Past Life Story
by Enigma

This story was brought to mind once more by a poem from Corry's website entitled: "Ode to a Past Life". It was so similiar to emotions I have regarding one of my past lives. I see my past lives as a "portrait" of a particular scene, but from viewing it, I know so many things of the whole life. I don't know how others see this, but it is my way.

The scene of this past life is me as a woman in the New England area...around Massachusettes, I believe. I am in a large gabled house three stories high. I sit in a rocking chair, completely dressed in black, with a black shawl because it is so cold and damp. The chair is situated on the third floor in front of a window. My husband built this house and specifically designed this spot so that the view was the best to watch the harbour. I spent my whole life at this window, watching the harbour, waiting for his return. He returned many times, we had several children, but he was always gone once more. Then, he just never returned. I dressed in black because it was the custom to do so, it seems half the women in town dress in black here.

Anyway, what was so poignant about the poems' words was the feelings of being that woman. I lost everything I really loved to the sea. My father had been well off soI wanted for no material goods. It was partly my money that my husband used to pay for the home and go into partnership with a friend on a clipper. But the only thing I ever truly loved was that man. I lived my whole life waiting for his return. Thrown off course and wrecked on the cruel cliff rocks, I had hope. Somehow I could never let him go. I imagined all sorts of scenarios and waited for decades until I died. What a tragic way to spend a lifetime.

The Madam
by Corry Stuart

Slowly I sank into a deep trance state and was transported back to the days of slave trading, sensing a dangerous situation developing with the South wanting to hold on to their workers. My girls and I were vigorously working to shield the slaves, who wished to escape to Canada. The brothel, of which I was the Madame, fronted for the underground railway. Although the sheriff had been to visit us many times, he could never discover how it was that these folks still managed to escape. We, with the help of several sympathizers, had an underground tunnel leading into the woods. A whole group of volunteers were organized to help the escapees along the way and into Canada, to freedom. Then one day I was betrayed by a man whose favours I had rejected. He called a posse, and when the riotous bunch of men arrived at the brothel, their guns were without mercy. I was hit several times and sank to the ground. Slowly, amidst the death gurgle, I saw myself leaving the body, feeling no regrets. The many people that had been saved by my girls and myself had been worth the tragedy, as shortly after slavery was abolished. It was considered a completed lifetime.

Forbidden Love in the Past
By Laureen

In 1977, I travelled to England to visit my pen pal. My grandmother went with me for company, so we decided to do some site-seeing before heading down to the university town on the coast. A bus tour took us to Cardiff Castle in Whales on a beautiful brisk autumn day. The tour bus stopped outside the stark wooden gate that surrounded the grounds. A guide met us to escort us on a tour through what remained of the castle rooms in the West Wall. It would appear to the visitor that this would have been the hub of castle existence within about eight rooms here. We were taken from the gate, passed the open stables to a small door in the southwest corner of the wall, which surrounds the grounds under an ornate golden clock tower.

Inside the hall was dark and narrow. We were led to a room, far larger than would appear to exist within these walls. It was a glorious ballroom richly decorated in reds and golds. On the walls were larger than life oil canvases of members of the royal clan who had graced this room with their presence. Immense chandeliers lit the room. With an increasing sense of recognition, I felt as if I had, at long last, returned home. A warmth came over me and awakened my senses. As the tour progressed, I became alive to another reality, to the sound of petty coats and lace brushing past me in the halls. Before moving to each room, I knew what to expect. The colours, designs and purpose of each room was revealed to me by my subconscious before entering.

I remembered a long climb on a steep and narrow staircase to what had been the music room. The ceilings had been painted with cherubs of the heavens and embraced the true source of all creativity. The room echoed with sounds of laughter and heart-felt notes, rankled with the energy of music echoing in the tower walls. Days gone by long ago flitted through my consciousness; alive. My visit here, though brief, left me with a sense of belonging, but also with many questions. It wasn't until years later that I was reminded of my humble part in the play of Cardiff Castle.

It was a clear dark night when three of us sat to summon the dead and reveal a message that would impact more on me than I had anticipated. I knew that I was the stronger and more adept of the small group of "would-be" psychics. Steve had some previous experience with another group but Mary-Ann had not. She had lost both her parents in a tragic motor vehicle accident, but had often felt her father near and that he was trying to communicate something to her. We sat with the Ouija Board and were rewarded with many short messages which held meaning for Mary-Ann. Then it was Steve's turn to connect with a young soldier who had given his life in war. He was told to quit the board, that he could communicate well enough with thought patterns. And so it began. The sky became dark and another entity came in to admonish the soldier and we two. I was surprised at the inclusion, until he revealed in a movie film fashion, the part that was mine in the castle at Cardiff.

A young and very beautiful woman was the concubine of the lord there. During the year 1560, a Roman army invaded Whales and the castle at Cardiff. The battle was short lived and bloody. Those still alive after the invasion were imprisoned in a small building upon a knoll in the grounds facing the gate in the southern most wall. It was dubbed "the castle keep". About eight square feet of sodden floor and rough plank walls was house for fifteen of the wealthiest Welsh souls locked together under the watchful eye of three roman guards. As night fell, the guards would grow restless and partake of the wine cellar in the west castle wall. Armoured guards kept watch from the clock tower as a young man hid among the stables. He made his way to the keep under the cloak of darkness and entered the prison confines. He reappeared only moments later, in the company of a young lady of the court. They retreated to the open fields behind the keep where a love blossomed under the moon-lit sky. Only a few short days and nights went by when the commander of the intrusive army was alerted to the evening rendevous. Upon the break of day , he met the young couple returning to the keep. Armed guards surrounded the unlikely pair, completely enclosing the knoll. The angry commander entered the circle, calling the rest of the prisoners out of the keep into the bright sunlight. Before them all , he condemned the girl to death at the hand of her lover. Stricken with grief, the young man remained motionless until a breath of wind brushed his cheek like a kiss, stolen in the night. New strength filled his body and he stood tall in defiance of his superior. The sound of a sword, pulled from a sheath, swished through the brisk, clear morn. The young man fell to the ground. A cry pierced the air, and a young woman was led to a near-by boulder, where upon her head was placed. Silence befell the knoll. Love became immortal. I shall ne'er forget the young man who died for my honour. The smell of damp heather under lovers on a moon-lit night will not leave my memory.