My own thoughts on reincarnation and the universe

Discussion in 'Religion & Spirituality' started by Manu, 17 October 2018.

?

Are you reincarnated?

  1. Yes. I have lived before and I am at least partially aware of that.

    40.0%
  2. No. I have not lived before this life.

    20.0%
  3. I do not know.

    40.0%
  1. Boreas

    Boreas Senior Member Staff Member Sustaining Member

    First of all I have to say that there's no absolute guarantee in dream experiences and the so called astral plane is the plane of great illusion, so I advice to take my experience with dreamworking with a grain of salt since that is how I take the following dream experience no matter how hyper-realistic it felt at the time. But the dream was also so vivid and contained so much information that I haven't been able to just bypass it either.

    In the spring 2007 I was delving deep into Buddhism and its meditation techniques, and one night I went to sleep by meditating on the saying 'imagine what your face appeared before your parents were born', and as I fell asleep I saw a very hyper realistic dream in which I was wandering in 17th century England. I was in the moors and later in the dream I was told that I was in Ipswich and my name was Jason. I found an old hilltower which belonged to my family. I was greeted by my great grandmother who led my way to the top of the tower through a staircase. When she led my way she told me about my family history and in the top of the building she showed me this oval room in which there were paintings on the wall that depicted my family's estates and land. In the middle of all this I said a few times out loud that "this can't be real", and every time she assured me that yes it was. At the same time I heard my father's voice in the back of my head and he told me how our family had come originally from Germany, had moved from there to England, there to Sweden (this was where my family historically moved from as far as I knew it at the time) and from there to Finland and that's how I was then eventually had born into my current life as who I am now. I even saw this story of my origins in a lively description in a map that I saw with my mind's eye.

    In another dream not that vivid I was in a 12th century Spain where I was a troubadour and was betrayed and killed by my two supposed friends because of a woman.

    Like I said, there's not guarantee that these - especially the second - were true memories of past lives and not just phantasy, but they certainly affected my belief in transmigration or reincarnation and I can't simply ignore them either, especially the first mentioned experience. From 2004 to 2009 I kept a daily dream journal in the course of which my dream world changed from chaotic to very symbolic and then to very realistic with occasional very paranormal experiences like turning around my etheric body in my bed or experiencing my consciousness as a luminous ball of light within the location of my heart, and these experiences made me very aware of other planes of consciousness (no matter how illusionary they be in regards to supernal Reality).

    So there's my personal experiences regarding the matter that have been quite convincing to me at least subjectively towards the doctrine of reincarnation. Combined with a more philosophical and rational delving into the matter the issue is basically settled to me personally.
     
    Last edited: 28 October 2018
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  2. Manu

    Manu Señor Member Sustaining Member
    1. Norden
    2. Knights of the Iron Cross

    That is very interesting. The first sounds like you spoke to your grandmother and she told you of your family's history. Did that information pass away with her? If so, I believe it was important for her to tell you. Things like that really are important. There is such a thing as bloodlines. Don't know exactly how they are important, but I believe they are somehow related to the ability of souls to incarnate more or less well. You can't put any soul in any body, I believe.

    The second experience sounds much like PL regression. Perhaps unintended. That happens. Plenty of ways to Rome, so to speak. Or to medieval Spain. Was that EARLY 12th century, by any chance? Almost experienced 12th century Spain myself. Died very shortly before the turn of the century. Quite a dynamic place and time, to be diplomatic about the experience. Not all bad, though. A troubadour, you say? I got a wild idea there, let's see if you will ever tell me of a song you may or may not have composed. Perhaps just a coincidence, not that I am a believer in such. I have found that people are brought together time and again.

    Glad we understand now that our methods ought to be somewhat similar and that they do not involve unhealthy practices like outside hypnotization or suggestion/inception, drugs, trance or other bad things.

