The Silk Shade

I've been quiet for a while now because I haven't really been doing anything related to reincarnation. Not that I don't want to, it's just not at the forefront of my mind. Well, today, it became quickly apparent that I was going to remember something whether I wanted to or not.

Today I was looking up images of Ukraine for research reasons. I am American-born and have absolutely no ties to any country east of Denmark. However, this particular image of the Ukrainian countryside brought out something in me that I have rarely felt. As I looked at this image, I immediately said to myself, "I want to go home." This would not have been ununusual if I wasn't at home already.

A sudden homesick feeling came over me and I didn't know what to do with myself. The homesickness just wouldn't go away. I'm feeling the remnants of it as we speak. I looked at another image of a somewhat more urban setting and the emotions I felt only grew. I almost felt the need to cry.

I have had a mild interest in Ukraine and the former Soviet Union for about two years now. The language, the culture, the religion... the men... everything interests me. However, ever since that interest began, Ukraine has always been at the top of the list in my mind. There is no explainable reason for it, I just love it. The sense of belonging I felt today and being away from something I love might begin to patch things up.

Is it really a past life experience, though? To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. I have not done any regression work on it, but I feel no immediate feelings that I have been there before. I could be wrong, but who knows. Maybe this is a future life calling to me? If it is, I find it almost comforting. It's like going home after a long, boring vacation. I can rest assured that I'll be home soon. 

I would like to elaborate further, but I'll save that for another post. Give my readers something to read later on.

It's been a while since I posted anything, so I figured I'd put up an update.

With the way things are going right now, I may not have another memory for a few more days. This isn't necessarily because I don't want to, it's just a bad environment to regress under. The mental environment is just fine, for the most part, but  I find it too cold to do much at this point. When I finally give up and decide to turn the heat on, then it might be better. But until then, nothing.

On a lighter note, I believe I know what part of my mission is in this particular lifetime. When I left this world as Johann Müller, my attitude toward most people, particularly my wife, was cold at best. I had no desire to love again. That notion has progressed into this life in a number of different areas. I think the only way to heal is to learn to get close to people again.

Maria was a great love for me and, in some ways, I still feel it. However, that life is over. She is not the only one I will ever find. She may not even be a great person right now. For all I know, she could be the next Charles Manson in this incarnation. My Johann part of me needs to accept it. He will, but he's putting up a fight. 

The only challenge now is finding the connection I need that will break Johann's bond with Maria. I know this is a wound that will not heal quickly. It may not even completely heal in this life. It may, but it may not. I suppose all I can do at this point is wait. I don't want to, but it's what I have to do. I can try to soothe the aching heart in the mean time, but it won't fix itself.

That's about all I have to say at this particular moment. I'll post another update as soon as I can. 

I attempted to self-regress for the fourth time about an hour ago. I began to descend into that deep state of relaxation and all was going as planned. Then came the most obnoxious sound I could ever hope for to disturb my trance. An angsty cricket.

My eyes shot open like the flood gates from Hell and everything I worked for was gone. So, you may or may not get an update on Johann in the morning. However, I did get a few images before the cricket decided to plot against me.

Most of the images I received were images of a battle. A battle in a city, it seemed like. I didn't receive much, just some calls to me in German and a hazy vision of the battleground. I may have been in shellshock because the voices seemed so far away, like they were calling to me from a cavern.

What drove me into that state of shellshock is unknown. It could have been a number of things. A mortar round hitting the street next to me, seeing a friend die, a fresh wound to my own body, anything. However, I have reason to believe the loss of my legs was the only time I was ever wounded.

As far as setting is concerned, I may have been in Italy. It would make sense considering most of my recollections lie in Italy. The buildings seemed gray like an old movie reel, but more intense. I could see the fine lines through the hazyness. I wish I could remember more of the scenery, but it escapes me.

As for current life feelings, I had none. I think my conscious mind is trying to block out the pain. Besides, I don't think war is something that can truly be described. Even those who have been in war can't quite grasp the concept. It becomes like a dream. A dream that can only be shared with those who were with you at the time.

Moving on, I had a few feelings today that are unrelated to Johann Müller, but may be related to a past life I have not yet tapped into.

For the past few days, I have listened to almost no music. When I did listen to music, chances are it was classical. Not that unlike me. My piece of choice? Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven. Now, this would not normally be unusual. In fact, I've always liked the piece. But listening to the piece for hours at a time, however, is quite unlike me. Normally there's at least one song in between. Actually, I'm listening to it now.

I have reason to believe that I may have seen Beethoven perform in one of my past lives. This conclusion is brought on by a recurring image that comes up when I listen to this piece. Along with my conscious swaying, I see a small room of aristocrats. I am sitting in one of the front rows, a fan resting in the palm of my hand while still open. I gather from this fan, as well as my style of dress, that I am female. I seem to be there with a man, but his exact identity is unknown.

