Hypnotherapie - Thérapie de Régression
A MEMOIR OF SOULS RECONNECTING THROUGH MANY LIFETIMES
Copyright © 2013 Kathy Gibbons
All rights reserved.
ISBN 13: 9781494225980
Love and thanks to Ann and all my fellow time-travellers
This is not a straightforward story of past lives remembered. It is a story that began when I was born, with the memories of my immediate past life imprinted in my brain. …”
At the age of 36, the dam burst and they came flooding back. The full story of that tragic past life emerged into my consciousness over a period of months. Battling with obstacles in my work and personal life, I embarked on a series of sessions with a regression therapist. These past- life regression sessions not only revealed the full story of my childhood memories, but also explained and dissipated the blockages in my present life. In understanding the story of Maria, as I came to know her, my immediate past life transformed my present and nudged me towards a new life and a rendez-vous with time that shook me to the core.
I didn't realize it when I left Ireland to make a new life in Paris but I was embarking on an experience that would transport me to the worst moments of the French Revolution. It may sound incredible but I found myself living in Paris simultaneously in 1996 and 1794.
If you are French you will know who Maximilien Robespierre was. If you are not, you will be, as I was, aware of his name with a vague idea that he had something to do with the French Revolution. You will meet a man of vision who has been grossly wronged by history, who was France's scapegoat for the bloodshed of its Revolution. You will meet a man who carried secrets to his death on the guillotine, one of which was a love affair hidden from history, the other a mystery heretofore unravelled.
The third piece in the jigsaw of my past-life puzzle which I will be sharing with you in this book, is a simple fun-loving Irish monk, Marcus. With two very different past-life memory experiences behind me, I was not anticipating a third. My awareness of Marcus happened when a close friend and I both felt an inexplicable uneasiness about a forthcoming trip.
This story unfolded in a different way to the two previous ones, because my friend, Joni was with me in mind and spirit through the whole thing. Some of the intuitions and information came from her and some from myself. The story of the two monks emerged over a period of four years, which started with the trip we made to Cathar country near Carcassonne in 2000. This experience felt less lonely as I had the company of Joni throughout. We were two heads unravelling the mystery, instead of just one. There were a lot of coincidences in both our lives that related to the two monks during these years but most of the ‘virtual’ events happened when we were together, either Joni here in France or me in Ireland. Marcus had one important thing in common with Maria and Max; he died in brutal and violent circumstances.
My acceptance of reincarnation makes it easy for me to believe these stories as my own past lives and my later experience as a past life regression therapist has made me realise that I am not alone, all of us have these amazing stories inside us, you included. Like me, you are open-minded and involved in your own spiritual truth, searching for what has meaning for you in this lifetime.
As you read, I hope you will recognize in some of the things I describe, in the coincidences, the feelings and hunches, the unexplained recognition of places and people, similar experiences in your own life. Perhaps it's not important to know what it is but I can tell you that this story is told with sincerity and honesty. The events in my life surrounding these past life stories have made me aware of the proximity of the spiritual world, and becoming attuned to this world has helped me to make sense of my life here in the present, and given me clearer vision and direction.
What has stayed with me all through my life is an absolute knowing that this is one of many past and probable future lives. My life changed beyond recognition after my first past-life regressions. What came as an unexpected bonus in the years that followed was my ability to recognise the usual suspects; family, friends, lovers, enemies, all turning up in life after life, through centuries of time. The more this happens to me, the more I realize that this life is the most important because it is a powerful tool to rid myself of past pain and guilt, in the knowledge that as I move in time, my load becomes lighter.
The people who have connected with me in this my present life, are the same souls who were connected to me less than a hundred years ago; two hundred years ago and one thousand years ago. Come with me into this amazing story and discover how love never dies, how it travels through time, as does pain and regret, anger and passion. Discover how history conceals and misunderstands. Discover the soul’s unrelenting search for the ultimate healing goal of forgiveness.
I was three years old when I started to tell my mother stories that always began with ‘When I was a big woman........’
She found these stories fascinating and amusing because they contained unusual words and expressions for a three-and-a-half year old. Some years ago, I questioned her about the first years of my life and she told me that people used to remark on what an unusual child I was.
