We are never truly alone.

We are reunited with our loved ones again and again.

You are immortal.

How do I know?

My Grandfather taught me…

I am an Anglo-Australian woman with blonde hair (OK, it is touched up to hide the gray, but I refuse to fade as I get older!) and blue eyes. My biological ancestry is a Celtic mix of Irish, Scottish, Yorkshire and Cornish. I was taught to be proud of my English and Scottish ancestry. I was taught to be proud that I am 5th generation Australian. I was taught about the alcoholism that came with that ancestry. I was not taught about how white people dispossessed and killed aboriginal people for land, and my Irish ancestry was not advertised. In a lot of ways, as Australians, we are still not far enough from those colonial times when pubs had signs advertising “No dogs, No blacks, No Irish.”

But as I stood on the grass at Rhinebeck after another life-altering past-life regression with Dr Brian Weiss, my current-day, Celtic-derived self was still overshadowed by the me of the past. I knew I was taller and fitter and stronger. I held my head proudly and testosterone flowed through my body. Dark hair flowed down my back in a dark river that shone in the sunshine. I walked with other feet that knew the shape of the Earth beneath.

“How did you know your Grandfather preferred you to your brothers?” asked another participant.

“Because I was the best.” I answered.

My present-day self cringed at the lack of humility – the arrogance. My Navajo self lifted his face to the sun and knew the truth. I was the oldest. I was the fittest. I was the strongest. I was the most intelligent. I revelled in looking after my tribe. It was my place. One day I would be an elder… just like my Grandfather. I could see the truth reflected in the firelight of his eyes as the tribe sat together many night times… listening to the stories…

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Image: Campfire by xannca-d7ap3af, DeviantArt, 2015

But it was not to be. Not this life time.



I never get what I expect. While I might hope for certain things and feel anxious about outcomes, somehow it always ends up differently, especially when we are talking about Past-life therapy.

I have always had a natural inclination to follow my nose. When I was going to University, I was awed and slightly intimidated by a girlfriend who had a 5 year plan for her life. It was so amazing to me that she could have such clarity 5 years into the future.

“You really should have one” she would say, and I would feel slightly guilty that I didn’t have the drive to complete my own 5 year plan. I wondered to myself “How can I have a 5 year plan when I don’t even know what I am doing tomorrow?”

Life always seems to have worked out best for me when I looked for the signs that were pointing the way forward. The Universe seemed to have a way of presenting me with the answers to the questions I asked myself in my head. And that is not to say that I got it right all the time.

The first spiritual lesson is discrimination and I have had many painful lessons of trusting people who seemed to have answers for me – people who promised love and affection, wisdom and insight – but delivered something else entirely. Fortunately, I also seemed to have the ability to disentangle myself from these people… sometimes quickly and other times over years. I guess that’s what’s called resilience. It taught me to identify the true teachers from the false.

So as I sat nervously with bated breath in the Melbourne Exhibition Centre waiting for Dr Brian Weiss to begin the ‘Many Lives, Many Masters’ Conference, I was hoping for miracles and soul connections but wondering how anything could measure up to the meeting of my group of souls at Past Life Regression Therapy Training at Omega in Rhinebeck.

… and then Paris was attacked by terrorists.

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Image: Paris Peace Sign by John Jullien, 2015


Truth saying and story telling

“I hope people realize that Past LIfe Regression Therapy works” Bhavi, 2015

Writing the story of ‘Bhavi and me’ took months.

I wasn’t ready.

The magic, the transformation of the experience was so powerful… so sacred that I could only sit with the truth of it. It was some months before I was ready to re-live the experience and find the words that would do it justice.

Bhavi gave me permission to write and share our story from the very first moment. “You should share our experience with Brian and Carole (Weiss). I am happy for you to do that. People may learn from it.” She said, as we walked out into the summer sunshine… together after 500 years.

Every time I looked at her, tears welled up in joy and gratitude. It was automatic. It was a reaction unconnected to my conscious brain. More than anything else, it was this inexplicable welling up of love for a beloved stranger that confirmed this experience as real.

“Emotions never lie.” I reminded myself. “Emotions are the bridge to spiritual truth.” When I left Omega to come home to Australia, the awful pain of separation was like leaving one of my children behind.

And later, when I suggested sharing our story more widely, Bhavi repeated “You should do it” and sent me kisses via WhatsApp.


Image: Bleeding Hearts 2, by Lauren Burbank at free

Some of you may have been wondering whether the stories I have been sharing are fictional. My purpose in sharing these stories has been to entertain, engage and yes! to educate. To open your hearts and minds to greater possibilities. They are all true.

And as Seth Godin suggests and was my intention… Never be boring.

The truth is… you are immortal.

The truth is… we are all connected.

The truth is… we are re-united with our souls mates again and again.


Past Life Regression Therapy training… the aftermath!

“Learn everything you can from the past, and then let it go. If, earlier in your life, others could not express their love to you, it was because they were blocked, not because of some defect in you.” Dr Brian Weiss, 2015

“And I will awaken you by counting up from 10 to 1… with each number you will feel more and more alert… 1…. 2… 3…”

My face was wet with the tears of my grief… and horror. What had I done?

