Lessons in love…

“Instead of worrying about specific outcomes and results, just do the right thing. Reach out unselfishly and with love.” Brian Weiss

A mask of grief overlaid her pretty face, and mascara stained her pretty cheeks. She appealed to me with desperate wet-washed eyes to support her belief in love.

She just made a mistake, she said. She married the wrong man, she said. She had tricked herself into believing it was true love, or he had tricked her into believing it was true love, but she knew that her Prince Charming was waiting for her. Somewhere over the horizon was the man she would live happily ever after with – thoughts that kept her strong during the dying throes of a doomed relationship – kept her strong to care for the children.

“I know I will find him,” she said. “I think he may even be in my life right now. When I find my soul mate my life will be simple and filled with love.”

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Image: Paris, Luca de Luca, 2016

She was right… and she was wrong.

“Our lessons in this earth school must be learned by our hearts, at the deepest levels.” Brian Weiss

“Oh honey!” I thought. “What can I tell you? Your soul mate is always going to bring you your greatest challenges.” Then I poured all the love in my heart into the bond between us.

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Anne Marie McGlasson is a published author, psychotherapist and clinical hypnotherapist specialising in Past Life Therapy (trained by Dr Brian Weiss, MD of ‘Many Lives, Many Masters’). Also a Reiki 7A Therapist and Reiki 3B Master-Teacher, she uses a holistic eclectic approach to ignite hope, purpose and belongingness, and believes we are all deeply connected.

Gilby… part 2

I sat at the table as Christmas dinner was served and committed myself to watching carefully. Did Grandpa really have a story for every situation? I watched him carefully, feet swinging, as Dad carved the roast with the new electric knife and Mum and Aunty whizzed back and forth from the kitchen with last minute vegetables.

We said grace. We ate. We talked. We listened to each other. Even as children, we had a voice. We were heard, but mostly I liked to listen. We were happy together. We were family.

I looked at Grandpa carefully. I noticed he was getting older. As I grew taller and my chin was rising above the table, my feet nearer and nearer to touching the floor, he seemed to be correspondingly shrinking – a function of gravity and time, he explained. Grandpa always had great explanations. I accepted his aging as children do. I could not imagine life without him in it. He held up the roof of my world.

Then I saw Grandpa take a breath, and settle into storytelling mode in his place at the head of the table.

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Image: Empty Present by Kym McLeod, freeimages.com

“And that reminds me…” Grandpa said.

“Here we go again,” muttered my cousin.

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Gilby… part 1

It was Christmas.

“Here we go again. Another round of Gilby’s stories.”

I looked at my cousin with the round-eyed shock a small person feels when a beloved and looked-up-to elder does something unaccountable. Eight years older, he was my eldest cousin. I thought he was perfect.

When I was very small, I had decided that I would marry him when I grew up… My dad had the unfortunate task of carefully explaining why I would have to marry someone else. I thought it was a great pity. I idolized him as only a small girl can.

Unfortunately, he was going through his adolescent boy phase.

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Image: Candle by Ana Abreu, free images.com, 2015

“But, I love Grandpa’s stories,” I objected, ignoring the fact that beloved big cousin had very incorrectly and rudely called Grandpa by his first name.

“Yes,” he huffed in agitation, “and there’s so m-a-n-y of them… and they are so l-o-n-g! How can he possibly have a story for every situation?” and rolled his eyes.

I heard the words but they made no sense. I LOVED Grandpa’s stories. I LOVED learning from the wisdom of those who had gone before. I listened and listened… I learned and learned… and every story was like a jewel reflecting light into the darkest corners and illuminating the way forward. Grandpa’s stories guided my way forward.

But was my cousin right? Was there a story for every situation? And what did it mean if there was?

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Soul mate… the sticking point

I love animals. I have been told that I have a unique connection to animals that others don’t have. They are important to me. I see the beauty in their forms and faces. I see them in my dreams… and when they are in trouble, they find me there, so I can send them to the Light. I love my pets… and yet for years, there has been a block.

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Image: Hjordis by Kristbane, DeviantArt 2015

** This is what Cricket looked like when she first came home.

I hunger for connection. I love them when they are small. I fret over them when they are sick. I make sure they have what they need, but I struggle with just being together. I don’t seem able to reach out for the love that is right there for me.

How did I get here? There was a lesson of love to be discovered.

I have always had a dog… and I have lost my dogs in a series of heart rending tragic events. It makes sense that these experiences have erected a wall between me and the love I see shining in their eyes. It’s like they are patiently waiting for me to put the pieces together. But is that the whole picture?