"People always thought you had a very unusual vocabulary for your age," she told me. My own recollection of telling these stories is of relating a serious and clear memory of what had happened to me when I was a big woman, I related details of what my life had been like, the number of children I had, events that occurred in this previous existence. My childlike awareness knew these stories amused and entertained the adults in my life but it was natural for me to recount stories that I just knew were true.
My first childhood memory is of being discovered sitting on the stairs at around three years old after being put to bed. I was discovered by my aunt who lived with us at the time. She carried me into the sitting room where I remember my parents sitting around a roaring fire. The atmosphere in the room was cheerful and happy and my mother said I could stay up just long enough to tell them one of my ‘big woman’ stories, then I would have to go back up to bed. I remember vividly how earnest I was in relating the detail of my life as a big woman, the children I cared for, the descriptions of my home and clothes along with details of walks with prams. Most of my ‘big woman’ stories were of simple events and most of them focused on my ‘children’. These memories would come to me in special moments and then slip away as dolls and toy prams substituted the real ones of my memory. Smoky, my cat was the only listener who I felt took me seriously.
These days, children with past-life memories are more likely to get a hearing as there are many respected researchers documenting their stories. But when I was telling my ‘big woman’ stories, it was the late Fifties in Ireland and there was no one around me who believed in reincarnation let alone believed that I might be telling a true story.
The task of growing up and learning how to be a normal schoolgirl obliterated all these memories. From the beginning of my formal education I was not an ideal student, not even in the infants’ school. I remember my teacher in first class, Sister Camillus. One afternoon, she was relating a story from the Bible and talking about the life of Christ to her class of attentive young listeners, when suddenly I heard somebody shout.
I looked around to see who had said this and found the entire class looking at me as well as the teacher's amused grin. It was me who had asked the question almost involuntarily.
What Sister Caimillus didn't realise was that I really wanted an answer but one was not forthcoming. The only consequence of my curiosity was humiliation for asking such a question and in doing so my young enquiring mind was stinted. But as soon as I left the educational system and the religious indoctrination that went with it, I slowly recovered my ability to remember and so have always quietly accepted the reality of past lives. The threat of burning in the eternal fires of Hell never frightened me as a child because I never believed it to be true and the idea of floating around up in the clouds with an old bearded white haired man, surrounded by singing angels seemed boring to me, definitely not a Heaven I would want to be in for eternity.
But before coming to those conclusions, I went along with my Catholic upbringing and education. Part of the Catholic doctrine allows for the priest to grant absolution on God’s behalf for sins committed through the process of confession. I remember my last confession very clearly, I was about ten years old. For months I had been burdened with my big sin, I had not fasted the full three hours before going to Holy Communion at Sunday Mass. Finally, I plucked up the courage to confess this terrible sin and went to the church one evening where the priest listened attentively. Just at the point where I expected absolution he jumped out of the confession box and opened the door of the adjoining alcove where I was standing (I was not tall enough to kneel). He threw his arms up in the air and shouted,
“Get out of this Church, get out child. You have no faith, you have no faith”.
Several women waiting to have their confessions heard witnessed all this, I imagine, with astonishment. I decided he was wrong. This was the moment when the Catholic Church and I parted company. I never spoke about this afterwards, not even to my parents,and I resolved to work things out for myself in the future. The door to a rich spiritual exploration had opened. Given that these were some of my experiences with the catholic church is it any wonder that I found the idea reincarnation a reasonable alternative. Reincarnation is not a profound belief for me, it is a simple natural fact. We all end each day by closing our eyes to sleep sure in the knowledge that we will open them to wake in the morning. In exactly this way, I know this life will end and I will begin another life by being born again. Everything continues, for every action there is a reaction and actions we take in one life cause a reaction in others that follow. To quote my father as he lay ill in hospital the day before he died, he said to my sisters, “I suppose its back to the beginning now, I’ll have to go back to scratch again.”
My father was a Catholic all his life, how interesting that in his last hours he was discovering what so many of us already know; that we have been here before and will be here again.
The past lives that I have remembered easily have all been relevant to particular circumstances and particular people in this my current life. I have looked to past life experiences, never just out of curiosity, but to help me solve problems in the here and now. The power of the past is the effect it has on us here in the present. These effects can be positive and negative, we integrate the positive so it helps us to move forward and we clear and release the negative to be happier in the present. Now is the creative moment.
