I recaptured this life with a woman in California named Kay Ortmans, who has a retreat center named Wellsprings, high in the tall firs of Ben Lomond, above San Jose. This was the first past lives work I did, after reading an article in Human Behavior magazine written by a man who had worked with Kay himself. I was very moved, and called her up to see if she would take me on. She very kindly agreed to do so, and I flew right out there.
Kay's studio is a large A-frame a big window facing the stand of huge fir tres that cover the steep hillside. Her technique for induction is to find out from you what kinds of music you find evocative of inner revery. From her large collection of records, she selects something for her stereo, then wraps you in blankets as you lie prone on her padded massage table with your face in a breathing well. She is a terrific masseuse, and as you lie there being massaged for an hyour or more, with the music swelling on all sides of you, it is no wonder that you unconsciously drift off into alternate realities.
Even so, it was not until well into our second session that I began receiving fragments of "stories", "dreams," or the immediacies of other lives. The first one that came to me was the scene where I am a young man seeking his fortune as a soldier during the hundred years' war. I see myself saying goodbye to my young wife, who stands at the door of our small house, evidently stunned by my decision to leave her. Click here to read all I have learned about that life.
The second story I dreamed was that of the young girl living and working on a dairy farm in the Pyrenees - a story I was to learn a lot more about later on, working with Roger Woolger. Working with Kay, I only learned about the scene of violence in the castle which resulted in my being kidnapped and brought to the valley in the Pyrenees to live, and where a tall young man came often to visit my parents and give me spiritual instruction. Click here to read the rest of this life.
My third story was (to me) a daunting one! In this life I was a middle-aged man with a thick black beard. His outlook was a dark one narrowly focused on respectability - which is an odd combination when you lump it in with his chosen profession, which was that of abortionist!
I lived in a large, gloomy house in West Newton, Massachusetts, made even gloomier than it already was by thick, dark draperies at all the downstairs windows which were kept either totally closed or with only a crack of light in the middle - day or night. The house itself was richly furnished in the 19th century Victorian manner, with heavy brocaded furniture, dark Oriental carpets, mahogany couches, tables and chairs, bookcases on the walls filled with sets of dark-colored volumes written by authors like Carlyle and Ruskin.
But the gloom was not only physical, but also heavily oppressive in soul terms. In this fragment, I didn't see my wife, but I have an impression of her as pinched, passive, intolerant and ultra-conventional. I myself am essentially without much feeling, bent on doing my medical job well and in a respectable manner despite its social and legal marginality. I am a graduate of Harvard College and of Harvard Medical School, where I was an outstanding student, and am supremely confident of my abilities, knowing that the respectable women who come to me for their abortions are well-served by a man who is not only well-trained and scrupulously professional, but discreet beyond even a whisper - and very well-paid for these services!
In the scene I recaptured, I drive my horse and carriage into the coach house behind the house, then take the horse out of the traces, rub it down and put it in its stall, then walk to the rear door of the house, enter, and walk through to the front.
I find this to be the only life of all the eighteen whom I really do not like! I find him to be both unpleasant and even sinister in his outlook on life and his place in it.
Back to my past lives page.