The other day, a friend pointed out to me that I always seemed to have died young in my past lives. My mind raced as I wondered if this was true. I concluded that, for the most part, it is. Blimey. However, there was one past life that I was immediately able to recall where I died old.
The year was 1265, in what I believe was in Ireland, although it can be pretty tough to tell when going this far back.
I was the female half of an old pudgy couple. My clothes were different shades of neutral colors. Grey, grey-green, brown. Everything looked and felt as though it were made of wool. My hair was grey and the sky was too. Even the landscape was grey as it seemed to be entirely made of rock.
My husband and I loved each other very much. We had been together for a very long time and sometimes it seemed that there was no distinction between the two of us. Almost as if we were the same organism functioning as two parts of a whole. It felt safe, secure, and lovely knowing everything about each other. No secrets, no surprises. Every day was like the next, and we were happy in every moment, never thinking about the next...
Knowing each other as well as we did, we found it unnecessary to verbally communicate. The way we interacted with one another was almost telepathic. People marveled at this ability we shared.
Our home was a south-facing stone building which consisted of two rooms. One larger room served as living room, dining, room, kitchen, tool shed, work room. Now let me paint a picture. The front door was small. Even short people like us had to bend to walk through it. Upon entering the house, there was a bench to the right with a long pillow on it. This was our living room. To the left of the front door was a window and window box. This was my husband's box and he kept fishing supplies in it. On the west wall was the fireplace. It was wide and tall, and covered over half of the west wall. In front of the fireplace was the table. It was big and sturdy. It served as the dining room, work room, and kitchen. Above the table was a net/screen which we used to dry herbs and fish.
Along the north wall was our bedroom, which was hardly bigger than the bed. And my husband's tools hung on the wall on the other side of the doorway.
My husband was a fisherman, and I made poultices and healing balms that the villagers would buy or trade for. My husband and I also acted as counselors. This seemed to be our true calling, and something we never accepted money for. We freely gave our advice and love, and always felt loved in return.
If someone (or a couple) was experiencing problems, they would approach us and ask to visit. At our house they would sit on the bench and my husband would sit next to them. He would place his hand on their shoulder or hand, and I would get pictures in my mind of what would remedy their situation. Sometimes it was an herb tea, medicine, or a different type of advice such as a way to behave.
One morning, as I was mashing up dried herbs, my husband left to go fishing. He never returned.
The villagers looked for him, but no one found him. I became bed-ridden with grief. My health didn't exactly deteriorate, I just lost the will to live. I was like this for 9 or 10 months before I fell asleep and didn't wake up.
I was never alone after my husband died. People from the village sat by my side and talked to me and held my hand. We had never had children, but these people from the village, who we had helped, loved us like family. They stayed with me until the end.
As I died, I became aware that I was sleeping and that I was something separate from my body. I saw the sky open up and the room filled with a gold light. I saw my husband look down at me. He was again the fresh-faced teenager that I had married. He reached out for me and I took his hand as I left this world.
In some way, I think, the problem I have had with never feeling like I fit anywhere has been because of this lifetime. Part of me has been searching for the home I had then, and the love and acceptance I experienced. To find that kind of companionship, and to be loved by people who are grateful for the help I can give them is a dream I hope to realize once again.