I have magical friends. You know the kind… they are colorful. Maybe so far out of the ordinary, you’d expect the guys with butterfly nets to stop by any moment… but, still, the magical ones roam freely.
Take Michael, for instance. He was my hydrotherapy teacher in massage therapy school. Michael never had a thought he couldn’t materialize. He built his own house. He sews his own clothes. Grows his own food. He’s probably the most brilliant hydrotherapist you’ll ever meet.
And he believes that reptilian aliens are about to take over the world.
God, love ‘im.
But he said something that kinda caught me the other day. We were chatting, and he stopped me, very excitedly, and said:
“You were English in a past life! I saw it!”
Now, I’ve not told many people this (certainly Michael didn’t know)… but if there are such things as past lives, I’m sure I was English. His blurting wasn’t news to me.
Here’s another oddity. I was driving to work one day listening to classical music on the radio when they began “Brittania Rule the Waves”… and out of NOWHERE… I was smacked with such an overwhelming sense of national pride. It was so distinct and so deep that it almost frightened me. Why would I feel that? I’m American, not English.
And yet another instance…
I was taking a trip to the UK. Landed in Gatwick as per normal. Took the express train to London. On that trip, it hit me – just as the national pride thing did…
The smell of ancient earth. The overwhelming sense of history, culture and tradition. The lichen-covered stone walls whizzed past on either side of the train with intermittent glimpses into the back yards of row houses.
Why did all this seem like home to me? I only lived here three short years. Perhaps, I was merely recalling a very happy time in my life. Maybe all this past life stuff is just hooey.
Someone once told me not to be so open-minded that my brains fall out. *chuckle*
Well, we’ll see. I’ll let you know how it feels to be back when I go this year.