Kovacs - Hands

Question..s...


For the past few weeks, I've been hearing someone calling me. Not my name, just calling me. I mentioned it to my boyfriend a few days ago and he commented on how it could possibly be someone trying to get my attention, like a spirit or something of that sort. Only I didn't really believe him, because sometimes he just says things to make me feel like I'm not going insane...but...

Today he mentioned having something about a past life somehow affecting me and then...it hit me. Something...maybe someone from a past life has been trying to get my attention...

Is that logical? Do memories from past lives usually come up in such a way, like, trying to get one's attention to warn them or something of that sort? And, is it possible to try to find out what one's attention is being called for?
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Greece I am.


Where I am.

Everclear focus of my source and of with now, all the same in timeless being,

and deny this my wills tortures?

Immortal mind and timeless soul, where are your legends now? Immortal not, be you of this curse now?

My legends low and sunken in the felt of my fabric and textures.

Still with me eternal and yes sleeping hard below my senses.

How mesh I the separations of this incarnation rendered there upon my subconscious reasoning? My sallowed law.

How, here, can I unweave the woven dialect onto my own tongue?

Oh ascatten and afray my diaries unwritten, aflutter in the unruffle of my mind,

in my sleep, in my wake,

in my abstinence, in my authority.

Hear myself speak this?

Hear this come forth from my unweeping?

Hear me here?

Here be I.

This my face, this my hands, this my heart? Here, in this voice is all that I am recognized? Here in this speaking, forth from me, is where I know too much to fear. This be I. ... and woe be my name!

Oh so crucially lost am I . . . and safe.

. . . such of a safeness that this must be, it is, safe, it is.

How much is unpresent of myself?

Loathe I, the fear of my own arrival.

Does it come?

Detest me, inhabitants, I do invite it, but do not detsroy me.

Shrink back from me, I do allow it, but do not harm to me.

leave me . . . I so want it, but do not remember me.

aye . . and the world. Know you uncertain sky, that I am unbelonging?

Do you? Do you not? Should I then care? Why do I?

Why do I paint myself into your airbrush color, white the blue expulse and stable there beneath your fleeting moments?

Relishing I your ashen back pulse and movement under the stars watchful.

Immortal flesh, I say does not. She does not.

And here I approacheth the briming, nigh on into the years and

what shall it be for me?

What this then comes for me now?

What now comes for me?

Can I be left to wither?

Can I be left to fade?

Can this become?

Lithaea, betray me not.

Lithaea, wake me in the light and lessen me there for fright.

Lessen me, more the more, I pray you, lessen me.

Sacrlidge is for sin for my name . . . my name is lost, as I long to be there, relinquish thy stronghold on my everforth and unveil me into thy countenance for sacralidg and I shall die there for these sins not mine.

Die me, no.

I cannot.

Release me into afloat, in the light with not but all darkness surround me in there this silence and glitter hue, there leave me. leave me there.

Lithaea take me, my soul, take me my own soul, alone into that dark light, silver thine under the heart of pearl, bury me not, but leave us there for my hours thence are well endured and my mind there unfettered in autrocity and dichotom of an uneven nature. Lithaea, hear me my love, my friend.

And the third touch was numb and breathing well.

This too, is life.

Immortal sorrow, this too is choice.

Immortal law, this too is holy.

The place called Lithaea.

Where the holy indwell and breathe well.

Lithaea, my soul is your own.

Holy am I.

Where I am.

Everclear focus of my source and of with now, all the same in timeless being,

and deny this my wills tortures?

Immortal mind and timeless soul, where are your legends now? Immortal not, be you of this curse now?

My legends low and sunken in the felt of my fabric and textures.

Still with me eternal and yes sleeping hard below my senses.

How mesh I the separations of this incarnation rendered there upon my subconscious reasoning? My sallowed law.

How, here, can I unweave the woven dialect onto my own tongue?

Oh ascatten and afray my diaries unwritten, aflutter in the unruffle of my mind,

in my sleep, in my wake,

in my abstinence, in my authority.

Hear myself speak this?

