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“Little Ghost”- A Life Between Lives

As a quantum healer facilitating past life regressions I get a glimpse into the lifetimes of my clients and they are always fascinating. But it is rare to glimpse my own lifetimes from that same deepened state. Thankfully, it does happen! The following is one such story from one such time.

I found myself surrounded by golden, gently rolling hills, a creek before me, and a small cabin behind me. Stepping inside, the cabin was dark and quite still. A packed dirt floor, impressive river stone fireplace, a table, and several beds set lengthwise against adjoining walls.

As I stepped into this life I noticed my interest for what was inside was not as great as my interest for that which was outside. Nature, fresh air, animals, cool water, and several miles on the other side of that creek (which easily swelled to a river during rain) was a tribe of natives that made their home amongst the trees at the base of the distant foothills. This is where I felt pulled but I knew my father told me never to cross the creek.

The first thing I noticed when I brought my attention to myself was that I was silent. I had no desire to speak. And though it was construed as shyness by others, I did not feel shy. I felt…misplaced. I could communicate with the animals without needing to speak. And I understood them better than most humans.

Stepping further into the lifetime, I realized I was a little girl, about four years old, blond hair, blue eyes, barefoot and wearing a white nightgown. And when I returned to the cabin there was a man there. He was tall, stern, and despondent, a bible in hand. He was my father. Standing there, watching him, he seemed so alone and defeated. He didn’t acknowledge me. He just stared into some unknown distance.

A heaviness permeated that cabin. I didn’t want to be there any more. So I went back outside and meandered toward the creek bed. One lingering glance sent home and I gave in to the thought I had been cautiously entertaining. I crossed the creek and made my way towards the foothills and into the tall trees.

It was easy to find the tribe. It felt like I had been there many times. When I grew close I crept around the perimeter, careful to remain hidden, peering out from behind the trees. I watched the children play, chasing each other through the encampment. Women sat and worked, some stitching, some weaving, talking to each other in their language. I liked it there. It felt like how I thought things should be. It felt lighter. I felt a sense of missing that I never felt at home.

Occasionally I noticed that those I was observing were also observing me. But they were careful not to acknowledge me. Instead they would lean in and speak to the next person in hushed tones, gesturing vaguely in my direction. I watched as word made it back to a tribal elder who came forth but did not approach. Instead, he stood there in the distance, still and silent, and communicated with me the same way I communicated with the animals.

“You do not belong here, Little Ghost,” he said, motioning me off.

His message gave me pause, causing me to step outside of the experience for a moment and observe it from his perspective. Pale skin, white nightgown, bare feet. My hair was stringy, stuck to my skin with sweat. I returned to the vision of my father standing somber and silent in the darkened cabin and… I remembered. Disease had killed my mother and my sister. I could have survived but I didn’t want to. I missed the life i had lived before, when I was part of a tribe whose ways and beliefs made sense. So I chose to go.

But you can’t move forward when you are trying to go back. So I likely lingered for some time, watching the life I wanted to recapture play out without me until, perhaps, that very moment when the me from this life re-collected the me from that one. I left a piece of myself behind trapped in the desire to reclaim something that could not be reclaimed. And so, a fragment lingered in that forest. And I like to think there were those who encountered that piece of my spirit throughout the years; that I had my time as a classic haunt before that part of my soul was reclaimed.

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