    I will write a longer piece when I have more time. Tomorrow hopefully. RabGospodny (I can't spell his name, hope I got it right) asked a question of how I am sure. I'll write my next post here in answer to that. It will be very long and thorough.
     
  3. Boreas

    Boreas Senior Member Staff Member Sustaining Member

    What I forgot to tell was that the grandmother in the dream was my then grandmother, not my this life's grandmother. She appeared in the dream as somewhat like a jungian archetype more than a real person.
     
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  4. Manu

    Manu Señor Member Sustaining Member
    1. Norden
    2. Knights of the Iron Cross

    In order to explain things properly, like I will do because RabGospodnyy asked a question, I will have to start at the beginning. So, why am I certain this reincarnation stuff is not just a mass delusion?

    To answer it, I have to go back quite literally to as early as kindergarten. I always played war, or built things. I remember one thing in particular, this early, which was between me and a boy named Fredrik. We were in some kind of toy wooden house, pretending it was a triage station, where we both lay wounded, and I told him about the battle we just came from, which was still going on outside, with tanks and cannons firing, planes strafing and bombing. The sky obscured with smoke from the fires. I had no idea where that story came from, it just welled out. I was perhaps four years old. While I told it, I could see it clearly. Feel it.

    There were other things. Like an obsession with german miniature soldiers, knightly action figures and a wide assortment of stuff. But nothing as strange as that, early on. It all continued amassing, though.

    When I was seven-eight or so, I got completely obsessed with world war I and II airplanes and tanks. I drew tanks and airplanes for hundreds of hours, and when nobody saw, I would draw swastikas and iron crosses on pieces of paper and then grudgingly hide or throw them away. Because the adults got upset by the swastika. Didn't know why, hadn't had any history lessons or watched any violent movies yet. Just knew that they didn't like it one bit. But I did.

    Let's back up a bit to age four to six. There wasn't just the German stuff. It was also playing at medieval combat with home made swords and shields as well as childish American Civil War reenactment. It was all-too realistic to me. Fortunately, I have a brother with whom I played these things a lot. He was into the same things, but not as deeply perhaps. For some reason, we were able to get a hold of a confederate battle flag, a black powder colt revolver replica, a confederate and a union cap, bandoliers and all sorts of good stuff. We played all sorts of stuff, from cavalry battles with pistols and drawn swords to being prisoners of war. The latter seemed more real to my brother than to me.

    When I was six, we took a long camping trip to Germany, in our camper. We visited tons of places. I remember playing with German kids, and I had no problem communicating with them. Understanding what they were saying was easy. I just did. Never wondered why until I was an adult and recalled the month or so we spent there. Swedish and German are not mutually intelligible.

    When I was about eight, me and a bunch of rowdy boys my age began playing war every evening in the neighborhood. We would don camouflage clothing and make improvised pea shooters, and wage violent guerilla campaigns and ambushes on each other. We were in conflict with a neighboring part of the village. It became pretty apparent early on that I knew exactly how to recon, plan, attack, patrol, defend and ambush. We always won because of that, we functioned like a well-oiled machine and conducted genuine ops whereas the other bubch of kids acted like... normal kids. The adults in my village even got worried we were going too far in our games and tried to talk us out of our all-consuming battles. Pea plants began spreading all over like weeds because of all our shooting.

    Somewhere around age 9, I saw my first World War 2 movie, Where Eagles Dare with Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood. I believe I watched it over one hundred times. Well, the first half of it anyway. Until the shooting began. I hated when they shot lots of Germans. I had no idea why, but I liked the Germans better. Especially Sturmbannführer von Hapen from the SS Sicherheitsdienst. And the bavarian alpine tavern scene and music. I would crane my neck and really drink in the uniforms and atmosphere of 1940's wartime Germany. I had no idea why, but so it was. Most evetything I did as a kid related to war or specifically World War 2. If I wasn't playing it with others, I would play it myself. The sole exception would be playing with legos and building rubber band-powered catapults and ballistas which fired steel balls and made rubble out of lego towers I built. It was an ever-increasing race between power of the catapults and defensive construction of the target. I never wondered why I knew how to build functioning catapults and ballistae without instruction/youtube, until later. The models I constructed were a lot like Roman equipment. Might have picked that up from books.

