Children's Past Life: How Past Life Memories Affect Your Child - Rilegato

Bowman, Carol

Rilegato

ISBN 10: 0553101846 ISBN 13: 9780553101843

Casa editrice: Bantam Dell Pub Group, 1997

Riassunto

The author tells of her son's repressed memories of being a black soldier in the Civil War and draws from his case and those of other parents to examine the effects--often positive--of children's former lives on their health.

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Recensione:

"An outstanding and courageous book...truly important because children are trying to tell us about their past lives and we must not remain deaf."
--Brian L. Weiss, M.D., author of Many Lives, Many Masters
From the Paperback edition.

Estratto. © Riproduzione autorizzata. Diritti riservati.:

Everywhere I went, I tactfully steered the discussion to the subject of children's past life memories.  I was getting skilled at slipping it into almost any conversation.  Just by bringing up the subject everywhere and often, I found the cases were there right in my own back yard.

I first met Tiiu at tea at a friend's house.  She looked like a good fairy with her white-blond hair, sparkling, swimming pool-blue eyes, and puckish grin.  I liked her immediately.  She was fun to listen to and enlivened the conversation with her sharp views and quick retorts.  When I had the opportunity to mention children's past life memories, she didn't hesitate a second.

"Oh," she said, "Liia had a past life recollection just last year.  I'm sure that's what it was."

Tiiu told what happened:

When Liia was two years old, we were riding in the car together; Liia was in her car seat in the back looking out the window.  We went over a bridge with aluminum guardrails that spanned a steep ravine, when suddenly she said in a clear, excited voice, "Mommy, this is just like where I died!"  She was not upset, just very matter-of-fact.

I said, "Liia, what are you talking about?"

"I was in my car, and it fell off the bridge into the water, and I died."

I was shocked by what she said and pulled off the road so I wouldn't have an accident.  I then asked her, "Where was Mama?"

"You weren't with me that time."

I was amazed at what Liia was telling me.  I wanted to find out more, so I ventured, "Well, who was driving the car then?"

"I was big.  I could reach the pedals," Liia answered.

I wondered, how did Liia know that you drove the car with pedals?  She always sat in the back in her car seat and couldn't see what my feet were doing.

I continued, trying not to lead her, "Then what happened?"

"I didn't have my seat belt on, and I fell out of the car and into the water."  Then she put her hand up on the back of her head and continued, "Mommy, I was lying on the rocks.  I could feel the rocks on my head." She moved her head back and forth to show me how her head was positioned on the rocks.  And she added, "And I saw the shiny bridge."  She then pointed up and tilted her head back and said, "I saw the shiny bridge and the bubbles going up."  Her eyes gazed upward.

This floored me.  How could she know about the bubbles?  At this point in her life, she had never been underwater because she didn't swim.  She doesn't put her face in the water in the tub.  She had never watched television at all--I know because I'm her mother, and I didn't let her watch until she was older.  Yet she said, "I could see the bubbles going up, and the sun on the bridge through the water."

For the next year and a half, she talked about this often, always with the same detail, never with any variation.  She was always very cheerful and matter-of-fact; remembering dying didn't seem to bother her at all.  And the amazing thing about all this is that Liia has always been a fanatic about wearing seat belts.  Even before she could talk, she would always make sure that her seat belt was fastened before she rode in the car.  And as soon as she knew enough words to make demands, she insisted that everyone else in the car wore a seat belt too, every time we drove anywhere.
Like so many of the Harrison cases, Liia's memory was benevolent.  It didn't cause any problems.  On the contrary, it helped Liia's parents better understand her by providing a logical explanation for her curious obsession with auto safety.
A couple of months after my ad in Mothering came out, in January 1993, I received a call from Colleen Hocken, a soft-spoken mother of three from the Midwest.  Over the phone Colleen nervously related the story of her three-year-old son, Blake, who, she felt, was remembering a traumatic past life death.

Colleen told me that six months previously she had seen psychiatrist Brian Weiss, the author of Many Lives, Many Masters, discussing past life therapy on Oprah. Colleen had never thought about reincarnation before, but she was fascinated by what Dr.  Weiss had said about using past life therapy with his patients.  He mentioned that children sometimes tell adults about their own past life experiences, but that most parents think their children are making up a fantasy story.  As she listened to Dr.  Weiss, Colleen mulled it over and thought, "Gee, my kids never say anything unusual."

