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Past Life ‘Scarring’ In Current Life…

December 7, 2016
mandyevebarnett


Some marks, such as birthmarks or discoloration on our skin can be evidence of ‘scarring’ in our previous life.

birthmark

Here is a list of different types of birthmarks and their probable past life causes:

Unhealed Burn Mark: This deep red birth-mark is the body’s way of remembering being burned by fire. The darker the mark, the less the wound has healed karmically. Usually this is because the past life is recent and the related trauma has not been processed.

Healed Burn Mark: This ultra white birth-mark is the body’s way of remembering being burned by fire. The lighter the mark, the more the wound has healed karmically. Although it is somewhat healed, there are still lessons to be learned from this old wound.

Single Bullet Wound: This birth-mark was caused by a bullet that entered on the left (notice the perfectly round pattern on the left compared to the right side). The uneven pattern on the right is a remnant of a related powder burn. This wound tends to be brown.

Embedded Bullet Wound: This birth-mark was caused by a bullet that became embedded in the body (and part of it). Notice the perfectly round shape of an antique bullet as well as the “burn” ring around this birth-mark. This wound tends to be black.

Sunken Bullet Wound: This birth-mark was caused by a bullet that became embedded in the body (and part of it). Notice the rounded shape of a blasted antique bullet as well as the deep indentation of this birth-mark. This wound tends to be red.

Scattered Shots: This pattern of marks was produced by sprayed shots (a bunch of bullets shot all at once) by an antique gun. The pellets of varying sizes all struck the skin at the same time in a tight pattern. This very common pattern can exist anywhere on the body.

figure03

Cannon Shots: This birth-mark is becoming increasingly rare as time passes because cannons are no longer used as weapons. This wound tends to be black as the cannon shot deeply scorched the skin. With each new life, the size of the cannon birth-mark shrinks.

Stab Wound: The slightly curved birth-mark is indicative of a fatal stab wound inflicted by a knife, dagger, or sword. When these appear on the side of the face (as in this case), it was most likely from a sneak attack while sleeping and was undoubtedly fatal.

Speared Through: Spots on the eye are almost always from being directly punctured there. This was a favorite form of assassination in past lives. It was usually done when the individual slept. It always proved to be fatal because a stab in the eye was a stab to the brain.

Scalped: The birth-mark features a patch of the scalp where hair cannot grow and a “bloody looking” patch appears in its place. This is how the scalp would look after the patch of hair was forcibly removed. It is how the body remembers being scalped in past lives.

Poisoned Arrow: The birth-mark features a central mole with a discolored ring around it and usually comes from past lives. This is how a poisoned arrow wound looked. If the arrow did not kill the person, the poison it was dipped in would do so.

Botched Surgery: In past lives, often the cure for a disorder was worse than the cause. This was especially true of surgeries which were done without anesthesia and often without a clear idea of how to do it. More often than not, past life surgery proved to be fatal.

Branding Mark: In past lives, those who had committed crimes were often branded with a hot iron. This mark is a faded dragon brand which was placed on the back of the neck of Chinese activists and dissidents to mark them as enemies of the state.

Slave Chains: In past lives, those who were in chains had their skin rubbed raw where it was constantly chafing against them. This damage was often so deep that the body would layer the area with callouses as a form of protection that often carries forward as cancer.

Remnants of Torture: In the past, one of the ancient torture techniques was to place a band or rope around the head and tighten it until the individual “confessed” or died. Often this torture proved to be fatal as well as leaving a birth-mark.

Suicide Wound: This birth-mark is the kind left when an person commits suicide by shooting a gun into their head. This birth-mark is unusual is that it features a red mark which looks like a trail of blood dripping from the point of bullet entry at the top of the head.

Plague Bubo: This birth-mark looks like a wart but is not one. It is the body’s way of remembering a bubo from a lifetime during the Black Death (also known as Bubonic Plague). Living through a pandemic is super stressful and often takes many lives to heal.

Harsh Hairs: This birth-mark is known as a “Morgellons Fiber” which mimics the stages of Syphilis: canker-like open sores (Stage 1 Syphilis), raised or mucous like skin patches (Stage 2 Syphilis), and infiltrative, destructive lesions of skin (Stage 3 Syphilis).

Leprosy Patch: This birth-mark looks like a wart patch but is not one. It is the body’s way of remembering the initial spread of leprosy as the patch always forms on the spot of the first outbreak. Like the plague, leprosy often takes many lives to heal.

reincarnation-birthmark

Other karmic marks include:

Freckles-Albinos: Freckles (dark spots) and albinos (white spots) are often located where you have been burned by fire in past lives. Those who suffer from burns will tell you that fire leaves its mark on the skin permanently. Freckles and albinos are usually signs that you need to heal fire karma from past lives.