Looking back on the early years of my life, it seems to me that they were as mundane and spectacular as the average life but as you probably know, the average life is an illusion, we each have a unique existence, a unique path in life. Each one of us alive on the planet is fulfilling our own special task, individual and different. I do not consider myself to be religious but my spirituality is an integral part of my life. ve had past lives, I am open to and have a vast spiritual domain to wonder about. My understanding of how reincarnation works is not attached to any eastern dogma like Buddhism or Hinduism. I accept that my consciousness continues after my body is dead. But consciousness sounds like some remote idea of myself; I believe I will move out of my body after it dies! That is to say ‘me’, Kathy will continue to live on in a non physical World.
But no one can know for sure what happens after the body dies; even those who believe that every particle of us dies when the body dies cannot be sure.
‘We are here on earth to fart about,’ said the American writer Kurt Vonnegut, ‘and don’t let anyone tell you different.’
Well I don't believe I'm here to fart about, what's the point in that? I believe that my life here has a purpose that is connected to my soul or Higher Self and that my Higher Self is part of Divine energy that exists in a dimension beyond our physical one here. Divine energy to me is a Super Intelligence at the source of all creation. Call this energy the Designer of the Universe or Multiverse; whatever you want to call it, I perceive it to be benevolent and loving.
At the moment of death, I leave my physical body and after a period of adjustment I am then aware of a great light which is there to help and direct me to the next stage of my transition. As I go towards the light I become aware of my Spirit Guides, those in spirit who have assisted and guided me during my physical life. I become aware of loved ones already passed over, there to reconnect and help me in my transition to the non-physical world. My ultimate destination is reunion with my Higher Self and all its other incarnations.
But on occasions, due to free will, or possibly a trauma or difficult death circumstances, spirits recently passed over don’t reconnect and reintegrate with soul energy. There can be many reasons why after death, a spirit does not return to the Higher Self. Reasons differ as to why some of us refuse the offer of the light; some do not believe they are dead; some who have had a rigid belief in Heaven and Hell during the lifetime are afraid they have not lived good lives and will be sent straight to hell; some just prefer to hang around on Earth because they feel they died too early or have unfinished business with people\
In my case, I imagine Maria, my first past life, so traumatised that on crossing over, she made her way to a healing place; as if she had checked herself into a ‘cosmic hospital’ but was not recovering enough to check herself out and move to her light. I imagine Max so riddled with self guilt that he placed himself in a self imposed ‘cosmic prison’, condemned there for eternity. And finally Marcus, who was so traumatised by his violent death that he remained earthbound, trapped in space and time in a dark cellar in the south of France, manifesting as a ghost to modern day passers by.
My belief is that when I was born in this lifetime, I carried in me the connection to those lost personalities. Part of my life plan is to enact whatever experience is needed to rescue them and send them back.
Some might say that believing in past and future lives is a great opportunity to sit back and say,
"Well, if I don't do well in this life, I can always come back and try again".
But in my view it doesn’t work like that; when the time comes to head back to the Higher Self, every lost opportunity for growth in an earth life is a waste that weighs heavy on the spirit. In spirit as on earth, we have to take responsibility for our lives and actions and choices. I don’t believe any God will judge me when I pass on. I am the judge and jury that will assess my life’s successes and failures. With the help of my Higher Self and my Spirit Guides who have supported me from the Spirit Plane during my lifetime, I will celebrate my successes and analyse my failures. And from here, the next incarnation of my soul will be prepared and planned.
I saw an episode of Doctor Who a while back where they showed all the Doctor Who's who had ever played the part could meet up and exchange ideas.
I was very taken with this episode because it threw up the image in my mind’s eye of all my soul reincarnations sitting around a table having a chat about experiences while on Earth. These images may not seem very spiritual but to me the Spirit Plane and earth Plane interweave and interact. The earth Plane is a unique learning platform for the Higher Self and blockages created here, can only be cleared here. So the more we unblock in a lifetime, the more the need to reincarnate is reduced.