The very next day Blake, who had just turned three, was standing at the front door, watching his older brother, Trevor, wait for the school bus.  Colleen, who was in the other room, heard Blake yell out the front door, "Get out of the street, the bus is coming!"

Colleen rushed to the front door to make sure Trevor was all right.  She found Blake standing at the door with his hand to his left ear saying, "My ear hurts."

"Why does your ear hurt?"  Colleen asked.

"A truck hit me," Blake answered.

Colleen, assuming that a child in play school had hit him with a toy truck, asked, "Who hit you with a toy truck?"

"A man did."

"A man hit you with a toy truck?"

"No," he insisted, "a big truck."

"A big truck like the ones driving down the street?"

"Yah," affirmed Blake.

Colleen, who was trying to make sense of what Blake was telling her, asked, "Where were you when you were hit?"

"In the street."

At this point Colleen immediately thought back to what Dr.  Weiss had said on Oprah the previous day.  Later she explained her state of mind: "I didn't want to dismiss what Blake was saying; I was real curious at this point as to what he was trying to tell me.  But I didn't want to put words into his mouth either, so I asked, "And then what happened?"'

Colleen listened carefully as Blake continued his story.  He explained to his astonished mother how the truck had really hit him.  She questioned him, "Where did you get hurt?"

"All over.  I went under the wheels." Blake made sweeping motions with his arms over his left side, demonstrating how the wheels of the truck had run over him.  Colleen could see the pain on his face as he showed her how badly he was hurt.

"Then what happened?"  ventured Colleen.

"Man put me in the truck and took me to a school." Colleen commented that any large building was a "school" to three-year-old Blake.  She interpreted this to mean that he had been taken to a hospital.

"Where were Mom and Dad when this happened?"

"Gone bye-bye at the store."

Colleen's mind raced to find an explanation for what Blake was telling her.  First she wondered if he was imagining all this.  Then she reasoned that he could not be making this up--how could a three-year-old envision a truck's wheels running over his body, as he so clearly described it?  Then she thought that perhaps Blake had seen something like this on TV, something that his older brother was watching while she was out of the room.  She suggested to Blake, "This happened on TV, right?"

"No!"  he exclaimed.  At this point Colleen saw that Blake was getting irritated with her for not remembering his accident.  "No," he insisted, "it happened in the street."

She then asked, "Did you die?"

"Yes," he responded in a perfectly normal tone.

Colleen explained to me how amazing it was to hear Blake describe the entire incident in such a matter-of-fact way, as if she should already have known all about it.  At no point did he indicate that he was joking or making it up.  If anything, he was irritated with her for asking such stupid questions!

Nothing more was said until a week later, when a big garbage truck passed the house.  Unsolicited, Blake told Colleen, "That was like the truck that hit me." She decided not to ask Blake anything more about the incident, hoping that he would forget it.
"I Love You, Then I Hate You."

Shortly after Blake told Colleen the story about the truck, he went into a depression that became more and more severe over the next few months.  Colleen didn't notice the change right away.  She only gradually realized that he wasn't playing as he used to and that his usual cheery disposition and sense of humor had disappeared.  In fact, there were many days when Blake just sat and stared blankly at the TV screen, or out the window.  This was very much out of character for him.  He had always been a happy child who instinctively "rolled with the punches." The neighbors had even nicknamed him Smiley because of his cheerful nature.

Colleen felt guilty about his dismal state.  In addition to Blake she had a demanding one-year-old baby and six-year-old Trevor to care for.  She thought that maybe Blake was play-acting to get more attention.  Middle children sometimes get left out, she reasoned; perhaps Blake was beginning to feel that way.  She was reluctant to ask family and friends for help in dealing with his...

Su questa edizione

• Editore: Bantam Dell Pub Group
• Data di pubblicazione: 1997
• ISBN 10: 0553101846
• ISBN 13: 9780553101843
• Rilegatura: Copertina rigida
• Numero di pagine: 310