    About that time I also saw a squirt gun in the store, looking like a Luger P08. I nagged on my parents until they bought it, and I carried it everywhere. I was normally a very polite child, but I really, really, really wanted this plastic crap for some reason. Now I know why. I carried one last time around, and I love those things. I also like the P38, but not as deeply.

    I played a lot with model tanks and planes, constructing and painting them, then lining them up in columns and attacking some kind of foe in a very serious manner. When I studied war later, as a young adult, I knew I already knew these things because I had simulated them quite readily as a child. How did I know how to line up the tanks to march along their designated rollbahns and strike the enemy like a hammer and anvil while attacking them with my Stuka dive bomber? It was pure blitzkrieg doctrine. Nothing else. Not to mention aggressive use of mechanized infantry in toy trucks. When I was at my end phase of playing with these toys, I would construct earth hills outside and dig little trenches, like a properly fortified hill position, and position artillery behind the ridges, where I knew it'd be. Then i'd throw firecrackers around to inflict utter mayhem on the american defenders. And yeah, I often had firecrackers because people weren't hysteric back then.

    When I was 7 and began school, I lectured the lunch lady chapter and verse on how to make Wienerschnitzel, and that the thing on the tray did not bear any resemblance to a wienerschnitzel. It was a breaded and fried piece of pork. Not even hammered. Not veal with a particular kind of (semmeln) breading, flour and eggs with cream, sautéed in a pan. Usually didn't complain about food, but I got upset they called it something I love and then it wasn't that. Had anticipated the food all morning. Now, on my trip to Germany, I had eaten wienerschnitzel every other day at least, and everything else typically German. But nobody ever taught me step by step how to make them like a professional chef or housewife would. Yet I told the lunch lady, who actually got hold of pen and paper. She wasn't even mad at me, for which I am thankful. Of course she couldn't afford to use expensive veal to feed a bunch of school kids, but from then on she didn't call it wienerschnitzel, and her technique was much improved. She used a hammer. Pork schnitzel in its thousand varieties, done right, are almost as good as the real deal.

    There are about a million other examples, this is just the tip of an iceberg. My life is full of otherwise unexplainable quirks and "coincidences". Things I shouldn't know. Few of them exactly paranormal, it was just always a part of me. Some experiences are beyond normal, though. It being a part of me never had a beginning. It began as early as I could walk and talk properly. I have always known it, at least at the back of my head. It was just hidden for a long time, nothing I shared with others other than as "fantasy" while playing. It was an approved form of expression.

    Now, I grew up in a fairly leftist household. Traditional for all that. Rural. My dad would work on the house and on our property, outside. My mother would tend flowers, cook and do the dishes and they are still married. But I grew up on stories of working class struggle and such, too. I have no idea how these two worlds existed in my mind side by side for so long. I was taught to be an old timey communist by my brother. It lasted for a few years, until I was 16.

    When I was 15, my family went on a long drive through western Europe and down to Spain. It was like going home, especially being in Germany. Gods, how I love that place and everything old about it. The castles, the food, the vineyards, the valleys, the rivers and forests, the music and the people. The same goes for France and northern Spain, to a lesser degree.

    Here is where I have my first truly weird experience. We were somewhere in rural Languedoc-Roussillon, once part of the kingdom of Aragon. We were camped near a castle ruin, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with a dream-like vision. I looked down on my chest, and saw a white tabard or tunic with a certain heraldic shield on it, sword at my side. I did not know what the heraldry meant until later. When I looked up, I could see carts coming and going from the castle, pennants and festive decorations, people milling to and fro on the road up the hill to the gates, the castle whole and alive. Just at it had been, back then in the 11th century. It lasted for just a few seconds. But that was when I became more conscious and assured of previous lives. It got me thinking. I knew to the depths of my soul that I had been there before, in another life. Now I have been to many such places.

