African American Slave named Clara during the Civil War

[deborah]

I have detailed memories of being a black woman in the South during the Civil War...I am now a white woman living in Northern California. The unspeakable traumas that these people endured including myself..I will not post here. But I would like to share with you my perspective regarding the fear of reliving the pain.

For me, it was the fear that I needed to address...by experiencing it and viewing my past life from the perspective of being in my Black woman's body in the south - and then from above - where my soul felt safe...allowed me to get a much greater understanding of the whole reality of that time period.

In order to heal within...I needed to expand beyond the fear - the experience allowed me to let go...let God...forgive and move on. I found that I had nothing to fear but fear itself. My soul...me - was much more than any ONE of my bodies - past present or future. And that is the greatest gift of all.

This life time is still very much at the surface of my awareness...my name was Clara, and I have even painted a picture of her. I can now embrace that part of me...with love, light and peace.

 

[deborah]

Little slave girl taken from her Momma and sold

I can share with you that my sister, has always been afraid of her children being taken away from her, or kidnapped. In the early 1990's I experienced the following as Clara in 1848.

I seemed to move rapidly through space, entering into the light.... I looked down...... I am a small black girl, about five years old. I am inside of a small wooden structure that in appearance looked like a shack. It was my home. The side boards reminded me of an old barn, there was one door and one window, and two sleeping palettes on the floor. Our house consisted of one room.

I am with my momma in our house. I seemed perplexed as to something a white child had said to me, and in response to my question I hear her say, "Don't pay dem no never mind." I turned looking over my shoulder to see her. She was a very heavy woman wearing a long skirt covered with a dirty apron. She wore a tightly wrapped bandana around her head, with her hair tucked neatly in the back. She was my "Momma.”

Then I begin to get an extended sense of memory, my vision expands, I remember, I see her; projected over her is a holographic light in the image of who she is to me now. I can see holographically an image of my sister Terri overlaying the visions of this large black woman who was once my mother.

It was a wonderful vision filled with recognition, joy and love. But as I looked at her - memories from a later time flooded in.....I find myself remembering when I was taken from her, when I was eight years old. I began to struggle and cry as several men loaded me into the back of a wagon. I had been sold to a plantation many miles away.

A man grabbed me by the back of the neck and pushed me onto the wagon bed. I am sobbing and trembling calling out.... "Momma, Momma." I would never see my mother again. White men held her arms as she screamed for mercy, repeating over and over......"My baby, my baby.”

As the wagon left I saw other black women consoling her as she went down on her knees and wept. The separation tore my heart in two. I was reliving the emotions, the feelings and the tears. I cried ....and I cried.....I cried.

Time shifts...suddenly I find myself in front of a large white plantation house, it was huge! It was newly white washed with pillars by the entrance. There were willow trees in the front yard that were covered with bunches of lichen. Lots and lots of roses lined the front. I was with two older black women, they were teaching me the "rules" of the house. I was scared and I was sad inside. All I could do was think of my momma.

My sister has held a deeply seeded fear of someone taking her children for years. She has always been fearful of child abduction, even obsessed with it, never letting her children out of her sight unsupervised. My own memories helped me to be more compassionate regarding my sister’s obsession and we openly discussed her feelings and emotions, although she herself has not done any work around past lives and was not aware of why she felt this way.

She has over the years let down her guard, a little. But her unconscious mind remembers, she still holds the fear from a time long ago, in 1848 when her child was taken away from her, and sold into slavery. I was that child.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Slavery, persecution, imprisonment, orphaned

 

[deborah]

Humiliation - He said, "How's it feel to be a nobody? How's it feel to be black?" "

I too have had strong memories about being looked at in the same manner you describe.

In a meditation a few years back - I remembered the following -:

.... I am black, I am about fifty years old and in bad health in the 1890's. I am walking down a dirt road in a dark jacket and skirt. I feel very uncomfortable, even unsafe. There is a white boy about seventeen who jeers comments at me, being sarcastic and mean.

He kept jumping from side to side around me as I walked. He said, "How's it feel to be a nobody?" -- "How's it feel to be black?" The humiliation I felt was overwhelming, I could do nothing to defend myself. I kept repeating over and over in my mind what my mamma had told me as a child -- “Don’t pay dem never no mind, Don’t pay dem never no mind....

Blacks were free, free to be careful, free to walk on eggs. But today was especially bad, a day of sorrow, the kind that breaks a heart. A young black man no more than seventeen had been hung. I could see his body swinging from the tree where the hooded men had put him to his death.

I could see a frail girl of about fifteen seated on her front porch, her long thin legs draped down the steps. I could see the depth of her sorrow as she sat in the early morning mist sobbing. I think she was his sister. Several men hurried about to remove the body. The boy had done nothing wrong, he was accused of something he had not done.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Slavery, persecution, imprisonment, orphaned

 

[deborah]

Carrying the Massa's Child

I can say, what led me to a life time as a slave - had nothing to do with guilt! It had everything to do with what I held within. Thoughts - feelings - and emotions.