As a baby, I played in the tall grass in our backyard. It was a new house in a new development. It was farming land. There was no lawn, only tall grass. Mum says that she knew where I was because she could see the grass rustling. Me and my dog, making tunnels and loving each other.

I don’t know what happened to him. I have no memory of him. I regret it.

Later, I sat in the middle of a mass of wriggling bodies. They crawled over my legs and sucked my fingers. It was pure joy. One of these would be mine. How could I choose? They were all wonderful. My little sister was making a fuss about why she couldn’t have one too, but Dad explained that this would be my puppy. I called him Buster. He loved me… until she took him for a walk to the shops and then left him on the front lawn. We drove around and around. I called his name in heart broken accents, the pain in my chest was so bad, but he never answered me. My heart was empty. I don’t know what happened to him.

More wriggling puppies, but there was a distance for me now. It was not a joy. I was only eight, but I had been raped, made a pariah and outcast form my community, moved to a different town and lost daily contact with the grandparents I needed. Her name was Zara. She survived Cyclone Tracy with a twisted hip but had to be shot because Mum and us kids had been evacuated and Dad couldn’t look after her while re-building the city. I was not spared the knowledge of what happened to her.

Fade to grey… Dad finally rejoined us in Adelaide. My brother insisted that we get a puppy from the same breeders. He insisted that the new puppy be the same colour and same name. Zara II loved me when I hit rock bottom. I know she loved me. She lived to a good old age. I just couldn’t step outside my losses.

I understood all of these experiences. I accepted them. But if acceptance and understanding was the key to new behaviours, why was I still stuck decades later?

Cricket was waiting patiently for me to have the necessary breakthrough.

“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish – consciously or unconsciously – that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.”

Dean Kootz, A Big Little Life: A memoir of a Joyful Dog

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Soul mate… with four legs

“Be the person your dog thinks you are.” JW Stephens

When I met her, she fit in the palm of my hand… so tiny, so perfect.

“I’m not sure what is going to happen,” said the breeder. We sat together in the cosy warmth of her farmhouse kitchen, the steam from our teacups humbly rising to the heavens, as she explained to me the ins-and-outs of Border Terriers.

“Her mother, Lizzie, didn’t do very well with her last litter. She could probably be described as neurotic. She refuses to eat, and she just won’t lie down for the puppies to suckle. She runs out the door when she can and is never in a hurry to come back to them. It’s not normal. On top of that, she is particularly rebellious if it is a man asking her to do something.”

Boy, could I sympathise! Challenges with mothering… check! Cranky at men telling me what to do… check! Desperately wanting to run away from the responsibility of it all… check! check! I had a marriage on the rocks, two traumatised children and something had to change…

So I went looking for someone to help me keep my dreams alive…

And I found this a sleepy little bundle of warmth and hope.

I tapped into the energy that was singing in my body and I gave it to her. She was so tiny. I drew symbol after symbol and laid them over her little body like a mother covering her child with a blanket. I held her to my heart so she could hear it beating. I let the strength of my life force be her guide.

“Three puppies were born, but two weren’t hardy. The little boy has already died and I’m so sorry, but this little girl is not looking strong either. She may not live. We’ll know in the next day.”

She latched onto my thumb and started to suckle. She wanted to live.

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Image: Cricket by Chandler Meakins, 2011

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Soul mate

It was a time for healing relationships.

She was small and cute, and loved me with all her heart.

And from the moment I first saw her, I loved her right back.

I loved her sense of humour and how she skipped with joy when she was happy. She was my rock, she was my safety net and she forgave me all my mistakes. She was always just quietly… there. I held her in my arms and cried. She was getting old. I wasn’t ready for her to go yet. I hadn’t had enough of her time and attention. I needed her still.

There always seemed to be some drama, some urgency that got in the way of us just spending time together. She never complained and she was always glad to see me… She always radiated a gentle acceptance of anything I had to offer. I was so sick of the various dramas that got in the way of us being together. Why was it so hard? I knew all the excuses but I just couldn’t seem to get past them to work it out.

“It’s time” I thought. “Time to change, and time for her to come first. Time for both of us to be first with each other – so we can heal. She needs more of me… and I definitely need her.”

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Image: Heart beads by Bas van der Wiel at freeimages.com

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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.

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Image: Introspect by Ramasamy Chidambaram at freeimages.com

“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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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…

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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.

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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.”

“Pabi?”

“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.

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