One of my first experiences of the proximity of the Spirit Plane happened shortly after my twenty-first birthday. My chosen career after an average education in a girls
boarding school was art and design, and one of my first jobs took me to Kilkenny. The Kilkenny Design Workshops were set up by the government as a service to Irish manufacturers to improve the design of Irish products. There were very few Irish trained designers around at that time so most of the designers working there came from countries like Denmark, Germany, Britain and Sweden. It was a great place to work and to live. Kilkenny is a beautiful medieval town complete with a castle and tales to go with it. Because of the design workshops, the town and its surrounding villages became a community which drew artists and craftspeople from all over the world. I adored being part of the ‘workshops’ which were housed in the old stables of Kilkenny Castle.
After two weeks in the city, I moved into a flat on the top floor of a very old house. It was basically two rooms with wooden floors and wooden wall panelling, and there were slanted ceilings with skylights in both rooms. It was magic! And to add to my happiness, a new friend Joni, who also worked in the workshops and who is still one of my closest friends, lived on the floor below me. There was one strange thing about this flat; when I was alone I often had the sensation that I was being watched, so much so that I spent an evening plugging all the small holes in the timber knots with paper. I was completely comfortable and at home there despite this spooky experience and it became a regular meeting place for a rare bunch of artists and musicians based in Kilkenny at that time. I was really enjoying myself.
Joni and I spent a lot of time together in those months, exploring the old streets and buildings of the town, not to mention the old pubs as well. We fell into a very easy and harmonious friendship which involved long hours discussing love, life and the Universe. Many of these discussions took place sitting quietly at the back of the Black Abbey church, an old monastery which was a very appropriate setting for our profoundly spiritual chats. I knew I was in the company of a true soul-mate and I was also in the process of rediscovering my spiritual path.
One morning in the month of May, I woke up in my little flat to the sight of glorious sunshine streaming in through the skylight windows. I looked at my watch. It was seven o‘clock, mmmm, another hour in bed, so I lay back relaxed and happy, a whole hour to wake up properly. I turned on my side and from my bed I could see the entrance door to the flat. I saw the door handle go down. Not panicking, I clearly remembered the night before when I locked it; I always did. I was very careful about these things. As I lay there watching, the door opened and a man dressed in a long black monk’s
habit walked in and closed the door behind him. He came towards me and I could see the calm smiling face of my brother. The garment he was wearing was made of rough woven black wool, dotted with little white crosses. I wasn’t frightened because I could feel such a peaceful energy in the room. He stood there beside me and in the moment I moved my hand forward to touch him saying, ‘Francis’, he disappeared.
I jumped out of bed to check the door and as I expected, found that it was locked. I didn’t realise it at the time but this was my first adult experience of the proximity of the non-physical spirit world. A few days later I described what had happened to a friend who was a native of Kilkenny. He told me the garment I described was the same as the shroud of the monks of the Black Abbey in medieval times. I, of course, called my brother enquiring after his health, “Never better,” he said, “No, nothing strange.”
Relieved, I acknowledged this experience as being of a spiritual nature and, although I slept with the light on for a few nights afterwards, I knew it was a connection to a past life and absorbed it as that. Joni was intrigued when I told her about it, so much so, that she ran out of my flat in a panic a few days later when she went there to pick up a pair of sunglasses. I gave her the key and told her where she would find them.Just as she was about to leave, she got a fright, dropped everything and arrived back up to the design workshops looking like she'd seen a ghost. She told me she had suddenly felt eyes on her, someone watching her.
“Relax”, I said, “it’s nothing to worry about. I had the same sensation when I first moved in.”
Then I told her about how I had stuffed all the holes in the wooden walls on my first night in the place. I think she was surprised that I could still live there alone. One thing I do know is that if I was living with a ghost, it was a very friendly one because those days were happy, carefree days.
After many years and many cross-roads in my life I eventually set out on the path that would lead me to Gerard, my future husband.
I had moved to Dublin a few years previously, bought my own house while working for a fashion chain called Mirror Mirror and after four great years of working with them, I had a row with the MD and left. At this stage I was beginning to realise that these things happen for a reason and I took my time about working this one out. I didn’t want to go chasing off in a direction that I would later regret so I took a job that I considered to be stress free in a department store for a year while I planned my next move.
Through all of this I was always aware of that inner part of me and always listened to what it told me. I was learning to go with the things that ‘felt right’ and reject the things that didn’t.
I followed my intuition and taking the bull by the horns I decided to start my own business.The decision to do this was made mostly because I wanted to have the freedom of being my own boss and because it felt right. As you probably know, things have a way of falling into place when we are on our right path and I was on my right path.