Skin Depressions: Skin depressions (where the skin is pitted, grooved, and rough) whether caused by injury or diseases (like smallpox, chicken pox, and syphilis) are often where you have been wounded in past lives. They are reminders of the issues from past lives that you have come to heal in the present lifetime.

Moles-Warts: Moles and warts are often located at the site of non-fatal disease lesions from past lives. Even though moles and warts have present life origins, they tend to gather around sites of past life trauma. Especially if you are having trouble in healing them, moles and warts may signal the need for past life healing.

Cysts-Lumps: Cysts and lumps are often located at the site of fatal disease lesions from past lives. For example, hard cysts-lumps in the hands, feet, and lymph nodes can be reminders of a traumatic death by plague in past lives. Especially those cysts and lumps which “grow back” may signal the need for past life healing.

Tumors: Tumors are often located at the site of fatal wounds inflicted by weapons in past lives. Tumors are the ultimate indicator that a past life is screaming out for healing in the present. Tumors usually demand a person’s attention, forcing them to take action to save their life now, even if it means healing their past lives.

There are a couple of reasons why ‘scars’ are present:

1. the body has not had enough time between its incarnations to heal properly.

2. the mind needs to reconnect with the past life trauma so it can be healed and released. So a birth mark is formed at the site of the past life damage when the individual chooses to reincarnate into a new life.

Do you have a physical mark from a previous life?

Original article here – http://www.healpastlives.com/future/rule/ruremark.htm

 

Regression – Past Lives Visited…

July 13, 2016
mandyevebarnett


reincarnationMy fascination with reincarnation began while I was a trainee nurse. I was allocated three terms on geriatric wards and although slightly unusual, I was happy to care for the elderly. Their life stories and experiences had me spell-bound on many occasions.

One particular instance sparked my curiosity and started my journey into researching life after death and reincarnation. I have related this story often and it is published on my blog within my writers group website. Here it is :

Whilst training as a nurse, I was assigned three rotations of geriatrics; two male and one female. It was while on one of the male wards that this event happened. My night shift started at 9 pm and after the usual updates from the day staff, my colleague and I were left to care for the old gentlemen.

One gentleman took my hand as I fluffed his pillows.

“Thank you so much for the daffodil.”

“Daffodil? I’m sorry, what daffodil.”

“It was so sweet of you.”

Thinking he was in a confused state, I just made sure he was comfortable and continued with my tasks with the other night nurse. The two of us administered medicines and settled the patients for the night, then turned most of the lights off. Our desk was situated at one end of the ward so we hear and see all the beds. For several hours we took turns in attending to patients needs, writing out reports and taking vitals.

At about 3:30 am, the gentleman who had spoken to me, passed away. After the doctor had been, I attended to his body. After cleaning and wrapping him in a sheet, as is the custom, I left him for an hour and went to write my report.

Later with everything in place, I watched the day staff arrive. One nurse was carrying a bunch of daffodils – yes, I was very shocked. The reason not only because of what the old man had said but also the fact that it was the midst of winter, much too early for daffodils.

“Where did you get daffodils from?”

“They’re from the florist down the street. The blooms are forced in greenhouses. I couldn’t resist a piece of spring to cheer us up.”

“May I have one bloom?”

“OK but why?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I gently placed the yellow flower between the old gentleman’s hands, just the way he had described. He had told me he had ‘seen’ this happen and knew he was going to pass away. It had given him peace to thank me for my kind thought. As to how he had ‘seen’ this event before it happened, I have no idea, but I did want to ensure it was done.

Although this was not the first time I had experienced strange events of a spiritual kind; I had seen a ghost at the age of ten; it was the catalyst for me to start researching. Whether you believe in reincarnation or life after death or not, the subject is fascinating.  Today researching this or any other subject is easy with the internet but at that time it was visits to the library and reading through numerous books to find the details, events and research I wanted to feed my curiosity.

After several years of research, I decided to put the theories to the test and went for a regression session. Under hypnosis I was directed to seven doors. Time only allowed me to enter three. These are the lives I found through those doors. Again I have already related this event on my blog. For those of you who have not read it, here it is: Regressed Lives

Indian Squaw (Aborginal)

