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August 05, 2007
Past Lives
On a long and scenic drive through Texas a few days ago, my friend (and Mother-in-law) and I had some excellent time to catch up on all we wished to talk about. She had just returned from her hometown in Mexico, where she stayed for a long, replenishing month. I listened with great interest, as I envisioned the country and it's people through her eyes. When she told me of events that she took part in, or that she observed, even if only on TV, I became happily absorbed in thought about each story.
One conversation led to another, and she proceeded to tell me about one of her friends who recently went to Amsterdam with her husband, and this is where the conversation took on a deeper interest... the issue of past lives - reincarnation.
Apparently this woman told her husband, as she came upon a door of a building, that she absolutely knew the place and that there was a box just inside the door that belonged to her. She desperately wanted to go inside and get what she felt was rightfully hers, but her husband argued with her that this was someone's private home, someone that they definitely did not know, not to mention that she had never been in this city before.
After discussing the amazement of such an event, I mentioned that I have never had such a strong experience, only the issue of a certain familiar smell. That is my possible connection to a past life... an unusual, earthy smell.
It started when I was very little, just a small child, but big enough to venture into our dark, damp and probably spider infested basement. There was a washer and dryer down there, so my mother spent plenty of time entering this area. It also seemed to be connected to the parking garage, which had a driveway flowing down to the underneath of our small 1950's box of a two-story, one bath house.
I would sit on the steps taking in this pungent aroma of earth and sweetness with a slightly burnt edge. I absolutely loved this smell. It radiated through my body, filling my head with a familiarity that I could never have grasped back then, and actually, until very recently, have just managed to make some since of it.
Over the years and life's many altering changes, this smell permeated in on very rare occasion. Moving to a part of the country where basements were a definite void, I certainly had trouble remembering how, why and when this was. Even when I lived in areas where basements are common, none that I ventured into for whatever odd reason, ever had this smell... not even close. I don't know why ours did, and probably it was only a hint of what the smell really connected me to… but it was enough to allure me.
A few years ago, on a visit to Mexico, I wandered around in some large store, completely distracted and in awe of the visual display of colorful hand made items. I examined many beautiful crafts, planning to purchase some of them to take to our home so far away. Some pottery caught my attention, and I picked up a few before I had this sudden urge to smell the inside of the piece I was holding. Much to my amazement, that intoxicating smell drifted up into my nose with such prominence... I was so taken back... so completely entranced. George was patiently pacing the perimeters of the store and making small conversation with the owner while I drifted into some other world.
After making our purchases and walking around the area we were visiting, we went to our hotel room and drifted into some deep sleep. I said nothing of great importance to him... maybe I mentioned that I love d the smell of this pottery. I continued to enjoy the rest of this trip with complete abandon, and no thought about this event.
It wasn't until we had been home for some time that something began to occur to me. Nearly 30 years ago, I bought a vase in a small boarder town in Mexico, that also had this same smell. It had a similar style to the method of design, even though the subject matter was quite different. I put the pieces of this story together... my childhood experience until now. This was after reading two Brian Weiss books, one titled 'Many Lives, Many Masters'.
It has to be true. I have experienced something that could only tie in with a past life. I am fairly certain that my mother did not hold me as a tiny baby, gently singing to me to create such a feeling of comfort,down in that dreary basement... hence, my affectionate desire to this fond smell.
No,there really is no other explanation. That smell managed to stay in my soul's memory, and I know now that I probably made pottery in this area of the world in some past life. It is only this area, for pottery from other areas does not smell this way. It also explains my fascination with Mexico and her many indigenous People.
This may not be the kind of eye opening experience of recall that many people seem to have, with all the details, names and places.
It’s OK with me to even have this memory… that of a comforting, earthy smell, and the certainty of a past life.
Posted by kay at August 5, 2007 05:29 PM