My qualm about this image is primarily the setting. I know that Beethoven was never permanently employed with a church or an aristocratic family. I also know that he gave much more public concerts than the days of Mozart wouldbe accustomed to. Would he give a performance so small in the time that he composed Moonlight Sonata? Or am I using the piece as a launching point to what he actually played in that recollection?

Who knows. I certainly don't. But regardless of the scenery, I am fairly sure I was present at a concert of his. Or maybe it wasn't Beethoven at all. Can you see my uncertainty here? I think I need to learn to trust my visions. Or have another successful regression that doesn't involve chirping crickets.

For whatever reason, I decided not to self-regress last night. I think my mind needed a rest.  The memories aren't exactly happy ones, but I'm dealing with them well all things considered. There's a sort of emotional detachment I've acquired over the years that I think may be from that lifetime. However, I'm quite sure it was perfected in this lifetime with what I have gone through here. My current life, though, is not important for this blog.

Despite lacking a fourth self-regression, I did some thinking. Most of these thoughts were about Karlotte. I wondered if she is currently alive and I honestly couldn't tell you for sure. I have the feeling that she might be, but I have not sought out any validation. In a way, I'm afraid of what I'll find.

 If she is alive, I believe she's in her late forties or early fifties. Has it really been so long? It doesn't seem like it. But if my feeling is true, I doubt I could ever bring myself to meet the woman if it wasn't by accident. I mean, come on. Would you believe someone who walked up to you one day and said "I'm your father reincarnated?" I don't think so. Even those who believe in reincarnation would be skeptical at first.

 It saddens me that I may never see her in this lifetime. She was such a wonderful girl. I'm so terribly proud of her. It's difficult to explain a parental connection when I've never been a parent in this life. I only know that I would love to see her again. That's up for my soul to decide, though. It may not be the right time. Or maybe she'll be my daughter again? My son, even? Who knows.

 I guess that's all I have to say for the moment. I just wanted to put that idea out there.

This particular session revolved mostly around my family after the war.

 My first vision took place in my and my wife's bedroom. She sat on the right side of the bed, the side furthest from the window, in a soft white nightgown with her hair not yet undone. She said softly in German, "Johann, come to bed."

 I was still sitting in my wheelchair, vehement at staying in my position. I simply sat there with my hands in my lap. "No."

 The frustration was visible on Irmgard's face, though she said nothing afterward, simply--and rather angrily--pulling the sheets around her.

 As I watched, the phrase "Where is my Maria?" kept popping into my head. It was as if I had lost her in a cloud of smoke, my hands outstretched to feel through the heavy layer of gray.

 At the second sequence, I couldn't help but consciously smile. It was my dear Karlotte. She stood there with a medium blue ribbon wrapped around her wavy brown hair, a color that matched her dress perfectly. She had a plate of food in her hand as she kneeled down next to my wheelchair. "Daddy," she began. "You're hungry, aren't you?"

With a sigh, I shook my head. "I can't eat right now..."

"Daddy, you have to eat," she insisted. "You need your strength."

Somehow, this conversation erupted into an argument where she yelled, "I know you're thinking about Maria!" This struck me quite off-guard as I had never told her about the woman I left. Apparently, Irmgard had told her. Karlotte then admitted that she knew I didn't love her mother. This upset me beyond reason, but the girl comforted me, somehow realizing the pain that I was in.

 The sequence ended abruptly when my daughter sat in my lap with her arms wrapped loosely around my neck. "I love you, Daddy."

 When I asked my inner voice about my other two children, I drew a blank. I gather that the boy's name may be Helmut. My second daughter has something ending with "ina." Nonetheless, the other two are oddly disconnected, somehow estranged and kept from my memory.

 I have reason to believe that my Karlotte ended up in the medical field as her mother did. What exactly her profession was escapes me, though I have reason to believe she somehow treated war veterans.

 My only memory of Maria in this regression was a series of events strung together, more for emphasis of affection than an event that needed remembering. It seemed that I'd told her I loved her more often than the protagonist in the end of a sappy romance movie. I also recall saying "Heirate mich" or "Marry me." She played all of this off with amusement, though she did humor me more often than not.

As I read over last night's regression, a few little factoids came to my mind that I thought I should record.

I recall having a constant silent tension between Irmgard and myself. My children--two girls and a boy, I believe--never knew much about me. I was not a bad father, but I had a tendency to keep to myself. I never told them about my time in the war. To be honest, I'm not even sure if they knew I was ever in the war. They only knew that my legs were gone due to reasons unknown to them. Irmgard might have told them a few things about me in their later years, but I was never present for any divulging of this information.

