Are Past Lives Real or Figments of Our Imagination?

I’ve been exploring this question for years and came to a conclusion based on my non-ordinary, personal experiences.

Striding in tandem with the dense pedestrian flow on the street in Jaipur, India in 1980, I suddenly heard a shout out in English. “Hello, hello over there! Can you see us?”

I stopped and glanced around until I spotted two beautiful women I thought might be mother and daughter across the street. The younger was waving her arms and jumping in place. When she saw she had my attention she yelled, “We’re coming over. Please wait for us.”

I watched as they adeptly wove their way through cows, numerous rickshaws, honking drivers, and the endless buzz of tuk tuk’s. The closer they came, the greater the wrinkle in time. The Field began a warp and spin I had experienced on several previous occasions. A flush of joy rushed through my body as they reached my side.

If you’ve ever had a hug from Mata Amritanandamayi, a Hindu spiritual leader, you will understand what happened with this duo of strangers. The older woman gently touched both sides of my face, began kissing my cheeks and went on to enfold me in a loving embrace. Her daughter, who was fluent in English, began explaining.

“My mother is what we call “God Struck”. All day she chants Ram, Ram, Ram as she goes about her life. She wants you to know how very fortunate she feels to see you again, her beloved teacher, friend, and fellow student from many lifetimes.”

Her mother surfed effortlessly past all my defenses and deposited her love straight into my heart’s bank account. I willingly opened into her unconditional wave of love. My body and soul knew I was safe. Ancient wounds and scars rose to the surface, succumbing to the dissolution of surrender.

The daughter translated while her mother continued stroking my hair and face. Ram, Ram, Ram. They were both radiant with Light. A pen and paper was produced from a purse. Their home address in the south of India was written down and numerous invitations were issued to visit and stay with them.

“Does this happen to your mother often?” I queried. “Meeting people from her past lives?”

“No, only once before. This is a rare and special moment to her. She says it’s important you know that. We must go to a business meeting now, but please come stay with us. Mother is wishing to spend more time with you. I like you very much too,” she beamed.

One last hug as we parted ways and re entered the stream, heading off in opposite directions. Mother’s hug lasted for days, assisting my recovery from an intense bout of food poisoning. I didn’t make it to their home but I never forgot the impact of this interaction and others like it.

I often dreamt of glowing temples as a child. My sixth, seventh and eighth summers became a series of vivid regressions as a best friend and I spent our days under the dappled shade of Russian Olive trees, planted in the desert shelterbelt around our town. Irrigation water bubbled to the surface in certain zones, providing moisture for the “Olympic Temples” our small hands sculpted from the wet sand.

“Now the Priestesses will come forth” we announced, dancing our twigs out of the temple. “They know how to read other’s minds and can see what’s truly in their hearts. They have passed their tests and are now free to enter the Great Sun and beyond.”

How could I know, at this young age, a lifetime in the temples of ancient Egypt would resurface in my 20th year? A life-altering event broke through the coded tunnels of time and recreated a past life Initiation. My dreams and our intuitive play formed the fertile ground to receive the transmission.

I continued reading about past lives as I studied Edgar Cayce, an extraordinary healer with diverse and remarkable abilities. He was able to easily enter trance states and access the Akashic Records of his ailing patients.

Akashic Records are stored in an energetic library. They are considered sacred and few beings are allowed entry into this domain. They contain every minute detail of each one of our soul’s lifetimes.

Physicians sent Cayce patients they couldn’t cure and had given up on. Under trance, he was allowed entry into the Akashic Realm and was able to search their records for the source of their ailment and obstructions. He then relayed the information to his record-keeping brother, steadily at his side. His success rate at healing was inexplicable using logic and science, although many have tried.

He said once a soul brought a past injury to full consciousness it could be integrated and immediately released. Cayce also repeated over and over to naysayers and doubters, the Akashic Records hold our Truth. They are real.

My 60th birthday came along at the same time a past life retreat was offered by Ainslie MacLeod, a Scotsman who originally scoffed at the notion of past lives. Until he was presented with nonstop evidence of his own past lives. He accepted his fate and wrote his first book, “The Instruction: Living The Life Your Soul Intended.”

