15/10/2019
Sharing with permission the experience of Bruce Ceasar from another page. If any of my clients are willing to share their experiences on this page please send it to me. Thank you
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From time to time I’ve mentioned that I didn’t go looking for reincarnation, it came looking for me. This is how it happened:
It began in 1992 with a sudden pronounced pain in the cartilage just under my Adams apple. It felt as if someone were pressing their finger there and keeping it there all day, placing me in a constant state of dizziness. I went to my general practitioner and he said it was stress related caused by anxiety. He thought I should see psychiatrist, but in the meantime, prescribed a small dosage of Ativan each month. There wasn't enough money in the budget for psychiatry, and the Ativan seemed to keep the pressure relaxed; and it wasn't enough to get me addicted; so this went on for five years. Finally, when the pressure began to be intolerable, I agreed to see a professional hypnotherapist.
Like most people, I associated hypnosis with gypsy tents, thick Bulgarian accents, partygoers who feign mastery of the skill, and me clucking like a chicken. But my hypnotherapist worked out of her own home and when I knocked on the door a normal middle-aged woman dressed in a business suit greeted me with a smile. There was no gypsy peasant Renaissance costume, no gold threaded headdress, no heavily jeweled necklace or earrings, and no cheesy Bulgarian accent. Now for those who’ve never encountered a professional hypnotherapy session, it’s all about controlled relaxation by dropping you into a deeper level of consciousness. A therapist will have the patient concentrate on calming each part of their body from their feet to their head. By the time they’ve gone through their entire anatomy, they’re 95% on their way to being hypnotized. The remaining 5% comes from a mental compliance to the process itself. And at a hundred dollars an hour, you best be well on your way to being committed to the adventure before making that appointment.
By the time my hypnotherapist was counting down the remaining seconds of her instructions, I began to worry just how deep of a trance I was under. My mind was still active. I was cognizant of my surroundings even though my eyes were closed. But as she ended the countdown, I let my mind go completely blank. Then I heard her say “Go to the source of your pain.” which is what I mentally did. The first thing I saw was a puritan standing directly in front of me (at this point, I didn’t want to say anything because I felt it was too enigmatic and silly, but my hypnotherapist convinced me to continue). It was daylight, somewhere rural, summertime. He was looking over my shoulder at something and when I turned around, I saw a small town by a body of water. The man standing there wore the traditional puritan clothes: a tall black hat, a light gray woolen jacket and breeches, white stockings, a short black cape, and black shoes with buckles. His hair was blond and worn in the Dutch boy style, his face clean shaven, and his eyes were beady (like Barney Rubble's). He looked like he was in his late thirties or early forties, and as I studied him, I could feel the sun on my face and a light wind blowing at my cape (MY CAPE?). It was then I realized that the man standing there was me. And when I looked down at my body again, I was wearing those same clothes.
My hypnotherapist moved me ahead in time, and I was now sitting inside what appeared to be a local inn. The tables were roughly hewed planks as were the bench type seats. What the favored brew was being served, I haven't a clue. But I had a mug of it in my hand as I sat watching an older man at another table across the room who was positioned slightly to my left. He was facing in my direction with his back to a large stone fireplace. Between us was a young female server wearing a plain purple dress with three-quarter length sleeves. Her hair was done in a bun and covered with a simple white linen cap that hooded the crown of her head. She kept her back to me while she spoke with the older man. As I observed them, the man half rose out of his seat and hit her with his right fist. She flew backwards and landed on the wooden floor, the top of her head pointing in my direction.
I guess out of instinct, I jumped up to help her. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a real bad move. No sooner did I stand up, when out of the corner of my right eye I saw a gloved hand swinging a strange long knife at my throat. What made it strange was that the knife looked long, thin, and triangular, meaning it had a three sided blade that tapered to a point. The blade didn’t slit my throat from side to side. It was driven in, point first, right below my Adam’s apple, and punched out the back of my neck. The blade was dislodged, and ever so slowly I crumpled to the floor, lying on my left side. From this vantage point, I could see the old man ra**ng the unconscious woman. Beside me stood my attacker, his boots inches from my face. They were brown soft leather that had a funnel top that was turned down, giving it an open bucket, and the weight of this top caused the boot to sag and crease across the calf. I couldn’t move my head, but I did have enough angle to turn my eyes upward and see my attacker (at this juncture, I again didn’t want to say anything because his style of dress didn’t match the time period everyone else’s did). It was more Cavalier, likened to the Musketeer style of clothing with black felt hats with plumes (feathers), a long black cloak, dark red jacket, and loose fitting fancier breeches. His hair was long and curled, and his mustache and hint of goatee were custom cut. He smiled down at me as he wiped my blood from his blade, and in that moment, I died. Instantly, my soul lifted over the scene, and I was then flung skyward.
My hypnotherapist stopped the session there.
What I did do following that session was to research what I had seen, trying to discern if there was any validity to it. What I found out was this: 1) In the 1650’s there was a style of boot worn that matched the one I noticed with the overly large buckets that made the boot sag. 2) During that same time period, there were two types of Puritan dress—a sober version (like the one I wore), and a less extreme version (like my attackers). 3) The color of women’s dresses in the Puritan area came in brown, black, gray, or purple. 4) The knife is called a parry dagger and was most often used in conjunction with a sword—also common to that time period.
Within a week of that regression, the pain in my throat had vanished forever. I was stunned. During our next session I learned something new about reincarnation that scared the hell out of me. It appears that birthmarks in your present lifetime are an indication of trauma from a past life. I don’t possess any such birthmarks below my Adam’s apple. But on the other hand…the back of my neck and under my hairline looks like a hundred red balloons against a pale white sky.