I can see myself sitting in my wheelchair in some unknown area of my home. I simply stare out the window with some faraway look on my face. I'm not sure how old I am at this point, but I sense that my children might be teenagers. The eldest one, a girl who has my features, has a name. Karlotte, maybe? I know it may be Italian in origin, but German in its spelling. She was the one that seemed to care most for me. She would check up on me as I sat at the window, occasionally kneeling so that she could look at me properly. She is the only one I remember ever referring to me as "Vati." ("Daddy.")

This self-regression was a difficult one to deal with. The majority of it involved my times with Maria and the heartbreak surrounding her. Regardless, this is what happened.

The visions opened at a time when the battle was ceased and the weather was fine. Maria and I were a safe distance from her home, embracing each other as all young couples would. The image of her face was vague, but somehow clear in the same instance. To me, she could have been an Italian movie star. Her hair was kept away from her face with a red handkerchief of sorts wrapped around her head. Her skin had a medium tan to it from being out in the sun almost every day.

We kissed one another repeatedly in this vision, a sign of affection that stirred a great deal of sadness in me. It continues to do so as I type this. We were interrupted by a comrade of mine who was presumably in my platoon. "Müller!" he called. "Komm! Wir müssen gehen!" ("Come! We must go!") I kissed her yet again before running off, promising to come back as soon as I could.

The second sequence was one that brought out a slight amount of amusement, though the sadness remained. This time we were in a night so dark that I could barely see. From what I could see, we were sitting on Maria's bed about to do something "immoral" to one another. She was giggling in amusement a large part of the time. I remember being in at least a partial state of undress before her father swung the door open violently. I didn't wait to jump out of her bedroom window as her father bellowed in Italian. I couldn't understand a word, but I knew it wasn't pretty.

The third sequence involved acquiring the Edelweiss for Maria. I was with another man who I believe to be the man who called me before. The entire conversation was in German, but it went something like this:

"Why are we here?"

"I'm getting some Edelweiss for Maria."

"Are you crazy? She's an Italian girl! You're never going to see her again when we leave."

"Stop whining. This will only take a second."

This scene faded to the time when my heart was broken. I had just received the letter that Maria was marrying someone else. I recall growling and tossing the letter into the fire. Someone in the group asked me what was wrong and I went on a tirade. "Is she stupid?!" I yelled. "She could have had me and  she's marrying Giovanni or Guiseppe, whatever his name is!" I was inconsolable as I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

Next I found myself at a hospital in Germany while I recuperated. I was covered in a white sheet as I stared at the red handkerchief Maria wore. She had apparently sent it to me at some point, but I cannot recall when it arrived. I was twisting it in my callused hands, rolling in self-pity and all sorts of negative emotions.

The final scene involved a woman that cared for me in my home after the war. Her name was Irmgard, I believe. I was quite friendly with her, though I truly had no desire to be in a relationship. A small photo of Maria was kept on what seemed to be a mantle or perhaps a shelf. Regardless, I got the feeling that I married this woman and had three children. It was a loveless marriage, however, as I never quite got over the girl I left in Italy.

 Originally posted in LiveJournal on 10/01/06

While reading through my chosen reincarnation forum, another memory came to me. This was only a brief memory and I'm honestly not even sure that it is legitimate. However, I thought it should be recorded nonetheless to be confirmed or denied later.

I'm not entirely sure of the time, but it seems to be somewhere between the daylight and sunrise hours. Again I take the form of Johann in his dress uniform. I believe he was due to go to the Kehlsteinhaus on that particular day. I was having one last meeting with my dear Maria* before I left.

She looked absolutely amazing that morning, not that she didn't every time I saw her. Her black hair was done up in some fashion, but whatever it was, her preparation of it was loose and careless. Her clothing was pleasant, but obviously thrown together. This leads me to believe that I might have woken her up.

During our visit, it seems somewhat difficult to communicate. Her knowledge of German is limited and I have no knowledge at all of Italian. Nonetheless, I take the opportunity to give her a gift. I give her the gift of a small sprig of Edelweiss, a small white flower that enjoys growing on the Alps. The flower is often worn by German soldiers because it is a sign of strength and resilience.

Maria takes this gift and nods her approval. I believe she answered that she would put it in a book to press it until I returned. I am led to believe that this is my last visit with her.

---

* - I am inclined to believe that "Maria" may not in fact be this woman's name. I only know that it may be equally generic or a name she gave me that she prefers, but was not born with.

 Originally posted in LiveJournal on 09/30/06

This is taken from a post I made on a reincarnation forum I frequent. I lack the eloquence necessary to type it over again and I need sleep before I contribute further.

While walking in town with a friend tonight, I unconsciously began to take the small mannerisms of this life while he still possessed the use of his legs. I started feeling the need to put a cigarette to my lips. I could almost taste the smoke and such in my mouth.