“4… 5… 6…”

I gently released the experience of that life… a high ranking girl with aspirations to the priesthood… and brought the healing back with me.


Image: Introspect by Ramasamy Chidambaram at

“7… 8…”

My baby sister was not gone. I had left her to her fate without a thought… and she was sitting right beside me.

“9… 10…”

I opened my eyes and her dark velvety eyes looked right back at me.

“Are you OK?”

“I… I… I…” deep breath. “I was Indian. We were together. You were my little sister and I was a … shitty big sister. I thought you were a pest. I am so sorry. I didn’t look after you and I should have. I am so sorry.”

A river of tears poured from my heart.

In some quiet corner of my mind, I wondered if she thought I had lost it… crazy or opportunistic… it didn’t matter. My heart was the open wound you feel when you lose your child and find her again.

And then the miracle happened.

“I didn’t want to say anything. I thought you would think I was crazy. When I met you, I saw my mother’s eyes. I thought maybe you were my mother.” Bhavi’s tears mixed with mine. “I forgive you. I love you.”

I held her and rocked her like she was still the baby in the orange tunic I had just left. “I love you too.”

We cried and cried, and like any good mother should, I supplied the tissues for snotty noses from the depths of my suitably stocked handbag. The tissues rained down like confetti at a wedding.

Then Bhavi lifted her dewy eyes to mine with wonder “It’s gone… that feeling. I don’t feel unloved anymore. It’s gone.”



PS The third miracle was that in searching for an image that looked like Bhavi in India in the 1500s, I found her again… in a free image on the internet… this is exactly how she looked to me.


Past Life Regression Therapy training… the experience!

“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


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.


Past Life Regression Therapy training… it begins!

I was so ready to learn. I was so ready to have those transformational experiences that cannot be described but change you in that subtle way that is just better.

The yoga chairs were brilliant – back support with a cushion on the floor – perfect for people like me who go into trance easily. Around me, people were wriggling and fussing, making nests of pillows and blankets, like a cat would before curling in comfort to sleep. Yes! The cushion under me was in perfect position to support my balanced spine seated in the yoga position. Crystals in hand, I was ready.

Bhavi and friends chatted away, equally as excited and in the early moments of meeting beloved strangers, Bhavi confessed to me “I don’t know why, but I have never felt loved. I know I am loved. My family love me, but I don’t feel loved.”

Brian and Carole Weiss appeared on the dais to applause – such beautiful, humble and humorous people – welcoming us like we were entering their home for a dinner party. And I guess in a way, we were. Twenty two years of holding experiential workshops made Omega home to them, and over the course of the week, made Omega home to us as well. I let the spirit of their generousity wash over me.

“… and so, we are going to have lots of experiences, because I have found that this leads to the greatest success. It is better,” said Brian, and with this simple introduction he led 150 of us into a Past Life Regression.


I know myself. I know that I soak up the emotions of those around me like a sponge. I know that some days I can’t walk through the shopping centre. One upon a time, I couldn’t walk into a crystal shop. The energies would overwhelm me. I would go blind and find myself unable to walk.

I have got better at knowing what is ‘me’ and what is ‘another’. I have become stronger and more grounded as I have got older… as I have practiced Reiki and meditation. But it still amazed me how Brian and Carole could lead hundreds of people into past life experiences, people sitting centimetres apart from each other, sometimes touching, and having unique and powerful experiences… and I WAS FINE. Brian says “Miracles happen”. This is how I knew Brian and Carole were the teachers for me. This was my first miracle.


Past Life Regression Therapy training

I love the beginning of workshops and conferences. The hushed expectation – people finding seats in a dance of mystery that places together the people who have natural synchronicity, whether they like it or not. And when the workshop has been organised with full support from the teachers who reside on the higher sub-plane of the mental plane, then miracles are in the air.

I was still bemused by my morning meditation. The image had been quite clear in spite of my way of perceiving things. My feel-sense-see way of doing things showed me a crystal palace of the most beautiful and colourful hues radiating the purest of energies and floating over the top of the hall. It was a promise of wonderful things to come. It was something I could trust.

All my senses were heightened and I was glad that I was staying at Omega, at the workshop venue. From years of meditation and Reiki and experiences in the desert, I was quite aware that I was in a heightened state. I gave myself full permission to do exactly what I felt inclined to, and not worry that I may be too vague to connect well socially. I was grateful not to have to navigate roads and cars. Putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over was enough for me to be content.

Breakfast with Bhavi and friends had been a pleasant social occasion and I was happily scooped up into the group walk from the dining hall to the workshop. To my Southern Australian eyes, it was all so green and lush. Each footstep was a celebration of life. The summer humidity nurtured plants and animals alike – the wild ones quite unselfconsciously helped themselves to the organic vegetables in the garden.


Image: Groundhog, Anne Marie McGlasson, 2015

“Please sit with us.” said Bhavi, and I found myself sandwiched comfortably between two Indian women. The room was a kaleidoscope of people of different cultures and accents, everyone finding their place and finding themselves, centreing themselves in their experience, and locating the connections past, present and future.

