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.

Hairs on the Back of my Neck

Yesterday I did a past-life regression for a young woman (I'll call her Jill), who saw herself in a life in France and then moving to Africa. She was able to see the date on a newspaper, it was 12th July 1845. She couldn't read the paper, it was in a strange script. She died on that day, her head was cut off during "absolute chaos, everyone is dying". Her attacker was a black man, which at the time I thought was odd as the story seemed to fit North Africa more than the south. She also could tell me the port began with a "J".
This morning I got a phone call -"I'm sorry to ring so early, but I couldn't hold myself in". It was Jill. She told me she had Googled the date, 12.July1845, and found that in the Algerian port of Jijel there was fighting on that day, including attacks by pirates, which probably explains the man from further south.
It is fascinating to have a clear confirmation of a past-life fact, and well done to 'Jill' for seeing the date so clearly! She saw other details well too, for example, they were growing oranges for export.
It encourages me that my two books are set in a real world, where reincarnation happens. Sadly, publishers do not believe in reincarnation, so have trouble with putting my books into a 'genre'.
Can you suggest what genre they might be, when I get them up on Amazon later this year?

I Have Been Here Before

     "If the waitress comes back, tell her I'll have the chocolate mousse," I said to George, and set off to find the toilets. We were having lunch in the "Auberge de Gascogne", a cheap and cheerful roadside 'Relais Routiers' in the south west of France. It was a normal day of our holiday, not the sort of day or place I expected anything out of the ordinary to happen.

     The sign 'toilettes' pointed along a dim corridor, which sloped down.About twelve yards away I could see light streaming in from the left. As I walked down the slight incline, a strange feeling came over me. I found myself straightening up, taking a deeper breath, throwing my shoulders back a little. A feeling of anticipation stole over me. I recognised it from my small experience of amateur acting - I was getting ready to walk on stage. It was a lovely sensation: I knew I was ready, that I could do my act without any difficulty. Maybe I even felt a bit famous, as though people waiting out there were glad it was me that was coming.

     But in no time I was at the end of the passage, turning to my left. And there in front of me was the toilet cubicle, sunlight shining in through frosted glass. My heart fell. As I sat there, I asked myself, why was I disappointed? What had I been expecting? The answer came very quickly from some deep knowing place within me - there should have been sand, and a roaring crowd. I should have been stepping out into an arena. Not the Coliseum, but a smaller version. I had experienced what I later learnt is called a 'bleed-through', a small snippet of a past-life memory. These can be triggered by something in the environment, in my case I think by the angle of incline of the passage, and the direction of the light, which I assume mimicked the passageways under that ancient theatre. I was some sort of performer, not a gladiator, the feelings I had did not suggest that at all. It was more as though I was the warm-up man, and I take some vague pleasure from the idea that maybe in the distant past I could work a crowd!

This is part of an chapter I contributed to "The Undiscovered Country", edited by Bill Darlison

A third book

Have at last got back to writing my third book, after much work on editing 'Despite the Angels'. My third is different, it has no angels or past lives, but is set in the future, in a world where sea level is up 60metres due to global warming. There are other things different too, but people are the same everywhere and everywhen, so when these ones get into trouble with the law, I want to see them come out on top. I have to wait to see exactly how this pans out... Working title is 'The Food Circle', but will be looking for improvements on that as it gets nearer to conclusion.

My New Title

I was looking at my title 'digital publishing and me', and thought it sounded a bit drab. So I was pondering a change, and suddenly as I was driving somewhere, the new title just fell into my head. As two of my books feature reincarnation and I am spending more and more of my time on my writing, it just seems to sum it up.
I read that you are a writer if you write. So, here I am. Thank you for being there reading this; and do let me know if you like the change.