Hear this come forth from my unweeping?

Hear me here?

Here be I.

This my face, this my hands, this my heart? Here, in this voice is all that I am recognized? Here in this speaking, forth from me, is where I know too much to fear. This be I. ... and woe be my name!

Oh so crucially lost am I . . . and safe.

. . . such of a safeness that this must be, it is, safe, it is.

How much is unpresent of myself?

Loathe I, the fear of my own arrival.

Does it come?

Detest me, inhabitants, I do invite it, but do not detsroy me.

Shrink back from me, I do allow it, but do not harm to me.

leave me . . . I so want it, but do not remember me.

aye . . and the world. Know you uncertain sky, that I am unbelonging?

Do you? Do you not? Should I then care? Why do I?

Why do I paint myself into your airbrush color, white the blue expulse and stable there beneath your fleeting moments?

Relishing I your ashen back pulse and movement under the stars watchful.

Immortal flesh, I say does not. She does not.

And here I approacheth the briming, nigh on into the years and

what shall it be for me?

What this then comes for me now?

What now comes for me?

Can I be left to wither?

Can I be left to fade?

Can this become?

Lithaea, betray me not.

Lithaea, wake me in the light and lessen me there for fright.

Lessen me, more the more, I pray you, lessen me.

Sacrlidge is for sin for my name . . . my name is lost, as I long to be there, relinquish thy stronghold on my everforth and unveil me into thy countenance for sacralidg and I shall die there for these sins not mine.

Die me, no.

I cannot.

Release me into afloat, in the light with not but all darkness surround me in there this silence and glitter hue, there leave me. leave me there.

Lithaea take me, my soul, take me my own soul, alone into that dark light, silver thine under the heart of pearl, bury me not, but leave us there for my hours thence are well endured and my mind there unfettered in autrocity and dichotom of an uneven nature. Lithaea, hear me my love, my friend.

And the third touch was numb and breathing well.

This too, is life.

Immortal sorrow, this too is choice.

Immortal law, this too is holy.

The place called Lithaea.

Where the holy indwell and breathe well.

Lithaea, my soul is your own.

Holy am I.

(no subject)

Hello all!  New to the community, and I have an question.

Are any of you ever extremely affected by books from certain time periods?  Not just that you like the book or the topic, but that it triggers some sort of sad, lonely feeling for you? 

Let me explain: 

Every time I read a book  that is based is victorian-era England, I am convinced that I have spent one of more of my past lives there.  It's hard for me to explain how I feel.....as I mentioned before - sad, lonely?  Sad for what though?  If I mentioned this to others, they may think that I'm just interested in the ere - but it's more than that.   The feeling occur when I see victorian-era photographs, also...

I hope I made sense.....if I haven't, please let me know and I'll try to clarify more, lol. 

(no subject)

Hi all. I don't know a lot about past life regression or anything but believe in it a bit and thought I'd share a family anecdote.

My mother has been telling a story about my brother since it happened, nearly 20 years ago. My brother was/is a little autistic and would not really speak until fairly late. We lived in the suburbs of a state capitol in a good-sized ranchstyle house with lots of pets and stuff.

My mother was concerned because my brother was mostly nonverbal. At one point, though, when he was only two, he suddenly (and in long, complete sentences) asked my mother what happened to the cabin. Keep in mind at this age, Jon (my brother) had never been to the mountains, etc, we'd always lived in the sandhills of the south.

Jon told my mom that he had lived by himself in a house in the mountains. At one point, when he was nearly five, he also talked about a dream he had, a very technical dream concerning the engine of an airplane. My brother's not asberger's autistic, either, he hates math and stuff and had had no exposure to that kind of stuff at that age.

My mom told these stories a lot while Jon was growing up, especially because his cranky and outdoor-friendly manner prompted people to call him "little old man". My brother is a journalist now. He had job offers, getting out of college, in Miami, Amarillo (TX), Charlotte (NC) and Strasburg (a small town in Virginia in the Shenandoah valley). He moved to Strasburg and has, in the past year, completely stopped using a car (he walks everywhere he goes). He also lives alone and in a hermitesque way- doesn't see friends, go out to socialize, etc. But he seems perfectly happy, if occasionally lonely for a girlfriend.

