I mentioned in my last post that it took three past life regressions with the intent of finding the source of the pain I had in my neck, back, and shoulders.
The second regression was a life in Italy. We were English and lived in a lavish house outside the city of Genoa. Like always, the cast of characters in that life time were people in my life at the time of the regression; a co-worker and a couple of long-time family friends, and astonishingly, my dog!
My mother and I were shopping at a dress shop in town one afternoon when I was knocked down by a run-away carriage. The wheels ran over me and my back broke in two places. I left my body before it died. As my consciousness moved away from the body I marveled at how beautiful the streets of the city were.
The research I did after that regression uncovered a written document by a famous writer of the time who mentioned that Genoa had been famous for its beautiful streets! I LOVE little bits of verification like this.
The third regression is the one that finally did the trick. As a bit of back ground I'll say that I had recently been laid off from my job because it had been deemed I was physically not capable of doing the work. I had been recently diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and as part of my treatment I was going to a physical therapist twice a week. The Family Medical Leave Act ensured that I still got to use the company health clinic for three months, so I was doing everything I could to help myself out while I still had the chance.
My physical therapist had a hell of a time trying to work on my neck. She said I was the only person she had worked on who showed no sign of improvement after two months of regular treatments. She told me the sides of my neck felt like there were bricks in there, but that I should be able to feel tendons, sinew, tissue.
I went home that afternoon very discouraged and decide to try another regression to clear up this problem.
I saw myself as a adolescent girl. I was with my brother and sister, the same people who are my brother and sister now. In fact, our birth order was even the same.
The scene switched to the last day of my life. It was 1912. I was married, 22, and had a little girl. She was a toddler and was playing with some toys while her father and I got dressed up for a fancy dinner party. This was the Victorian age and we were dressed accordingly. My hair was twisted in the back and piled on my head. I was putting on a pair of dangling earrings when I saw my daughter playing at the top of the stairs. I dropped my earrings and ran to her, afraid she would fall. I swooped her up and my ankle twisted under me. We fell down the stairs. I heard my neck crack and break.
At the bottom of the stairs I saw that my daughter was dead. Her back had broken and so had mine. I left my body.
It made so much sense to me after I did this regression why my troubles started when I was 22. There were so many reminders of that life in this one at that age. Not just my brother and sister, but the husband was the same as well.
One of the unexpected outcomes from this regression was my fear that I would be a bad mom went away. A blessing, indeed.
A few days later I went in for my physical therapy and the therapist was practically speechless. She said the sides of my neck felt perfect and I had full range of motion. She asked what I had done, and when I told her she said she wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen what I was like before and after and knew for herself the impossibility of the problems I had taking care of themselves literally overnight.
That was the last time I saw her, and the problem has never returned.
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