It was during this time that I met Gerard. He lived in a place called the Strawberry Beds, just a few milesfrom Dublin city centre where there are two pubs close to each other. One is called The Strawberry Hall, which I never went to and the other called The Wrens Nest, which I occasionally drank in when I went to visit my friends who lived down there. On this particular evening, my friends and I went to The Wrens Nest only to discover that at 7.30.pm it was mysteriously closed. We couldn’t believe it, this was unheard of, the pub was closed for no obvious reason. Reluctantly, we went up to The Strawberry Hall where, an hour or two later I met Gerard. It had all the ingredients of a meeting of destiny which is exactly what it was.
On one particular lazy Sunday afternoon not long after we met, we fell asleep together on the sofa in my living room in Drumcondra. I woke up and as I was lying there, I remember having such a strong feeling of familiarity. I felt as if I had woken up beside this man many times but in other times. I didn't pursue the time or place then, I just recognised the feeling to be a sign that he was the man I was meant to be with and so after a few years of living together, we got married.
I couldn't hear my inner voice at all simply because Gerard was a very noisy person to live with. I found that his needs very gradually became more important than mine. s took over. This is not to say that Gerard did not give me a lot of help and support, he very definitely did. He supported me with all his ability during several times of crisis in my business and I would have had a rougher ride without
Strange as it may sound, the bookshop Waterstone’s opening in Dublin changed my life. I wandered in there one day shortly after it opened and I was mesmerised by a tiny corner of the shop called ‘Mind Body Spirit’. I had never seen books like this classified into a defined section before. I noticed also that I was never alone browsing its shelves, that there were others interested in alternative spiritual searching. My spiritual search, mostly dormant since my marriage, was re-ignited by some of the books I found here. Among them was Shirley Mac Laine’s Out on a Limb followed by Living in the Light by Shakti Gawain and like Rip van Winkle, I began to wake from my very long sleep.
One day after a business meeting in Grafton Street, I was pulled towards Waterstone’s as if by a magnet. As if being directed by some higher force, my eyes scoured the titles - for what I did not know. Then I pulled out a book called, Discovering your Past Lives by Glenn Williston and Judith Johnstone and felt so elated, you’d think I’d just won a prize.
As I leafed through the book, I was astounded to read that past life memories could be retrieved through a type of hypnosis and that a thing called ‘past life regression’ existed. A great curiosity arose in me about the past life memories of my childhood and though I didn’t realise it at the time, the trigger that would send me in search of a past life therapist was just around the corner. After reading these books, a trip I had made to Austria just after leaving Kilkenny kept flashing in my mind’s eye.
I remembered a strange experience I had during that trip in Vienna; I was twenty-one at the time. It was a hitch-hiking trip across Europe and the friend I was travelling with was an artist who I had met while working in Kilkenny. Her agenda for the trip was twofold; she wanted to visit the Kunsthistorischest have an agenda of my own.
When we arrived in Vienna, I had an immediate feeling of familiarity. Not just familiarity, I remarked to my friend that I felt the entire city was shrouded in a veil of warlike atmosphere, almost as if it were still World War II. The population seemed very old to me and those who did speak to us spoke of their wartime memories. (I’m sure this was no coincidence and looking back, I can see that I must have attracted this experience.)
On the Sunday afternoon, we went walking through the park in Vienna city centre. It was a glorious day and we stopped to listen to an orchestra who were playing Strauss waltzes on the bandstand in the middle of the park. This gave us the idea to look for the house where Mozart had once lived, so with guidebook in hand we set off. Our search turned into an afternoon of walking with no result. Suddenly without reason, I stopped at a large entrance to a courtyard. The buildings around looked like fairly opulent bourgeois apartments. The door into the courtyard was open and I walked through it with unusual ease. My friend silently followed me. Once inside, I turned immediately left and walked up two flights of an old stone staircase. When I reached the second floor I turned left again and walked directly to a large double-door entrance to one of the apartments. I stood at the door for several seconds as if it would open to let me in. Then the sounds of the occupant playing the piano wafted out and the music left me standing there in a mesmerized state. I knew that I knew this place. I knew what I would find behind that door if it opened right then at that moment. But it didn’t and I reluctantly left.