My mom and I were talking today and I brought up that old story and said, isn't it ironic, especially considering Jon chose to move to the mountains and live alone? He is also an extreme nonmaterialist - no one else in our family is quite like him. His autism certainly hasn't been crippling - you can't really tell at all, except he doesn't like to be touched by people. I think it's an interesting coincidence. He's been, since he was a little kid, very careful with hoarding things... money, he doesn't spend at all, food, etc. Not hoarding as in getting a ton, but using very little, saving everything. Also not like most people in my family.

--

I've been with my boyfriend for five years now... we met online, before meeting online was popular, playing an online game. He lived in NY and I live in SC... I think knowing him has completely changed my personality, and sometimes I feel like there's a role reversal or something... I don't know why I think this. I think he's someone I may have treated badly or been close to and something bad happened, in a previous life. It's like I'm the person who changes the relationship, he feels angry at me sometimes and doesn't know why. A lot of our problems, afterwards, we feel weird. When I argue with him I have a lot of really strange dreams, strong deja-vu feeling, that I can't quite remember when I wake up. I dream things that I'm pretty sure I dream for the first time but I remember everything in the dreams clearly and feel like they've happened before, they are INFINITELY familiar to me, like a story I know by heart.

We have a bizarre attachment to each other and have gone through things I don't think most people would like to go through together or do go through. We feel innately comfortable together even if we're not happy together at the time. We've just had an incredibly emotion-filled bizarre relationship. I guess it could just be like that. But sometimes I feel like there's more to it. It's just very weird and painful sometimes. I get a sense of there being more to it. It could be just cuz my psyche is so wrapped up in it, that's what gives me the strange feelings and dreams and stuff. I also act different with him than I do with anyone else in my life. I have kind of a fear/dislike of commitment and closeness, not altogether far from the degree of my brother's, but it doesn't come out at all in this relationship. Speaking of my brother, we understand each other very well. We have one of the best sister-brother relationships I've ever known of, even if he often thinks of me as too emotional, or kind of a dork (which he does) and I will accuse him of being cold and a jerk. My mom says I was really good for him, as a kid. I've always been more protective of him (very very very) than he was of me, even though as a kid, Jon was always the 'leader' of everything and he was never teased or anything. She says I warmed him up, and I've always been his biggest fan. Maybe this is just because I look up to my big brother.

As for me, and ideas of what or who I could have been in a past life? I'm completely unsure. Certain areas of history really resonate with me but I don't know if those are just my interests or what. I dream constantly, though, weird dreams. Always have. Many of them I'll remember, I'll be lucid while I'm dreaming and I want to wake up. I'm the lightest sleeper on earth and any sudden sound will wake me up gasping with my heart racing. I'm afraid of the dark, wide open spaces. What's that called? Agoraphobic? I don't like being near dark windows if it's light inside. I've never been comfortable sleeping unless I'm nearly completely covered up. I don't know if those things are relative or not. I just don't really have a cause for them and know sometimes those things can be things that are carried over?

Just thought I'd share! I know the only thing particularly relative and credible and interesting is the top story, but I just thought I'd share, ya... I don't know how you go about doing past life regression or anything so... yup.

I was a mother of boys.

In this life I can not have children. In my past life I could and I had 4 boys. I lived in one of the plain states, perhaps Kansas, in a white, two story house. The house had a front porch with a tree right in front of it that kept the area shaded and cool on hot days. There is a screen door that bangs shut as young boys trail in and out of the house. There is a hallway that leads to a back door in the kitchen so air passes through the house. I like this feeling of open space.

The time period is the 1950's. I am pregnant with two boys. I am having problems with the pregnancy and spot often. My 4 sons are school age and leave for school on the morning of my death. It is nearly summer vacation and they can't wait to be through with school for the long summer.

I see myself in a mirror and I have dark brown hair that turns up at the shoulders. I'm not very big yet but have to wear a large shirt to cover my gowing belly. I think it is going to be a long hot summer pregnant with twins.

