When I was in my twenties I suddenly became aware of the
theory of reincarnation. I felt quite rattled by the notion that we could have
lived other, forgotten lives. How amazing is that thought. How incredible are
humans to have even imagined such things.
So being a very curious person in more ways than one, I
decided to go to Melbourne to have a ‘past life reading’. I was scared witless
at the idea of someone actually looking back into my previous lifetimes. After
all who knew what they might find and, well, it was all a bit spooky
really.
I was also embarrassed
about actually having a ‘reading’ as ‘readings’ were not something that regular
people participated in, especially catholic people like me. So I took the very
early morning train to Melbourne hoping I wouldn’t be seen by anyone I knew.
I had asked a sceptical Melbourne friend, who was studying
psychology, to come along with me and if necessary to pick up the pieces if
everything went pear shaped. “ Look, it’s
all bullshit anyway." she kept saying to me. “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit and
crap. Just keep the word bullshit in your mind and repeat it over and over.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit and you’ll be fine....”. That was quite grounding
until I found myself in a monastical building, in a room with a very priestly
man and a group of very official looking assistants. It felt as though I was in
the midst of a strange offshoot cult of the catholic Church, with fallen priests and satanic rituals. I’ve since discovered that this was the
cult that Bob Hawke’s wife, Blanche, belonged to at the time.
Anyway, I can’t remember the reading in its entirety but the story was
along the lines of ... my father in this life was my brother in the last life and my brother was my father
and I had died in the country from which I adopted my
children in this lifetime... None of it was particularly interesting or helpful
or insightful or spooky for that matter and I came out of the room muttering ‘bullshit,
bullshit, bullshit’ under my breath. Still, I was left with the impression that
such an encounter could possibly have a powerful effect on some and my experience
did have a profound effect on one other person.
Many moons have passed since that furtive early morning
train ride to Melbourne and over the years I have lost touch with Shirley of
the sensible bullshit advice. Of course, I am respectful of the fact that reincarnation is important
to millions of people around the world and that there could very well be some truth
in it but in the end it made little difference to me. I think I simply noted the experience and moved
on.
However, last time I spoke to logical, intelligent, analytical psychologist Shirley of the sensible ‘bullshit’
advice, she told me that
she was a practioner of 'past life regression therapy'. Can you believe that? Past
life regression therapy!
She regresses people through hypnosis to their past lives, in
order to help them overcome the problems they are experiencing in their present
lives!! So who was that reading really meant for I wonder? Not me, that’s for
sure!
Ain’t life grand? Now everyone repeat after me ' It's all bullshit, bullshit,
bullshit....'
And here's what the Cheshire Cat had to say.
So being a very curious person in more ways than one, I
decided to go to Melbourne to have a ‘past life reading’. I was scared witless
at the idea of someone actually looking back into my previous lifetimes. After
all who knew what they might find and, well, it was all a bit spooky
really.
I was also embarrassed
about actually having a ‘reading’ as ‘readings’ were not something that regular
people participated in, especially catholic people like me. So I took the very
early morning train to Melbourne hoping I wouldn’t be seen by anyone I knew.
I had asked a sceptical Melbourne friend, who was studying
psychology, to come along with me and if necessary to pick up the pieces if
everything went pear shaped. “ Look, it’s
all bullshit anyway." she kept saying to me. “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit and
crap. Just keep the word bullshit in your mind and repeat it over and over.
Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit and you’ll be fine....”. That was quite grounding
until I found myself in a monastical building, in a room with a very priestly
man and a group of very official looking assistants. It felt as though I was in
the midst of a strange offshoot cult of the catholic Church, with fallen priests and satanic rituals. I’ve since discovered that this was the
cult that Bob Hawke’s wife, Blanche, belonged to at the time.
Anyway, I can’t remember the reading in its entirety but the story was
along the lines of ... my father in this life was my brother in the last life and my brother was my father
and I had died in the country from which I adopted my
children in this lifetime... None of it was particularly interesting or helpful
or insightful or spooky for that matter and I came out of the room muttering ‘bullshit,
bullshit, bullshit’ under my breath. Still, I was left with the impression that
such an encounter could possibly have a powerful effect on some and my experience
did have a profound effect on one other person.
Many moons have passed since that furtive early morning
train ride to Melbourne and over the years I have lost touch with Shirley of
the sensible bullshit advice. Of course, I am respectful of the fact that reincarnation is important
to millions of people around the world and that there could very well be some truth
in it but in the end it made little difference to me. I think I simply noted the experience and moved
on.
However, last time I spoke to logical, intelligent, analytical psychologist Shirley of the sensible ‘bullshit’
advice, she told me that
she was a practioner of 'past life regression therapy'. Can you believe that? Past
life regression therapy!
She regresses people through hypnosis to their past lives, in
order to help them overcome the problems they are experiencing in their present
lives!! So who was that reading really meant for I wonder? Not me, that’s for
sure!
Ain’t life grand? Now everyone repeat after me ' It's all bullshit, bullshit,
bullshit....'
And here's what the Cheshire Cat had to say.
And here's what the Cheshire Cat had to say.
No comments:
Post a Comment