by Jennifer Hotes
On my recent birthday, I asked for something.
Both the what and from whom were strange, I admit.
I asked the Universe (God, or whatever you’re comfortable with, but in my case it was the Universe) to show me how I died in my past life.
I needed to know.
I Asked the Universe to Show Me My Past Life Death
So, every night for a week—right before I feel asleep—I asked the Universe to show me my death.
On the eighth night I received my “gift” in the form of a dream.
The dream opened with me sitting in a courtroom. Two parents were arguing about the terms of their divorce with a judge.
I was present, but it wasn’t me as a kid, or not that I recognized to be me.
As I sat in the gallery, a plexiglass pane lowered down down on me until I was pressed to the floor by it, with barely any space to move or breathe.
I Was In a Body I Didn’t Recognize as Mine
The channel changed in my dream, but the feeling of being slowly smothered remained.
I was in a body that I didn’t recognize as mine (not sure what gender, race, anything) but it was me in some past form.
Was I in a cave?
I think so, but my view of my surroundings was fleeting. I was lying flat on the ground, the surface was sandstone or hardened mud.
I felt and heard a deep rumble and the ceiling overhead cracked and crumbled, collapsing on me.
Pressed underneath the weight of rocks and dirt, I took shallow breaths. The air I drew was hot and sandy. I exhaled and inhaled, fighting panic which was telling me to pant, kick, claw, scream, and strike out.
I felt my heart race and I breathed in mostly sand mixed with air, aware that soon I would be breathing in sand alone. Hot sand.
And then it happened.
I inhaled. Sand filled my mouth, clogged my throat and my chest. The rocks and rubble smashed me flat and then I was dead.
I Asked to Know This About My Past Life
I woke up drenched in sweat. I knew a panic attack was eminent.
I forced myself out of bed and rushed to the window. I pressed my hands against the cold windowpane and stared out at the stars—the mantra repeating in my head, I am okay.
I reminded myself I asked to know this.
I wanted to understand my claustrophobia, my dislike of being overly-hot, avoiding tight spaces, hating underground places like Underground Seattle, catacombs, the cave at Tom Sawyer’s Island at Disneyland, etc.
The Universe deemed me strong enough to know. And now I knew. And I was okay.
The Thought That I Had Existed Before and Would Be Alive Again Was Empowering
After the panic receded, I went back to bed and memorized the dream/death experience.
The energy inside of me, my soul or whatever you want to call my essence, had lived before this and, though it died in that lifetime, it carried on in this one, and would live again.
I’m not saying it well, but this thought—that I had existed before and would be alive again in some form—was empowering. I have never felt stronger than in that moment.
I was no longer afraid to die. Or maybe I should say, I was at peace with death.
For the first time, I saw death as an essential step in the process of my humanity.
Since having the dream, I’m still not a fan of underground spaces, but it’s manageable. I understand where that fear comes from and that act alone of dragging it into the light has helped me cope.
I Shared My Past Life Death Experience
I told my better half and my daughters about my death experience. They said I am Buddhist because I believe in past lives. I guess I am.
I’d better read more about Buddhism, because I know more now, thanks to my birthday gift from the Universe.
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Jennifer Hotes is author of the Seattle-based Josie Jameson mystery series that Kirkus Reviews called, “A dark supernatural adventure with Josie Jameson at the epicenter as she discovers her gift is also her curse.”
Raised across the river from a nuclear reactor, Jennifer thought two-headed animals at the county fair were normal until she moved to the big city. According to her father, Jennifer has been looking at the world through a cracked kaleidoscope since she was born and has been writing since her parents pushed her crib against a blank wall.
Fortunate enough to marry her best friend, they are avid travelers that call Washington, California, and Colorado home. Parents to two fierce adult children that are busy casting their own positive ripples into the world, they share space with two cats and one unruly pup.
For more information on Jennifer and her writings, see her website and connect with her on Twitter.