I look down into the still glassy water and see an old face, deep down I know it to be my face, and the deep lines creasing my eyes, cheeks and mouth are at the same time familiar and alien. Dark brown eyes and skin are in contrast to my hair, which was once a shiny ebony mantle but now streaked with silvery grey, hair now thin and wispy in one long plait down my back. Splashing my face with the icy cool water, I look up to see the tepees across the stream that feeds the lake and raise my old body upwards. I’m only good for collecting wood, minding the children and cooking. My days past slowly. Without a husband, I have to ingratiate myself to my daughter’s brave, be of help so I can have a place to sleep, tucked into the side flaps, under my buffalo bedding. Walking back the horror of that far day comes back, maybe it’s the similar setting, the crispness of the air but I ‘see’ the riders coming over the hill, the crack of the guns and the sudden screaming, startled me. The soldier’s were yelling and laughing as they rode through the camp, shooting my friends and family, everyone they see fleeing.  I was helpless to stop them, I’d screamed back but was too far away. Fear stops me running toward the murderers but my heart breaks as I watch the massacre. Crouching under a bush I covered my ears until long after the screaming and pounding hooves had ceased. Too scared to move I waited until nightfall before walking back to a blood soaked and burnt earth where my home had once been.

I hadn’t noticed I was walking as the horrors around me had numbed my body and mind. The land was silent and still as though shocked and sadden as was I. Whimpering coming from the far side of the camp leads me gradually in that direction. To my utmost joy I found my grand-daughter but my grief had sprung into my heart as I saw she is huddled underneath my own daughter’s body. Taking her up into my arms, other sounds around me come to my ears as one by one the women and children uncovered themselves and crawled out of their hiding places.

This past will never leave me and I wait for my time to come when I will be with the spirits and my husband, who had fought so bravely on that fateful day against an enemy so cowardly and strong. The firewood is weighing heavily now as I enter the camp and I smile at the last of the Lumbee tribe survivors.

(Over 15 years after my regression session, my cousin found out that we did have a great, great grandfather married to a squaw of the Lumbee tribe.) Lumbee

Manor House

Manor

My feet hit the icy floor, as I swing them over the bed’s edge, the cold chills my body very quickly even though I try to dress as fast as I can. Mother is already gone from the little attic room we call home. Tying my long hair into a bun, I walk quietly and swiftly down the long back stair case. The warmth and noise hits me as I enter the kitchen, cook’s voice shouting orders, the pan’s being filled with water, eggs being boiled and bread being cut. Cook is a hard task master so I run straight to the scullery cupboard to collect my brush and bucket. Quiet as a mouse I walk into the great rooms upstairs and start cleaning out the fire grates, laying out new kindling and on to the next one. I must be careful to be swift and unnoticed by the Lord and Lady, their graciousness to let my Mother stay after the disgrace of my coming; it must never be forgotten or taken for granted.  Being our Lady’s favorite hand maiden had made all the difference to my Mother staying or being thrown out, once her pregnancy was discovered.  I was put to work as soon as I could be taught to polish the silver ware, sitting at the servants table hour after hour. Our precious day off once a month was time for Mother to show me the outside world and let me play in the huge grounds and gardens.

Mother didn’t tell me about my Father until very recently, when I think it was more of a warning away from men. I had noticed a young gardener the month before whilst walking through the walled garden and his eyes seemed to penetrate my very being. I hadn’t noticed that Mother was still walking ahead and that I was rooted to the spot, staring back into those wonderful eyes. Her voice made me jump and look toward the sound. Catching up to her as she strode purposely on she started to tell me her story. She too had been entranced by a young gardener in this very walled garden and quickly became obsessed with him. Every month they would meet in secret and he told her of faraway places and his adventures. Swearing his love for her and the promise of marriage she succumbed to his wiles. Another month and he was gone without a word and quickly she realized her condition. Lady Havalore did send men to find the rogue but he was long gone and no one knew of a young man called Ted Franks, it probably wasn’t his real name anyway. Mother continued her duties as long as was possible and after my birth did as many of her duties as she could between nursing and comforting me. Luckily I was a quiet contented baby and my little crib was set in the scullery during the day for  warmth.  Looking at the grand ornate gates I can see the letters of the manor’s name but cannot read them; reading and writing are for our betters not the likes of us.

(With careful research through Who’s Who, I managed to find this manor house in Kent, England.)

