“Our souls are timeless and endless, existing beyond all dimensions, preceding all space, all emptiness, all matter, all forces, and all energies. How magnificent we truly are!” Dr Brian Weiss, 2015

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Image: Botanic Garden Lilies, Anne Marie McGlasson 2014

“Pick the door that seems right to you… and when you are ready, walk through…” I let Brian’s calm and gentle voice wash over me, happy to surrender to his instruction.

I found myself… in India… in about 1500.

“Good grief!” I thought looking down at myself. “This has to be true… I have always detested this colour. I wouldn’t wear it even in my imagination… so this has to be true!”

I watched the water trickle from my fingertips, totally entranced by the perfection of each droplet as it separated from the puddle in my palm, then arced through the air to re-join the water in the pond. A perfect lesson in everything returning to the Divine.

The garden was magnificent, huge and built over many levels. There were sandstone fountains and beautiful trees, flowers and exotic fruits. In some places it was shady and in other places it was sun-kissed. But what mattered to me was this small and private, almost neglected corner.

The water held a slight green tinge. It didn’t matter to me. Water was sacred. Water was my element. I would join the priesthood and study and discover all the mysteries that water would share with me. In communion with water, I would share the wisdom it offered. There would be many supplicants seeking answers. I would answer them but the questions would come as from a distance. What would always matter most to me would be this communion with water.

I was richly and traditionally dressed in a sari of burgundy with woven gold edging. I had no shoes on… and I didn’t care. My ankles were encircled with solid gold anklets adorned with small bells that tinkled with each step. I wore the heavy gold jewelry on my body with indifference. I didn’t care. I hadn’t dressed myself. I was dressed for my father’s pleasure. To do him honour.

I had stood patiently and vacantly after a rich breakfast, until the servants had done their work of dressing me… until I could run away into the garden. I knew that they thought I was simple, that my brain was damaged, and it suited me to be thought of this way. It made me unmarriageable, and if I was unmarriageable, I could have my way and be sent to the priesthood. I waited for… longed for… the moment my father would gave up on me in disgust, as the various suitors had.

The water spun delicately from my fingertips back into the pond.

There was a cry of joy and a small girl dressed in iridescent orange hurled herself into my arms. She was about 2. I was her older sister. I was 16 or 17. We had no mother. We were alone a lot, apart form the servants, who knew to keep apart from us. Our father was a cold and distant man, not a cruel man, but a powerful man consumed by the responsibilities of his position. We didn’t know him well. And so, I was the only mother she had ever known, and in the way of older siblings…

I thought she was a pest. This joyful little girl so full of love for me was… a nuisance to me.

It was not my proudest moment to realize that I had indeed left her for the priesthood. That she grew up in that big house alone. That she made the state marriage my father was so intent upon for me. That she brought him the honour he needed for the political games he played. She stood in my place and sacrificed her life so I could have the freedom of a spiritual path… and I had not even acknowledged it.

With the shock of a sledgehammer, I knew who the little girl was…

Tears streamed down my face.

It was Bhavi.

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