    When I was 16, I got my first real modern computer. I had had an old Amiga before that. Played some war games of course. Nothing very realistic except one called Knights of the Sky, which featured World
    War 1 planes. Not very good. Nice atmosphere, though. Anyway, back to the computer at 16. My own computer meant I could go on LAN parties with my friends, something I had been excluded from for a couple of years. I got completely engrossed in playing World War 2 shooting games, like Day of Defeat. I also managed to find and download a folder with German marches and SS songs that someone had for some reason or the other. This really stuck with me. Around this time, we also got a DSL connection at home, and I finally had INTERNET. So I read up on things while listening to my marches, and I quickly became a skinhead, since they also loved my Waffen SS and Adolf Hitler. I quickly found that he wasn't a bad guy, either. In my heart, I knew this already, and now I had proof.

    It took me a couple of youthful years and I progressed away from this negative subculture. I moved away from the drinking and idiocy at age 18. Continued with martial arts, experienced love and moved away from my family, etc. Normality. The first time I picked up a handgun, I shot a really good group at 25 yards. It was a Hi Standard, much like my Luger in shape.

    Life continued. I was in the mainstream "Movement" for a couple of years. Politics and the people who are any good at the game disgusted me and both it and they still do.

    Sick of politics, I eventually went to Greece, in my mid twenties, to fight in what I thought would be an imminent civil war. There wasn't one, so I eventually went home again. But I learned something from a strange old man down there, whom I was visiting. He was named after a famous Greek freedom fighter. He taught me how to fully remember my past lives and become who I am today. Remembering caused a heavy feeling of duty and experience, but also gave me more purpose. It was like going from being truly young and adventurous to a veteran graymane in one day. I'm the same, somehow, but Old. Not infirm, but heavy in the world. Wanting away from it.

    I guess I believed already, but he taught me how to know. I think that was my sole purpose with that trip. And I think it was part of his mission here to show this to me and those like me. There are others. Someone wanted me to remember and had me do it. The why is pretty simple. I won't go into who I have been too much, here in public. Always was pretty good at fighting, though. Except in my first life which was very peaceful and innocent, until its abrupt and violent end. I chose to die to save my family. I recently found out that they got away. Going back to the exact spot, I knew my death hadn't been in vain.

    I was made aware of a long string of lives spent fighting "the bad guys", many kinds of them for many years. Perhaps not always bad men, but always against bad causes. Sometimes bad men, too. Whether they were cathaginians, english soldiers doing bad things for bad kings or bolsheviks for jews. Now I finally remembered it vividly. I know I was once there, many theres and thens, fighting. With remembering came more of the same abilities and attitudes, as well.

    I went through a series of regressions during a few days. The two weeks prior, I was told to spend much time outdoors in the sea and in the mountains "to recharge" my energies. And to meditate a few times daily, so called golden light meditation. Basically visualizing a shaft of golden light coming in through the crown chakra and down to the root chakra, spreading into all parts of the body methodically. It was to unlock blockages I apparently had. Otherwise, we ate cleanly for the duration. Not vegetarian, but not much in the way of junk. He and his wife told me to do the meditation a few times daily, with the intention to remember. They said it was crucial for me to remember who I had been. His wife flat out told me before it all that my first life was lived on Majorca. And true enough. I saw it, eventually. They told me that I would be ready to remember when a past life came to me in a dream, powerfully. After two and a half weeks or something like that, I received my first powerful dream. The meditation and preparation done with a singular intention had worked. The dream was almost Hollywood-esque in its exaggeratedness. I saw my coat of arms, surrounded with fire, I saw hit and run skirmishes, felt the weight of years of campaigning, the battles of Bannockburn and Stirling Bridge in painfully vivid detail, I felt the impact up my arm as I struck the English champion off his horse, on the bridge, the dream ended then with a loud whisper: ROBERT. I will give this one away for free. It is necessary to my story. I was once Robert de Bruce. It wasn't like in Braveheart at all. I still love that movie, though, for the sake of being a good movie.