I have done several regressions and my past life as Clara surfaces even in meditations. A lot of my memories from that time are traumatic, I was taken from my family and sold when I was only 8 years old. Yet there are a few memories that I hold dear to my heart and cherish. Small things..little details.

I thought I would share an interesting memory with you -- as far as perspectives go. The child..I was carrying then...is my daughter Jennifer now; then and now - I hold her dear to my heart.

1993

.....I am only fourteen. I am standing in the parlor of a large white plantation house. The Mrs. of the house called me by my name...I could hear her heavy southern drawl as she said, "Clara, Clara come here."

I am wearing a white apron and a long dress with a high collar and long sleeves. My hair is pulled back into a neat bun close to my head. I look to the ground as I entered the parlor. I could feel the small child within me moving and kicking about. I know am five months pregnant.

There is a man, an older gent with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard who is sitting in his chair by the window. He is the plantation owner. He is smoking his pipe, and wearing reading glasses. I glanced up and noticed his huge desk filled with important papers and books.

The Mrs. of the house mumbled something to him about me "gettin fat.” The man never looked up at me, but puffed on his pipe and said, "She's with child, Em." The woman grunted in disgust and said, "Stupid child, why'd you do that for?"

I paused, looked up at her and said, "I don't know ma'm." Knowing all the while that the child I was carrying was her husbands, the very man who sat next to her. He looked up at me briefly with a mean look in his eye. I immediately looked back down. The Mrs. excused me to continue my work. I curtsied and went back to my ironing.

I saw myself doing many tasks through out the day, folding and putting away sheets into large hall closets which were made of beautiful cherry wood. I was to dust the large furniture in the house and check that things were in their proper place.

I went into a bedroom and pulled back the drapes, and I marveled that under the heavy drapes were finer curtains made of a delicate and fine white lace. I turned to pick up a food tray which was laying next to a young woman’s bed and went about my daily duties.

I considered myself to be one of the lucky ones...working in the house, dressed in clean clothes, fed good food and my sleeping quarters were down stairs by the kitchen.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Civil war confusion

 

[deborah]

The Mojo - Clara, the hanging and Mom's vision

I hope this post clarifies HOW Clara got the watch - HOW I confirmed the initials, what I was wearing, and that it was after 1864 due to the date on the forks.

After re-reading my posts - I realized that I have been very vague. So I am going to start by posting the memory I had in a dream. You can find the following also in Rosemary Ellen Guiley, Ph.D's book. The Dreamers Way. If you have it - it's on page #275 - #277.

***The Mojo - Clara, the hanging and moms vision*****

Jul 20, 2000 --It was very lucid and seemed so real. It was in the 1860's, I was a young black woman. I was in an area where several black people had been hung for "crimes" they did not commit or that did not require such a terrible sentence. I saw four black men carrying a coffin and they were singing "Come on, Come on, It' time ta go down to da Mojo, cause someone heres been killed...Keepin on..keepin on.... "

The men wore brown pants, suspenders, funny round hats and black warn boots. An old man was digging through the black peoples possessions, the ones left in the holding area. I saw used bullets, broken chains, copper pennies, rags, nothing of real value. But, when I looked in one woven box -- inside was a man's pocket watch, oval in shape with elongated numbers. There was engraving on the back. I saw an "L" and "M."

Also inside was a cloth wrapped around four forks. Two metal ones and two engraved silver ones. The silver ones had the date 1864 on the back. Then I saw a music box/jewelry box that was made of China and painted with flowers that could fit in my hand. On one side it was a clock, the other a music box, the bottom a drawer for earrings and rings. A black man rode up on his horse and snatched the music box from me and took it to his wife. I only had the watch left, the cloth and the forks.

I wore a long dress, with a white apron. I was barefoot. I could smell the dirt on the ground, everything was in full color. I could hear the singing in a southern accent, I could feel the dirt on my toes.

I told my mother my dream...all except the engraving part. Funny, she asked me if I could see the back of the watch. I said only part of it. She said - "it has engraving on it yes?" I said "Yes." She said, "L.M.S., right?" I said I saw the 'L' and the 'M' but not the "S."

She suggested I work on it and find out the significance... she could see my whole dream before I told it to her, like a movie. She says [dreams] are "her favorite movies."

I hope to find out who L.M.S. is. Also I had to look up "Mojo" at the college library because my dictionary had nothing listed; I thought I made it up. But it is indeed an African form of witchcraft, pertaining to magic, and voodoo in South Africa. I am sure the black slaves in America brought some of their religion with them.

Here is the link to my painting - done in 2000 of Clara 1860

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Slavery during or before the Civil War