My Regression: Coming Back Again And Again.
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I have always been on the fence about the idea of reincarnation, but as in most things in life, my skepticism, fears and cynicism are usually based in the unknown; and with this particular unknown (reincarnation) came a constant nagging from a place that was familiar, yet distant.
Certain situations plagued my heart starting at a young age, so I reached out to a mentor. She thought it would be a good idea to address them via a hypnosis — a past life regression.
This intrigued me, I was curious.
And yet, the idea of being hypnotized brought visions of a Freudian type character swinging a pendulum in front of my eyes and saying the words, “You are getting sleepy, very sleepy,” which made me giggle. But since I will try just about anything for betterment, I did it.
I have to tell you, I was surprised, truly surprised how regression opened the portals to a lot of curious things inside me, i.e. coincidence, déjà vu, and oddities — it is all there, and it took a while for me to process and talk about the hypnotic concept as it all unfolded. But first let me set the stage.
1972
Church: It always made me uncomfortable. I disliked the energy, the scale of grandeur and emptiness, the seriousness, the preaching and the upper levels of society that made their importance known.
We were forced into our Sunday best, had to sit quietly on hard benches, sing eerie songs accompanied by a ridiculously loud organ, and listen to some crap about being good or going to hell.
It all seemed so hypocritical… because it was. My parents seemed to enjoy this place, and a lot of neighborhood belonged to the congregation.
My mother wanted my sister and I to be embedded deeper into this community and take communion, so we started our classes at St. Bartholomew, the Episcopal Church.
I vividly remember standing in our classroom. I was next to the window, leaning on the sill, and my sister was right beside me.
The room was too warm and stuffy, and Father so-and-so was babbling on about the joys of taking communion, saying, “The body of Christ, the blood of the Father,” or whatever, and I was freaked.
The thoughts went like this: Really? I am going to be eating little wafers and sipping red wine and pretend I am eating and drinking him? Christ? Our Savior? I am 11 years old. Really, isn’t that too young for wine?
And while this weird archaic ritual was rolling around my mind like some horror movie, I started to feel lightheaded, and Boom!, I hit the floor.
I came to in a moment, but I was obviously shaken, and so was everyone else.
My sister didn’t know what to do; in fact, I think she was embarrassed. My mom was called to retrieve us both, and she (in her most loving way) dismissed it all, as she usually does, and she was sure it was all in my head — well, that was partially right.
But it happened again and again… and these fainting spells were only in church.
I fought going back to the classes. I pleaded, I cried. I couldn’t explain why I was feeling this way, and I had no idea what was happening.
I hated the building, hated the nausea, and this whole thing was upsetting my mother a lot, yet somehow (I suppose, with my Dad’s help) I won, and didn’t have to go anymore.
The church (to me) was a scary place, and I held no reverence for the stained glass, the men in white robes, and their unintelligible pompous words, or the beautiful architecture — churches are not for me.
My Regression
I am a child, a waif in the streets of Europe circa 1800’s? My clothing is tattered; I am dirty, barefooted and alone. Something terrible is happening in the city.
The sky is dark, there is a very oppressing energy in the air, and people on the street have fear, worry and tears in their eyes (but I am not sure if it was war or an earthquake). It is all happening very fast.
A man sees me walking by myself, so he quickly grabs me and pulls me inside a building for safety. This building is damp and large and Gothic in structure.
Huge columns line each side of the aisles in progression, and the sun is shining through the stained glass, making the colors dance and reflect off the stone floor. I am aware I was pulled into a church, and I don’t like it.
All I knew about church was that it was a place to be damned, and where children (like this little girl — me) were put into orphanages. But the man holds me near.
I am scared; there is a lot of noise, confusion, and he tries to soothe my fears. He is telling me something, but I can’t understand. It is too loud and too frightening, and there is too much going on to hear. Then all of a sudden, the columns and the ceiling begin to crumble.
We try to take shelter, the man shields me with his cloak and his body, but the building is crashing in. It rains down on us… we perish.
It begins to come together…
This was only one of many scenes that played out during my regression.
This particular scenario was the shortest one, but one that had the most impact of enlightenment on current unexplained feelings and situations (my disdain for churches).
It helped me put some of the missing pieces together, and gave me a grand view of an inner fear that had haunted me for quite some time.
I travel the world, and in every country there are beautiful church buildings of all religions. Some are elegant, old and ornate, some are simple, unadorned and quiet, but no matter how inviting, there is always an energy that brings an apprehension to entering.
Is it from a past life, the vision I experienced, or just coincidence?
Reincarnation: it sits with me when things come up, familiar dreams reoccur, and I get strong feelings with no viable or logical explanation.
Did I come back to make restitution for the horror of being destroyed in a sacred building and to tell my story? I am not sure — and yet there is a slight comfort in being able to place my unease with something somewhat tangible.
The one thing I do know is, I am trying to get it right this time, so I don’t have to come back and do it anymore. I swallow my fear, my pride, and try to spend a bit of time in reverence at these amazing structures, but I think the message is clear.
We don’t need a temple or a church to find the reverence and awe of life.
Just look around, it is everywhere, and those recognized oddities? Embrace them.
Life is but a dream.
***
Debbie Lynn realized at a very young age that the outer reality was a far cry from her inner truth, and meeting her inner wisdom head on always turned into a challenge. The wonderment, curiosity and hypocrisy of life led to exploration and a cumulative documentation (art and journaling) of what she lovingly calls ‘the purge’. It is her way of ridding any negative energy from the daily grind. She says, “In essence, it is a way to start fresh and cleanse the soul.” Debbie has had numerous articles published in Elephant Journal, The Edge Magazine and Simple Steps Real Life Magazine. Her daily posts can be found on Facebook.
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