    This shook me up pretty badly. I didn't think it would work and had started to suspect my hosts in Greece were both full of it. But having seen, I knew. It wasn't up to any sort of inner debate anymore. And nowadays I am mostly afraid of saying who I have been, because at least a few times, I can be found featuring prominently in a history book or two. I believe quite a few would ridicule me, but I don't care enough to shut up anymore. I would say about half of my lives are well-known to the historically inclined, at least. In other ones, not so much. I had tasks in all of my lives, and I think I have done those to satisfaction. I reckon I wouldn't be here again if I had shirked duty. I know I have tried to avoid trouble, but trouble always finds me. And then I do my best to kill it dead. It is a recurring theme.

    I have always fought hard and bloody, mostly with success. In battle, anyway. My personal life has sometimes left more to wish for, so to speak. I have always been ruthless, cunning and forceful against the enemy and good in equal measure towards my friends, when I could. Whether it was fighting the English alongside Jeanne d'Arc, as de Bruce, as an irish soldier under Napoleon, fighting the Moors of Spain during the reconquista, riding raids against the Union troops in the War of Northern Aggression or fighting on the eastern and western fronts of the World War.

    I vivildy remember Heinrich Himmler, Adolf Hitler, Speer, all of them. Many things that aren't in any books anywhere. I knew what they wanted to do, their grand vision, and I share it still. One day, it will be as they dreamed, I hope.

    The remnants of all these lives are within me. Have always been. It took the regressions to know why and what parts are from where. It makes me feel like a patchwork, a little bit. But it fits.

    Regression taught me fragments of all, which enabled me to read and consciously be further aware of things. I know my love for cuisine and art is older than one life, but it really flowered in my last one and in this. These are bits and pieces, but to myself and to others, I can say and mean it: I am sure. I was there. I have killed hundreds of men personally, and perhaps even hundreds of thousands indirectly. I am and I always will be a purebred killer of men. I am a hammer of the gods, one of many like me. Having been famous or not, I am a tool that gets sent into this world to kill a lot of usually very bad people. I know who I have been, what I have done, why I have done it and how it affects me now. I feel the weight of it. Like I said, not all of those men were individually bad. A lot just fought for their king, for money or their families, or their brothers in arms. This is perhaps the most real thing that has happened since the regression. Connecting my current self to all of my previous incarnations in this conscious manner means I know the weight of all of it. In my defense, I never took a life wantonly or because I enjoyed it. I admit to enjoy war more than peace, in many ways. Terrible as it is, I love it for the camaraderie. But not the killing itself. That is something the regressions did, too. From romanticizing war, I became acutely aware of what a giant waste war usually is. At least brother wars. With the exception of wars against non-europeans invading our lands. Killing Moors or Huns was and is easy on the conscience. To some extent, the same goes for various mongols, turks and jews found in the soviet red army. For that, I will never apologize. They are enemies on a very deep level and there cannot be peace when they come here to do harm.

    For the russians, the english, the french, the polish, slavic, celtic, germanic, roman, greek, iberian, union troops and all other white men I killed, I feel a heavy weight. I know it was necessary, but I never want to do it again. Not if I really don't have to. I once read a little Japanese death poem that catches it all. Not sure if I am getting it completely right, but to paraphrase:

    Duty, heavier than a mountain
    Death, lighter than a feather.


    I think that realization has made a difference. This life will hopefully be spent a little differently. The troubles ahead aren't quite as organized in terms of war. It will not be line of soldiers against line of soldiers or testudo against horde or division against division. We are headed towards global crisis of some sort. My task this time is to build a community and to make those in it - my people -survive. It will be a seed of something better for the future. This life is also about fighting, in part, but hopefully a limited amount and in defense. It is more about building something. Preserving good people and helping those who need it.

