I have a fascination for the past. Even as a little girl I would wander about ancient castle ruins, one little finger trailing along the broken walls, my thoughts going out to the people who have walked amongst the same walls a long, long time ago. As if I was trying to connect with them.
When I chose a University major I had to choose between English, archaeology and psychology. I chose psychology and then I specialised in past life therapy: delving into people’s psyche instead of delving in the earth, to reconnect with the past. A past that for the soul is really one eternal NOW, as the soul is in a dimension above time and space.
But my fascination with all things ancient didn’t end there. In museums, one is not allowed to touch the ancient artefacts, unfortunately. In the Dutch Museum of Dolmen in Borger
I longed to climb into the exhibits to get my hands on the ancient bronze swords, fibulae and golden torcs, but alas. If you do, you might get into trouble.
And then I stumbled upon a bronze Celtic application on E-Bay. A little sun wheel that, 2150 years ago had adorned someone’s clothing. Too weathered and beaten up to be in a museum. I couldn’t stop myself and put in a bid. A few weeks later it arrived in my letterbox, all the way from Bulgaria.
I should have known that, as an intuitive person, I could not buy something that old from E-Bay without it having some effect on me. And indeed. As soon as I got the sun wheel from the packaging, I was moved. I felt compassion. Sadness. And then, a sharp pain in the right side of my head.
Now it is not unusual for me to sense or even attract wandering spirits of humans or other beings. It takes too much time and energy to help them all personally, so nowadays I usually release them into the care of Archangel Michael to be taken into the Light. If I didn’t, it would have a full time job of it! But this time, I made an exception. Why? For some reason, it felt like family.
I rationalised away: it felt like family because the solar disk had belonged to Celts, and I have a thing for the Celts, the descendants of the ancient Einache in my book, my adopted family. Sure, that must be it.
So I went to work and went into a trance state to go and help the former owners of the sun wheel. They were three.
The stabbing pain in my head was from the last owner: a seventeen year old girl, a strawberry blonde, sweet, dreamy-eyed girl that loved to roam the woods with her dog. She had a brain aneurysm and died suddenly, so quickly that she had no idea what had happened to her. I connected briefly with her and told her what had happened, that her body was gone and that she was free to go as she pleased. I felt my heart swell with joy and love. Her joy, my joy. The stabbing pain receded.
I was still holding the sun disk when another former owner came forward. I felt a sharp pain in my lower back that shot through my legs. A slightly older woman in labour. She had died while giving birth to her son and was still pushing, worried for her child’s safety. I helped her give birth to him and told her she was safe too, free to take her son and join her family in the Light. The pain disappeared.
The third, or rather first former owner didn’t need any help from me. She had died much earlier, when she was quite old, at peace and in her bed.
The next day I showed the sun wheel to my mother. She is an intuitive too, and used to do professional readings. Without knowing what the object was, holding it with her eyes closed, she described its connection to the sun, its composition (copper and tin), the journey it had made across Europe. It had been a kind of brooch that held together a piece of clothing, ”Here, on the shoulder,” she said with conviction, pointing at her own right shoulder. The sun symbol was a kind of family crest, a symbol that had possibly also graced shield and swords. A family heirloom.
However, instead of feeling happiness at the fact she had confirmed the history of the artefact in such detail, I felt a vague sense of disappointment linger in the room. I asked her how she felt about it.
”Well, I hesitated to say so,” she said, ”but that’s true. As if I feel disappointment at seeing what is left of the brooch that used to be so beautiful.” I could imagine: the bright gold-like sheen of the metal has turned a dull, dark green, the inlaid glass all but faded away.
”But,” I said, ”did you own it to, then?”
And indeed. She was the first owner of the disk, the old woman who had died peacefully in her bed.
Now things really took a turn for the bizarre. I was flooded by feelings of loss and loneliness myself, a sadness too great to bear. Immediately I went and investigated what my own connection to these people and the solar wheel had been. It didn’t take have long for the full story to surface.
The old woman had been my mother. The woman giving birth was my sister. The red-headed girl was my niece. I myself was the eldest son of the old woman, the leader of my clan. The rest of my people had been massacred by a hostile tribe.
I had helped my family cross over, but my own past life was still stuck, caught in shock, pain and loneliness!
In the days after the discovery I had my hands full, dealing with my past life clan leader. The tragic story surfaced in bits and pieces. My tribe had lived a happy life, in a small village surrounded by forests, in peace and relative prosperity.
Another member of the tribe had been jealous of the happiness and prosperity of my family and had made a deal with a hostile nomadic tribe. After she drugged the clan during a feast, the raiders had easy access to the village. The men were killed instantly, many women taken as slaves. It was a massacre.
My Celtic clan leader did not realise he had been drugged, nor that he had died, because of his drugged state. He could not understand why he hadn’t fought back as his family was killed or taken away. But he could not act because he was already dead, killed at the beginning of the raid. He felt terribly lonely, guilty and powerless.
I helped him through his last moments, helping him realise what had really happened and reconnect with his family. But something had not been resolved. Something still wasn’t right.
The last night of the week it dawned on me why. The clan leader had not yet been reunited with his beloved. A surge of tears welled up when I realised: he had lost his wife. She had been taken away, and he had no idea what had happened to her.
I went looking for her, with some trepidation because I could guess. And indeed, she had been unwilling to accept her fate as a slave, she had fought back, so after three days, the raiders had killed her. She was also not conscious of the fact she had died, and was thus free.
In the appearance of my clan leader past life I approached her. She was sitting at the entrance of a tent, a picture of loneliness and despondency. I took her hand, while the tears rolled over my face. Suddenly I realised why it shook me so much: she was an incarnation of my twin flame. Her pain was my pain, her heart was my heart, and to be separated like this was unbearable.
I spoke to her as my past life clan leader: ”Beloved, come, I am here, come, I will take you home,” and the words, the touch of my hand were enough to wake her up. The pain and loneliness dissolved into nothing. Joyfully, she looked up.
I lifted her in my arms and carried her to a small hill, where our children, and the children we had had in other previous lives played around us in the sunlit grass. It was all right. After more that two thousand years, these aspects of our soul were finally reunited.
(Wendy Gillissen is a past life therapist based in the Netherlands. If you feel you need assistance with past life issues, please contact a qualified specialist in your area.)