I took on a long stride to my walk that I wouldn't normally have. My sneakers sounded unusually like jackboots. That's not such a stretch, but I looked downward and felt like I was wearing them, my feet moving against gravel or a stretch of torn concrete.

I looked up into the sky a few times expecting to see a German aircraft, most of all a Stuka.

While walking with my friend, I passed a small group of drunken people outside of a community center. I remember wanting to speak to my friend in German and saying to myself "unglaublich" meaning "unbelievable." I dislike alcoholics now, though this made me slightly more disgusted than I normally would be.

Originally posted in LiveJournal on 09/30/06
 

Realizing that I had some free time today, I took the opportunity to conduct a self-regression using a mp3 from the CD of a man by the name of Buhlman. As I visualized the white light enveloping me, I tried my hardest not to interfere with wishful thinking or other such distractions. While my regression was overall shoddy at best, I did carry away some information.

I first looked down at my feet and my inner voice screamed the name of my footwear. Jackboots. My eyes moved further and further up, taking in my medium stature and finely-pressed dress uniform. I seemed to be decorated, though not uncommonly so for the time. I was not a man of any rank that would matter much off the field. Hauptmann (Captain), I guessed.

My eyes were a shade of deep blue I have never seen. They weren't dark per se, but very much so in comparison to most people possessing blue eyes. My hair was greased back as best it could be and had a dark brown color to it, almost mousy I suppose. My features themselves were nothing special, though typically Germanic in nature. I wasn't that bad looking, if I do say so myself.

In this first sequence, I found myself at Kehlsteinhaus in Berchtesgaden, Hitler's personal getaway in the Alps. It was obvious that I was receiving another decoration, most likely the Knight's Cross. I remember thinking of how nice the room was that I was in. Polished wood as far as the eye could see with a painting somewhere that I couldn't place. Nonetheless, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

What truly caught my attention was Hitler himself. He shook my hand with a firm grip and smiled at me which in itself had little emotional effect. It was the blue of his eyes that drew me, a statement that many who met Hitler would agree on. He seemed warm enough, a nice man over all. I held no animosity toward him whatsoever. Then again, he was my leader.

The sequence broke and I found myself on the front. My immediate thought was Russia, though no winter gear was present. Czechoslovakia perhaps or somewhere near to that? I sat with a small fire built in the company of a few men as I smoked a cigarette, my gaze never quite leaving the flames.

This sequence broke quickly and I was in an office of sorts writing a letter. I inquired to my inner voice about the person to whom I was writing. My inner voice replied with the name Maria. I gathered that she was Italian in origin and I had apparently met her while serving there. She was a raven-haired goddess in my eyes and I was determined to keep my promise to write.

The next image brought me was one of a collapsing building in the snow. If I was not in the heart of Russia before, I was then. I heard a cry that seemed to be my own. My current mind, and perhaps my past one, thought for sure that I was dead. However, that was not to be.

I saw myself in a hospital--if one could call it that--growling and seeming to be in a tremendous amount of pain. Apparently someone decided not to have morphine on hand. My gaze at first rested on my soiled face and clothing, but it panned downward and I saw what seemed to be some sort of saw hacking into my leg. I was too badly wounded to keep it. I thought that perhaps the other one might be saved, but I was not that fortunate.

I found myself sitting in a wheelchair with no particular setting in the background, white bandages wrapped tightly around the nubs that remained. It seemed that my legs were severed just above the knee. I was visibly shaken, though not simply because I lost both my legs. I knew that I would never be able to provide for Maria on my own. This problem didn't entirely matter in the end, though. She married someone else while I was gone. Bitterness could not describe the feeling.

The final image I received during all this was of myself in later years. The exact age is unknown. I probed my inner voice for answers as to what had befallen me, receiving a heart in return. My guess is a heart attack or some such disease involving the chest area. I didn't see myself die outright, but it was imminent when the images faded with a half hour left on the Buhlman mp3.

Originally posted in LiveJournal on 09/29/06 

In the grind of our daily lives, we often forget the little things that trigger memory. A particular smell, a particular sound, perhaps even a taste. On our deathbeds, we cherish them and wish we had taken the time to savor them. What if, during that daily grind, you took the time to savor that smell or sound and it triggered a memory you never had? What if you were brewing coffee in the morning and you found yourself remembering a coffee shop you can't name? You might think you're going crazy, or at the very least developing an overactive imagination.

Or, if you're like me, you may take it as an opportunity to do some soul-searching. Not just a simple reflection on who you are and who you're becoming, but who you were. Perhaps not in this life, but the one before. It may seem far-fetched, but it is a very clear reality for many people, maybe more than you initially realized.

This blog is intended to collect and store any memory or regression I have regarding a former life. Comment as much or as little as you like regardless of your opinions. This is, in the end, only for my reference.

Originally posted on LiveJournal on 09/28/06