seemed to be able to take in what he was saying and put it on paper as quickly as one could at the time. The man never called me by any other name other than scribe so im assuming i was a slave and not a scolar. I remember that I was nervous about my movements and how I was sitting or what I was doing. I feared the man sitting in the room, I didnt want to upset him, I didnt want to displease him and I worked quick because I didnt want him to think I was working too slow. My mouth was very dry and the sun was very intense. Both the man and myself were sweating in the afternoon sun. I assume it was summer in Eqypt at the time. I could see people cutting stone and moving peices down a line, but im not sure what they are building nor are any of them famiulur to them. In my dream I would look over to them and be thankful I didnt have to do that kind of labor. I remember my hands aching and hoped that the man would end soon for the day. I wanted to shake my hand and stretch it out but i didnt dare cease working in fear of the man sitting next to me. I worked and worked and worked and then I was dismissed and I quickly collected the tools I had been using and set them on a table in the room. I somehow knew that I wasnt allowed to take any of the tools home but I didnt know why. My dream ends with me walking out of the room and past the slaves working in the sun.

I also have another dream that comes to me from time to time, but not in a predictable pattern like the other dream. I am in Ireland, I only know this because of the landscape and the accent of the people who speak in my dream. I am a small framed red headed girl, dressed in what I am guessing early 1900 wear. I walk through a old cottage style home, cleaning and straitening as I go along. I wash laundry in a basin and hang it outside. I prepare meals in the fireplace in the kitchen. I knead dough to make bread and go to collect water in a local stream and haul it back to the cottage. There are children running around playing or getting into mischief. There is a man that I prepare a meal for and wrap it in a cloth, but he just smiles and kisses my cheak before tucking the wrapped food in his coat and leaving. I sing as I work and my voice is pretty and way better than my voice is now. I once again dont look anything like I do now but I just know somehow that it is me. My name is shannon and the little boy calls me mother,as well as the small girl. But I dont know their names, only that I smile when they speak to me and I feel like I love them beyond words. I play with them a bit as I go about but it seems like I have much to do and little time to spare. I work the whole time, never really stopping other than to play with the children or fan my heated face. Sometimes, things happen that didnt happen the other times I dreamt it, like the little girl once climbed in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck, she had tears in her eyes and I hugged her as if to sooth her. One time the man actually sat and ate at the table as I worked before leaving, but he never spoke to me as I worked. A neighbor stopped by once for a chat and we sat in the parlor and spoke about the holiday party season and what dresses we would need to mend to be worn. Its strange to me, because i always feel like I have everything under control, even tho i am always so busy in the dream. When I have this dream I usually wake up very tired, like I hadnt even slept at all. I have always been drawn to Ireland. I have a celtic tattoo and I collect irish memrobellia. I have a strong need to go there one day, a part of me feels like something is waiting for me there, or something is missing because I have never been there in person. Unlike the eqyptian girl, shannon is very content and happy with the life she leads. Her home is something she takes pride in and she enjoys the work even tho it is long and hard. She loves the children she has and always keeps a watchful eye on them as they play. Although I have no idea who the man is or his place in the house but I feel that shannon loves him very much. I feel like he is the type of man that appreciates the work she puts into the home, and they have a certain balence in their life roles. Basically I feel like I belong there, that its my home and I love it very much. I might not have very nice things but life is exactly the way I want it. I have never felt that content in my own life. Perhaps Ireland was the one lifetime that I was trully happy and somehow my soul longs for that place. I feel like I know exactly where the cottage is. If I was able to draw, I could sketch the rooms exactly how they were. I can close my eyes and see the house in my mind and almost smell the bread baking. I can not explain how the dream inpacts me. Everytime I have it I feel like I am lacking the rest of the day. I feel like I am a long way away from my home and my family and it makes me sad. Sometimes when life is hard I wish that I can have that dream just to feel that happyness in myself. I know it is not my life, that it belonged to someone else. But a part of me believes that I once had that home and that family and I miss them dearly. I miss the land and the smells and the people who come to visit me. I dont understand how that is possible from a dream. The only thing I can conclude is that I was once that person in that life and Im just remembering it. As if my soul wont let me forget the happiness I felt there. Maybe one day I will find that cottage in Ireland. Maybe one day I will get an explanation as to why I have that dream and why I feel the things I feel. But as of right now, I chalk it up to a past life I once had. Its the only thing that makes sense. Even now as I think of it, I hold the emerald green shamrock I have on a necklace around my neck. Ireland was once my home and I long for it everyday. I only hope that in this life I can go there again. It seemed to bring be great happiness and joy.