Over the years I had seen three professional and renowned hypnotists. They all told me the same thing. My soul had blocked subconscious tampering from others, regardless of their intentions. The only way I could recall past lives would be through self-hypnosis and Ainslie's book provided the perfect template for that pursuit.

My husband gifted me a seaplane ride to the Canadian Gulf Islands and Hollyhock Center, where Ainslie’s retreat would be held. We were twelve women gathering and one man, a witches brew. Our meeting spot on site was the Crow Lodge. Crow is the symbolic enactor of Sacred Law in First Nation beliefs and a Canadian tribal leader was in our group.

Our days began with brief descriptions of nightly dreams, prior to sessions of self-hypnosis under Ainslie’s guidance. On our last night, we plunged our marinaded selves into a final hypnosis.

Ainslie suggested celebrating our meaningful time together by concentrating on recalling a pleasant and peaceful lifetime. A blessing and boost before our journey back home. With our permission, he joined us in hypnosis.

We were all adept at moving deep swiftly by then and easily sailed off. Eventually, we heard Ainslie softly calling us back to Crow Lodge. Taking our time. Holding the memories and visions as we broke the surface into the present. He continued speaking in slow, low tones.

“Please don’t talk, but do take a pen and write down what you saw, felt or experienced. Take as long as you need. When you’re finished, lay your pen down and relax until we’re all done.”

We shared our stories one by one around the circle, in the circular Lodge, within our circular lives. Infinity loops bounded across the center and back. When I shared mine, Ainslie gave me a peculiar look I couldn’t translate. He had not shared his.

Instead, he inquired if anyone still doubted the existence of past lives. One woman raised her hand. “How do I know these impressions are real, rather than my imagination longing for meaning?”

Looking at me he asked, “Can you please read us your story again?” My peaceful life took place in a small village high in the Swiss Alps. I was healthy, happily married, and had loving relationships with many people. My old age death took place without suffering, surrounded by loved ones, in my own bed under a lush down comforter. I left my body in a state of grace.

Ainslie listened carefully and said “Now I’ll read mine.” Same scene, same place, same family. Ainslie was my husband in that Swiss lifetime.

The details were way too similar to deny. Our doubter was delighted with the evidence. She had witnessed all of us writing away and saw my visible astonishment during Ainslie’s recounting of his story. Her mind had been teased open.

Many of us are resistant to the concept of past lives and I admit to feeling the same until I was contacted by a stream of teachers from past lives. These guides often popped up unexpectedly, wearing many different facades.

The name of a gifted Sound Healer was bandied about in my spiritual circle for a while. I wasn’t interested in exploring this route until I ordered a cassette of his and received a video instead. I decided to return it for the item I ordered but out of curiosity, viewed it instead.

As soon as his face appeared on the screen, I dropped to my knees on the fortunately carpeted floor. Immediate recognition of this soul had stunned me. I perused his schedule of retreats on a nearby island and signed up for every one that year.

This began a 15-year journey using the catalytic power of sound as a transformational tool. When I first met this teacher I immediately realized he knew me too. We shared an unspoken recognition and alliance from a multitude of past lives.

Countries such as India embrace the concept of past lives and reincarnation as an integral part of their religious structures. Due to cultural acceptance, many people have freely expressed their memories of past lives and quite a few vivid accounts from children have been proven valid.

Children are more open to communion across the veils of perception and can sometimes recall details with great accuracy. They might recognize relatives from past lives who are still alive in the present time. They can also identify personal items which belonged to them in a past life, just as incarnate Lamas are able to do in Tibet.

We travel through lives with our Soul Pods, a collective group intent on the same evolution. When fellow pod mates show up, they are unmistakable in their presence. We know them and yet we have to reacquaint ourselves once again.

They journey with us for a designated period and leave when the fulfillment of contracts is complete. These relationships are always profound and deliver gifts, often in disguise. Members of our pod are committed to mutual growth and will do all they can to help us thrive, even if it entails a harsh wake-up call.

I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything here. I’m sharing a few of my personal experiences to encourage a broadening of your time-space continuum.

There is value in opening to the possibility of past lives and exploring how they may affect your present one. A potential remedy could arise to heal a rough edge within and clear your path forward. It’s happened to me. It can happen to you.