Wooden farm shack

shouse1

The smell of the cattle, the steam from their bodies mingles with the morning air. Waking early, I am excited knowing father is taking me to the town today. The trip will take most of the day on the cart, which is filled with grain, vegetables and trailing two cattle, all of which father will sell for cloth and other supplies. Leaving Mother, my brothers and sisters for more than a day is such a treat. There are advantages to being the oldest but I have a feeling father has an ulterior motive in taking me. Last autumn he had encouraged me to visit Bayard in his father’s butcher shop. A match between us would be a favorable match for our farm and their butcher shop. I really enjoy the ride into town with so much of my life spent around the farm, escaping to see the different views and smells is wonderful as well as having no chores to do. Father maneuvers the cart through the dirt streets and to the rear of the butchers shop. I can feel myself become hot and nervous, Bayard is so handsome and I hope my appearance is pleasing. Just as I think about him there he is at the door in a blood splattered apron greeting us with a wave and a smile. Lowering my head I glimpse Bayard come to the wagon to help father lead the cattle to the little shack at the rear of the shop, he will slaughter them later I’m sure. Watching him walk away from me, his muscular body makes me flush. “Wilda, move yourself.” Father’s shout makes me jump, so grabbing a sack of sawdust I enter the shop’s rear store and greet Bayard’s father with a quick nod and place the sack upon the floor. The air is full of the smell of meat and blood mingle with the sawdust scattered there. I have become accustomed to the smell over time. At first it clawed at the back of my throat and stayed within my nostrils, now it is a reminder of Bayard and I have come to love it. Sitting quietly while my father talks, I watch Bayard through the veil of my eyelashes imagining him oblivious to my staring. However as our father’s leave the store, he turns smiling and asks if I would like a drink, keeping my head lowered I gently nod.

(With no records kept I was unable to find where this life was lived)

Twesome Loop 002

My novel, The Twesome Loop has a reincarnation theme weaved between southern England and the Italian slopes outside Rome. The narrative follows four main characters who find their souls mates in another lifetime.

Do you believe?

Have you had experiences you can relate?

 

A learned scholar is not always an academic…

October 6, 2013
mandyevebarnett


Savant – a person of profound or extensive learning; a learned scholar

I was honored to meet and listen to Adrian LaChance, a Cree Facilitator/Story Teller and
Traditional Dancer last weekend. He told us that it has taken him many years to learn all the traditional laws, stories and dance routines. His life did not have a good start and he suffered many years of abuse, hardship and sunk into a dark underworld as he grew older. He was saved by the teachings of his elders, realizing there was another way to live his life and benefit others. Now Adrian travels the world to spread the word of his First Nation ancestors and delight his audiences with his humor, honesty and conviction.

He designed his magnificent traditional dress  himself and is decorated with eagle and bear motifs as well as real eagle feathers. Each bead and decoration are symbols of Adrian’s tribe, beliefs and craft. I’m sure you will agree with me it is superb. Not all learned scholars are academics after all.

For more information visit his site – http://www.adrianlachance.com

Adrian

Some of you may know that from early childhood, I have been fascinated in Native culture and wanted to be a squaw as a child. I won an art competition at 7 years old receiving a book – The Story of Hiawatha. Years later when I was regressed, one of my ‘lives’ was as a squaw but I dismissed it as wishful thinking. However, over two decades later, my cousin found out that one of our great great grandfather’s married a squaw from the Lumbee tribe! This excerpt is my transcript from my regression.

Native Squaw

I look down into the still glassy water and see an old face, deep down I know it to be my face. The deep lines creasing my eyes, cheeks and mouth are at the same time familiar and alien. Dark brown eyes and skin are in contrast to my hair, which was once a shiny ebony mantle but now streaked with silvery grey, hair now thin and wispy in one long plait down my back. Splashing my face with the icy cold water, I look up to see the teepee’s across the stream that feeds the lake and raise my old body upwards. I’m only good for collecting wood, minding the children and cooking, my days past slowly. Without a husband, I have to ingratiate myself to my daughter’s brave, be of help so I can have a place to sleep, tucked into the side flaps, under my buffalo bedding. Walking back the horror of that far day comes back, maybe it’s the similar setting, the crispness of the air but I ‘see’ the riders coming over the hill, the crack of the guns and the sudden screaming, startled me. The soldier’s were yelling and laughing as they rode through the camp, shooting my friends and family; everyone they see fleeing.  I was helpless to stop them, I’d screamed back but was too far away. Fear stops me running toward the murderers but my heart breaks as I watch the massacre. Crouching under a bush I’d covered my ears until long after the screaming and pounding hooves had ceased. Too scared to move I’d waited until nightfall before walking back to a blood soaked and burnt earth where my home had once been.

I hadn’t noticed I was walking as the horrors around me had numbed my body and mind. The land was silent and still as though shocked and sadden as was I. Whimpering coming from the far side of the camp leads me gradually in that direction. To my utmost joy I found my grand-daughter but my grief had sprung into my heart as I saw she was huddled underneath my own daughter’s body. Taking her up into my arms, other sounds around me come to my ears as one by one the women and children uncovered themselves and crawled out of their hiding places.

This past will never leave me and I wait for my time to come when I will be with the spirits and my husband, who had fought so bravely on that fateful day against an enemy so cowardly and strong. The firewood is weighing heavily now as I enter the camp and I smile at the last of the Lumbee tribe survivors.

lumpee logo

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