We were not all Cleopatra!

     A common criticism from those who are unwilling to consider the possibility of reincarnation is that "Everyone always thinks they were Cleopatra or Attila the Hun". Actually, nothing is further from the truth. The overwhelming majority of past life regressions show very ordinary lives, often as foot soldiers, servants, small farmers, slaves or peasants. If you think about it, this is to be expected - most lives lived today are those of ordinary people, even with our modern culture of 'celebrity'. In the past the proportion of famous to plain would have been even smaller.
     Ordinary lives can provide huge learning experiences. It is not necessary to be be a famous person (today any more than in yesteryear) to experience all of life's emotions. In fact, some of the hardest, and most valuable, lessons have been learned in very humble bodies.
     It is of course possible that reincarnations of well known characters are walking the earth at this time. The famous reincarnate as much as anyone else. In terms of a soul's learning, a life as a king, bishop or film star is no more useful than one as an ordinary 'Joe Soap'. What is 'better than' when in the body is definitely 'the same as' to the soul.
     It is also possible that a person may see themselves in a famous life, not because they were that character, but because something about the character resonates with the modern person's present life. For example, a woman who feels betrayed could see herself as Anne Boleyn. This is not because that person actually was Anne Boleyn, but because the story can clarify to her that she feels as hard done by as Anne must have felt.
     The other explanation is that the modern person may have had a past life in the entourage of the famous.

     Having said all that, I have never regressed anyone into a 'famous life', nor have the dozen past lives I have experienced been of any historical note. But more of them another time!

Writing at the Bar

No WiFi at home, so must go to local bar to connect. This is today's contribution to 'Nulle Part Ailleurs' staying open for us! (as well as drinks) They are lovely here, in Trémolat, Périgord.
Forgot to add this photo to post below....

On Holidays...

As I'm on holidays, I thought I'd put up a poem I wrote based on an experience on last year's hols, in the same place. In this part of France, the towns and villages hold 'Marchés Nocturnes' or 'Soirées Gourmandes' - where they basically turn the town square into a food hall. Delicious food is available to buy, and there is usually some sort of entertainment. Last year, at 'Creysse', where they do a fish-based marché, they had musicians. And I watched, and the writer in me produced this. This poem was published in 'Circle Time', the Dalkey Writers Workshop anthology, last autumn.
 Sorry, nothing about past lives this time, but an enormous celebration of the lives we are living now...

Marché Nocturne

Serried poplars, pinkening sky
garlic and mussel scented air
guitar and accordion set up their cry-
it is time to dance at the night fair.

Plump and bald answer the call,
wives in hand, remembering when
these were sylph-girls at a Hunters' Ball:
thought they would always be young men.

Ancient lessons guide them round
on easy moving feet
that music such a familiar sound,
a happy lilting beat.

They look down with loving eyes,
smile through all the years
connectedness that never dies
enhanced by local wine, or beers

which ooze out of a million pores
and stain two dozen shirts,
wives fatter now than years before
and wearing longer skirts

but in his eyes the very girl
he held so close back then,
this gentle move the self-same whirl:
old bodies still contain young men.