    Previosuly, I have never really had time for family. Sometimes a little, but I was absent a lot. I missed so much, and I have a debt for that. In this life, I am allowed more of that. I have known so much love previously unavailable to me. And I know that at the end of this life, I will get to stop and rest in the afterlife, indefinitely if I do not want back here to do something again. I have been given memory of that afterlife, too. It is to keep me going. It will be a reward for all of this suffering and dying. All this killing and sacrificing is not going to punish me, I never liked it and never did it because of anything but duty. And life is that, duty. When I am finally done here, I hope I get to forget all of this and just be me, without the conscious burden of thousands of years of bloody conflict after bloody conflict.

    Now. Please don't ridicule me. This is probably some of the most personal stuff ever written in public. I have an intention with it. It is important and part of my task here. I am calling all of you to Remember who you have been before. Some of you know me from those times, some of you have been elsewhere and elsewhen. But you need to remember actively. Why? Because it is only then you will know why you are here and what you are supposed to be doing with this life. Not all of you will of course be Old, some could be entirely new. Probably not here, though. I bet most of you have been around. That is the root cause of why you long for something better than what the modern world has to offer.

    For those who are genuninely new, though. Listen. You will have a choice to not do anything in particular and die of old age, and disappear into energy. This is peaceful enough and without much pain. But it is not immortality. There might be other ways that I do not know of. Women have different paths, perhaps? I wouldn't know, I was never a woman.

    For the path I have wandered, you need to die sword in hand, proverbially speaking. At least once. This option is going to take you on the path I have wandered, almost to its finish. That road will be heavy and you will pay for it in every way imaginable. Some of it so cruel you can't even imagine it. Like torture at the hands of the jews, whom I hate with an intensity that cannot be put into words. But it is worth it. All pain is temporary. This is why ancient Germans thought they had to die like that to go to Valhalla. You need to take a stand and spend your life fighting something bad for a good enough reason. This is how you start on this path, and how you continue walking on it. Violent death is not strictly necessary. Wouldn't say it hurts your chances, though, at least the first time. The decision to fight an overwhelming force alone, leading to certain death, will usually lead here. If it has a good reason. Such as to save your family or comrades. If it would earn you an Iron Cross or Medal of Honor posthumously, it usually fits the bill.

    What awaits, then? Elysium. This is the closest mythological equivalent to what I remember of the time in between lives. This vision or memory, and the existence of my family, is quite literally why I find enough joy to keep on going. I also have a duty, and that - despite being grim and without joy - has always kept me going.

    As far as being objective proof, no. I can't give that. I have no idea how this would even be possible. It is something only connected to you. It is your own soul that you will need to gaze into. Not someone else's.

    I only know how you can see your own. Prepare by golden light meditation, eat and live clean with the intention of remembering, unlock yourself. If you don't have any blockages, and perhaps most don't, then fish for more memories using the past life regression techniques found on the wikihow here:

    https://m.wikihow.com/Remember-Your-Past-Lives

    I hope this is good enough to make you try to remember. We are all tools of God and the gods. We do the best job of it if we are also conscious and dedicated to that purpose. Once you know what and who you were or at least when and where, read extensively about it. It will help you add clarity to your purpose here on Earth. Old pagan temples used to be much like museums for that purpose, to remember. And I want to be equally clear, there is no reward for doing nothing. There is immortality and Elysium for those who sacrifice themselves time and again for a worthy cause. Both between lives, and at the end of the road, permanently.

    Call me crazy, many have. But I know that I know. Please, go see it for yourself. And if you see only something vague or just one or two lives, perhaps that little means you know that at least this is not just a bunch of make-believe horse shit. I mean every word.

    Hope this will suffice. Even if it is long, it is just the tip of the iceberg, as I said. But it would become far too trivial if I added all the weird things I ever experienced.
     
    Last edited: 30 October 2018
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