“OK” I thought, taking note. “It could be an Indian past life that is important.”

I was under no illusions that my conscious mind had any say in it at all. After all, I had gone to the experiential workshop with Brian and Carole Weiss in Coolum (QLD) the year before. At the end of my time as an adult educator, my conscious intention was to learn new work skills. But what actually occurred threw me into a positive healing trajectory that was entirely personal.

I knew that I could not predict whatever was about to occur…


Breakfast at Omega

Breakfast was uneventful – a group of pleasant people enjoying an organic breakfast. I had only been here hours and already I could feel my spirit relaxing into this soulful environment of gentle voices and gentle manners. Giant fans whirled lazily overhead in the beautiful timber dining hall. I idly wondered how many Americans were nostalgic for the summer camps of their childhood. As an Australian, this was a foreign environment with unknown rules. I released all expectations and allowed for whatever to happen… to happen. Magic was in the air.


Image: Tranquility, Anne Marie McGlasson, 2015

Volunteers scrambled to make sure we got our breakfast. The kitchen was run with military precision. There was a ripple of disconcerted murmurs amongst the breakfast diners as they realised that meat was served only twice a week. The news was even worse if you had a sweet tooth. I could see how desert could become a celebration if it was only served twice a week. I found boiled eggs to add to my spinach leaves. I was happy.

And the coffee drinkers were happy. Yes! Thanks to Dr Brian Weiss, there was coffee. We were to find out that some years prior, he had carefully explained to administrators that the workshop was uncomfortable for people suffering withdrawl symptoms. The coffee machine sat side by side with organic juices. I went for the juice.

My new friend returned with her breakfast and the entourage she had gathered around her since her arrival. I expected soul connections, after all this was a ‘Past Life’ workshop, but I thought that was pretty efficient for overnight.

She gave me a pretty smile and turned her big brown eyes on me.

“Hello, my name is Bhavi.”


“Bhavi… Bhavi…” she said, giving me a chance to tune my ears into her name and her liquid Indian accent “but some people have trouble with that… you can call me Bobbie if you choose.”

What she didn’t know is that my mother’s name is Bobbie.

What I didn’t know was that she looked at me and recognized the eyes of her mother.



“It’s never an accident who you sit next to… watch and observe!” Anonymous

I was told this so long ago that I have forgotten who told me and when. To whomsoever, thank you for the wisdom. I have always since found this to be true…

“Hello” she said, the liquid tones of her voice sliding melodiously over each another. “Can my friends and I sit with you?”

The balcony breakfast table I was enjoying was empty, but for me and the cooling breeze that had joined me briefly while drifting its way from tree to tree. “Sure” I said.

“You are very welcome” I added, more correctly, and wondered what adventure was about to begin. “It’s no accident…” I reminded myself and opened my mind and heart to the possibilities of this new encounter. Who was this woman really? Who was she to me? What did she have to teach me?

“It’s no accident” I repeated.

The air was warm and wet in a way that only happens in humid climates, where the make-up slides off your face, but you don’t care because it seems more important that your bare feet wriggle in the dirt. I was excited and ready for all possibilities.

My morning meditations had been particularly encouraging. Visions of crystal palaces and rainbow waves welcoming and drawing everyone in, suggested that something magical and transformational was coming. I was ready. I was prepared.

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Image: Omega cottage balcony, Anne Marie McGlasson 2015


It begins…

2015 Tree_Omega

… and so I just listened as the wind whispered gently high above in the leaves of the healing tree.

New York, a city bursting with impatient, aggressive people all desperate to stand in the next line and wait. I was bemused watching the ebb and flow of people. The mothers pushing their babies in prams into the oncoming traffic against the traffic signals. Cars rushing by, changing lanes without warning. Traffic management people standing in the road telling drivers they could NOT use a road. A diversion around the block adding a half hour to the journey. The air was filled with car horns, sirens and up-raised voices. While I was there, the ‘city that never sleeps’ never rested, nor took a quiet moment of contemplation.

And amidst the crazy chaos of angry people trying to get on with life, or tell others what to do, angels found me – a taxi driver getting me to my hotel from the bus station, the mother of a toddler who helped me get a metro card (and my bags) onto the subway platform, and a pixie-sized woman who came back to help me despite the disapproving glare of a transit policeman.

Life is full of blessings if you just take the time to notice. I had moments, of course, like the man who insisted I accept his phone number, telling me I had a beautiful smile. He could show me out-of-the-way places that tourists don’t usually see that are more beautiful than the regular tourist attractions, and it sent a shiver of fear through me to know I had been marked as a woman travelling alone in a strange city.

But, I also met a young Hispanic man joyfully blending fibres on a board, creating rolags and preparing to spin yarn of the most glorious hues. I found the Alice in Wonderland sculpture in Central Park – a gift of love from a man to the children of New York in the name of his beloved wife – and the children’s glee filled my heart to overflowing. I found a healing tree.

Soon it would be time… soon I would be in class with Dr Brian Weiss learning to become a past life regression therapist.

Image: Omega tree by Anne Marie McGlasson