I never see my husband but know he is in the field near the house. I have lots of cooking to do and sit down on the porch swing to start cleaning the vegetables.

I get a strong pain in my stomach. It rips through me and brings white hot tears to my eyes. I can't call out. I fall to the porch floor with my head towards the two steps leading down to a dirt yard.

I feel the blood flowing from my body. I can't get up. I feel peace and start to let go. I look up at the new leaves of the tree. The sun is sparkling through and winking at me.

I close my eyes and rest.

I've seen this sceen since I was a child. Often I catch a quick look at myself in the mirror and I see her instead of me. I used to ask my mother who the lady was in the mirror. She looked so kind and yet so sad. Grandmother said I had a good imagination and would make a great writer one day.

I don't think it was my imagination.

When I was about 9 I went to a carnival and had my fortune read. The lady kept saying she saw 6 boys. I asked her what she meant. She said she saw them and they were all looking for me.

When I was 13 I went to a spend the night party and we played with a ouigi (spelling?) board. It was all fun and games at first then it was my turn to ask a question. I asked something stupid like will I be a star? The board spelled out "6 Boys" over and over again then the pointer flicked off the board. I was white as a sheet having never told anyone what the fortune teller had said because I didn't understand it.

When I was in my 20s and about to get married I was told I could never have children. My husband to be would have been a great father. I love him so. I went to a physic named Mary G in Columbia, SC. She is very popular and one of my friends asked me to join her because she was scared to go alone. I said sure. When Mary saw me come from the driveway up to the house she got up and met us at the door. She looked into my eyes and told me that she had a message for me. I laughed and my friend laughed and said she was the one here for the reading. Mary took my hand and said that my children were waiting for me.

I felt cold all over. I pushed the number 6 out of my mind and concentrated on two little girls I knew to see if I could throw her off. She had me sit down and told me that She knew I was going to have 6 boys. I told her I couldn't have children and she said that she could see them plain as day and that the twins were very young and needed my help. They didn't understand why I wasn't with them.

This is the end of my long tail.

I've never been regressed. I've often felt at home in Asheville North Carolina and have had several stange occurances there where I flash back to about 1888 - 1890 and am there in that period of time. I'm no one famous or rich but I'm there. I can see me and what I'm wearing... the surroundings are very clear. I bought a post card book of the area during that time and it confirmed my visions.

You can take it or leave it. I don't understand it.
Comments are welcome if you can wade your way through all this.

Thank you,
Jane
sonnets

(no subject)

Yesterday was kind of wierd. I relapsed into my life as Dreik'lah thrice within an hour, all into the same few minutes. Kaishel, the main healer of the camp, was healing me. Dreik'lah was the only female fighter admist about a hundred of the best fighters in the country. I entered their ranks at roughly fifteen, and at about nineteen I was captured by the enemy and tortured horribly. I had just been recovered and been brought back to camp and taken to Kaishel. My friend Lokemn had found me, and at first he had thought I was dead. When they tortured me they pored this new chemical over my wounds to stop the bleeding. That way I wouldn't bleed to death while they cut me and burned me. It also kept me from going unconsious. Even after I was recovered, it was about a month before I could sleep again. The forces I was with were split into pairs that eventually become bondmates. I married my bondmate Shahmnel when I was about seventeen. Lokemn brought me back to camp this day, took me to Kaishel's tent, and refused to let Shahmnel go in to see me because I just looked that bad. When Kaishel had done all he could for the time being, he let Shahmnel in so he could hold me still while he bandaged me. This is where I relapsed. I lie down on the couch and I react to all this pain, but I don't physically feel the pain. Shahmnel is sitting at my left holding me down when need be, and then pulling me into his arms. There's so much physical pain that she's feeling, and I just lie there reacting to it all. What bothers me is that I don't know why she was so strong as to make me relapse like that so much within such a short period of time. Then for the rest of the night I felt off. I felt lighter, like I wasn't entirely in my body or something. I don't quite know how to explain it.
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