Jadeswan
Member
The sound of my husband's voice reading the regression meditation begins to fade. I open my eyes and look around me and I am in a marketplace in India. There are brightly colored wares and people shouting and moving back and forth. I am standing near a pen full of goats. I am wearing a red sari and I finger the fabric with its gold embroidery. I seem to be in some sort of indecision. Should I go back home or should I make a different choice? Suddenly in spite of lingering doubts, I go. It as if the choice has made up its own mind. I pass through the marketplace and come to a river where women are washing clothes and laying them out to dry. I am waiting for someone. He promised to meet me here. He is special to me but I can't tell my grandparents---with whom I live---about him. They would not approve. He is why I am waiting by the river in my best red sari. Dusk begins to fall and still he does not come. I begin to worry and wonder how long I should wait. Finally with great dejection I leave the river and head back through the now deserted marketplace. In an instant I become aware of a shadow behind me and and chills course down my spine. I walk faster and footsteps become distinct behind me. Throwing away any pretense at decorum I flee down the street, weaving between stalls of merchandise. I trip over something in the darkness and baskets go flying everywhere. I hurtle onward, desperately trying to get away from the sense of evil behind me. Finally I reach the door of my home, a grand house with steps and beautiful pillars. At first my relief is great as I try to open the door but to my horror it is locked. I beat on the door screaming with terror. Suddenly it opens and I sag inside with relief as my grandfather stands holding it open. My pursuer reaches the door before we can close it and knocks my grandfather down. Blood runs from his head. My grandmother comes down the stairway and is knocked aside as well. Then it is as if I do not know what is happening. All I can see are peacock feathers floating and rice being thrown in the air in handfuls. My mind seems to be taking a break from the present reality and is remembering some other part of my life. I become aware of my surroundings as neighbors are helping me up from the ground and tending to my grandparents who are fortunately not seriously injured. I am horrified that my disobedience and deception brought this upon them.
The next memory is many years later when I am dying. I am an old woman in my eighties with silver gray hair which is braided and wrapped around my head. I sit in a wheel chair made of rattan and a gray blanket is across my lap. I am outside in a garden and there are roses of all colors growing on bushes around me. My young granddaughter is nearby sitting on the grass. I am incredibly peaceful and dignified and I bask in the beauty around me. I know it is time to go and I smile a little. There is no fear. Then I leave my body and am gone.
I must have lived sometimes during the 19th century. The name Bhajarati or Bhajarti seems to have had meaning for me. I don't know much about the middle of my life except that at some point I had a beautiful baby girl with huge brown eyes and softly curling hair. I was married to someone other than the man I had tried to meet by the river. I never found out why he did not meet me. I suspect he was of a lower caste and that is why I kept him a secret, knowing that my family would not see him for who he was but only for his place in society.
I didn't know much about India prior to the regression but I have researched some of the details and they seem to hold up. I suppose that could explain my love of bellydance and why when I tasted Dal for the first time I said, "This is like coming home."
The next memory is many years later when I am dying. I am an old woman in my eighties with silver gray hair which is braided and wrapped around my head. I sit in a wheel chair made of rattan and a gray blanket is across my lap. I am outside in a garden and there are roses of all colors growing on bushes around me. My young granddaughter is nearby sitting on the grass. I am incredibly peaceful and dignified and I bask in the beauty around me. I know it is time to go and I smile a little. There is no fear. Then I leave my body and am gone.
I must have lived sometimes during the 19th century. The name Bhajarati or Bhajarti seems to have had meaning for me. I don't know much about the middle of my life except that at some point I had a beautiful baby girl with huge brown eyes and softly curling hair. I was married to someone other than the man I had tried to meet by the river. I never found out why he did not meet me. I suspect he was of a lower caste and that is why I kept him a secret, knowing that my family would not see him for who he was but only for his place in society.
I didn't know much about India prior to the regression but I have researched some of the details and they seem to hold up. I suppose that could explain my love of bellydance and why when I tasted Dal for the first time I said, "This is like coming home."
It was an interesting read.
