My parents died young. Well, I was young, they were actually quite old. He went first. Died from a broken heart, according to the progressive doctor of the day. Among other things, my father had suffered several strokes, which in metaphysical terms equates to a rejection of life. He was in his seventies and a tough but gentle man. Quite soft really, with a quiet, solid strength. Falling from a two story building onto a concrete floor and landing on his hammer when 65 years of age did not make his later years overly comfortable. Mum's either. As a legacy of this he forever sported a two inch depression in the centre forehead (third eye) where his head had sandwiched the hammer to the concrete. Amazing that he survived at all, but such was his determination that although the doctors had said that he would never walk again, he did. They said he would never work again, too. He did. Eventually. It was a long road back, but he would not give up.

The accident certainly slowed him but did not kill him. It took a long running family dispute with his two older sons to slowly do that job. He had hoped that they would eventually return home. Held on for ages after the strokes, but they never came. He felt it all. It was all behind his eyes. Trapped there, as his motor function slowly faded. The body unable to relate what the heart and mind were trying to impart. I saw it there. In his eyes. We cried together and shortly thereafter he was gone. My mother said that she felt him go. She, in bed at home. He in hospital. Knew when he went, because he ‘passed through her' on the way out. Apparently she sat bolt upright up in bed in the middle of the night, felt him with her and simply knew. Shortly after, the phone rang. She was ready for their news.

She herself went ten years or so later. Tough old stick. She'd endured a horrid life in many ways. Between religious manipulation and medical experimentation there was really not much left of her. I am grateful that I was able to help with her transition. We had resolved all of our ‘stuff' together in the years since her husband's death. I knew her time was approaching, as did she. I was living on the other side of the continent and although we had visited each other, circumstance had minimized the possibility of more regular close contact. The telephone company did well.

Two weeks before she went I was engaged in ‘growth work' with a highly regarded psychic healer. Suddenly the healer exclaimed: “There's a white haired man here and he wants to speak with you.”

Only she and I were physically present but I had a curious feeling.

“It's Frank,” I said. “And I know what he's doing here. He's waiting for Mum”

At this point the healer's face was streaming with tears as she verified my synopsis and added to it, providing a verbal link between myself and my deceased father who had much to share.

A couple of days later, after careful consideration, I told my mother of the visit. She too cried and had no trouble accepting the information because of her previous experience of him passing through her. I think the comfort provided by the knowledge of his continued existence was comforting to her for she relinquished her own struggle a week later.

My turn. On the day of her departure I am sitting downstairs in my music room staring blankly from the window. There stands a large rubber tree, outside. Miraculously, on a branch within the tree, a good 8 inches tall, side by side, smiling and holding hands, are my father and mother. She grins at me like the cat who'd got the cream and bends to take the hem of her skirt.

With a simple but gorgeous smile she beams directly at me and says: “Look!” She lifts the dress effortlessly and kicks up her heels in dance. An Irish jig, presumably. This, to me, is profoundly liberating because the poor woman, although athletic in her youth, had suffered severe mobility problems for years. He's standing quietly next to her, in the rubber tree, grinning from ear to ear. There is a glow about them. Much happiness, such as had eluded them in life. They continue smiling and with her still dancing, fade away. It is in this moment I know she has gone. Water escapes quietly from my eyes.

Half an hour passes. The sound of a telephone, distant, but expected. My sister. I tell her that I know and explain how. She too, cries.

“Dad always promised to take Mum dancing, but for some reason it never happened”

“Well they're dancing now” say I, with a teary smile that is a curious mixture of soft emotions.

Past lives? I need no proof. I have seen enough, felt enough and experienced enough to ‘know' and the acceptance of things is what is really important.

In Rome I instinctively knew my way around. No guide book required. I was however surprised by my body's reaction as I stood in the Coliseum and shook with the memory of a past life there. It seems that I've had several in Italy and this particular ‘memory' involved being up close and personal with a large male lion. It was mercifully quick. This, in time, explained my ludicrous need to have walked and camped on my own for 4 days in the African bush.

The thought had been there: “Will I have to face a lion?” Madness. Even the Africans don't dare walk on their own in the bush, but I got away with it. Blessed. Looked after, apparently.

One of the first times that I was ‘introduced' to the past life possibilities in my own life had to do with necking. Not the back of a car type necking, but hanging, beheading, guillotine etc. I have apparently been a warrior many times. Swords were my thing. Martial arts too, but in one particular life I was a male concubine. I was bestowed everything I could desire for a year and then ‘necked'. Finding out about this allowed me to repair my relationship with the girl involved, at the time my lover in this life and gave me an insight into a plethora of other possibilities. In this life, I had always had a problem wearing neck-ties. Always in trouble (caned even) at school for continually having my top button undone and my tie loose. Also, if you pulled my hair it was an instant punching offence. No thought, just bang! Here's where it came from. Present day, in an amazing underwater re-birth (breath technique - therapy) I discovered several past lives where I had been beheaded, or hung. These revelations included a life where I clearly knew both the woman who had commissioned the kill and also the executioner. Know them now, in this life, where they've been amazingly protective of me, perhaps to compensate for their previous indiscretions. A Karma thing, perhaps.

Re beheading: I also know that one has approximately 5 to 7 seconds of fading consciousness after the head leaves the body. I ‘felt' the head hit the floor. Saw earth/sky, earth/sky, earth/sky etc as it rolled to a stop, then felt the pull of hair and saw the swirl of faces and colour as the head was held up and turned to face the cackling, toothless, bearded face of the executioner. The beard ‘melted' and it turned into my mother, in this life, which explained so very much about how she had attempted to overprotect me in my childhood. Shortly thereafter I was cast in a true life, world war two movie in which we all got beheaded at the end! I then had an opportunity to workshop the whole thing. Re-live it, then forgive it. Big therapy.

I can now wear a tie.

© Copyright. Peter Healy. All rights reserved. No part of this written work may be reproduced by any means; including but not limited to mechanical, photographic, digital, Internet or other electronic process; nor may it be stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or otherwise be copied for public or private use; without the expressed written permission of Peter Healy.