In the early 1990s I founded an organization dedicated to past-life research, education, and therapy. PLEXUS, an acronym for Past Life Exploration, Understanding and Sharing, was headquartered in Naperville, Illinois and there I hosted monthly programs, inviting therapists, authors, and other professionals in the field of regression therapy to be our guest speakers. Occasionally, I included individuals who weren’t practitioners per se, but who did basically the same work using a different modality. K. David Roell was one of those people.
David was a gifted channeler and when I knew him he had quite a following in the Chicago area. This was because he was the real deal. At a time when so many charlatans were hanging out their signs proclaiming to be mediums, psychics, or channelers, David’s authenticity was above reproach. I know this because I attempted to trip him up, ala Houdini style. David channeled Dr. Fredericks, an Akashic librarian who had access to the records of every soul’s thoughts, words, and deeds over lifetimes. I asked him to pull my “Book of Life” and read the chapter that dealt with a past life of mine that supposedly began in 1773. I had been working intently on proving or disproving that lifetime for years, so I knew it inside and out. Having not shared any of that with David, I decided that if Dr. Fredericks got it right, I’d be a believer for life. He did—and I am.
One afternoon I was hosting a channeling of Dr. Fredericks for about a dozen folks at the PLEXUS office. It was customary that once Dr. Fredericks emerged, each person would have an opportunity to ask a question. If we were lucky that day, he’d stick around long enough for us to get in a second question. Occasionally I would sit in on the sessions and ask a question of my own.
I’ll never forget this particular session. When it was my turn to address Dr. Fred, I lamented the fact that there was nothing new in the way of past-life research. To me, it was the same old stuff, occasionally repackaged under a new name. I reasoned there had to be something new and exciting on the horizon; some break-through technique that would propel past-life regression to the forefront and give it more mainstream acceptance.
I posed that question to Dr. Fredericks, fully anticipating he would be impressed that some brave soul finally asked a question other than, “What is my soul’s purpose?” I was sure he’d give me the keys to this as-yet undiscovered esoteric technique or at the very least plant a seed that I could nurture and grow on my own. When he said, yes, there was something new, my heart leapt with excitement. I leaned in, eagerly anticipating he would expand on his statement and give me what I had been yearning to hear for years. Instead, he said nothing. After what seemed like hours, I urged him on. “What is it that is new, Dr. Fred?” To which he responded: “There is something new. You just haven’t written it yet.”
I sunk back in my chair and issued an audible groan, protesting that I didn’t know of anything new. That was why I was asking him. He mustered an all-knowing smile and then went on to the next person. I knew then and there that even if I got a second chance, that was the last I’d hear from him on that subject.
I pondered his comment for weeks, wondering what it was that I supposedly already knew. I reviewed everything I had read, heard or done in my past-life work but none of it was new or intriguing. I decided to turn within and ask for the answer through soul writing. That only compounded my frustration, for echoing Dr. Fred’s message, I was told I already had everything I needed and no new information would be forthcoming. Apparently “they” had the answer, but they weren’t about to spoon-feed it to me. I was on my own.
After awhile I forgot about my quest for the big breakthrough in regression therapy and went on with my life, eventually disbanding PLEXUS and moving to Charlottesville, Virginia. Once in a while I’d remember that session with Dr. Fred and that comment from my friends upstairs that I had everything I needed—I just had to put it together for myself. Before I could find the time to seriously revisit this challenge, I endured a series of personal setbacks, the most severe of which was a near-fatal car crash in November 2000. I was driving to a client meeting with my close friend and business partner, Karen. The roads were slick that day and radio reports were urging drivers to be cautious.
As we came upon a curve on the narrow two-lane highway, we noticed a car in the opposite lane come around that turn too quickly and losing control. I slowed as I watched his car fishtail across both lanes and then realized it was sliding sideways toward us and there was no way to avoid him. In that instant I had a flash that this crash might be fatal, but even though my car was totaled, we only ended up with minor injuries. After we arrived at the hospital, the police officer at the scene came by to say he didn’t know how we made it out of that accident alive.
One odd thing did happen. In the emergency room, Karen kept insisting she was hovering over the scene, watching as the rescue squad cut me out of the car. I told her that wasn’t possible because after the accident she crawled out of the car and was sitting on an embankment talking to me the whole time.
Shortly after the accident, something even more bizarre occurred. Somehow, out of nowhere, I became disinterested and disillusioned with any type of esoteric work. While I remembered how involved I was with it and all the people whose friendships were a part of my interest in metaphysics, suddenly I could care less about them or my work. I wanted to live a “normal” mainstream life and this esoteric stuff no longer fit with the new Joanne. For all intents and purposes, I suffered from a form of metaphysical amnesia.
This went on for three years and then, on the morning of the third anniversary of the accident, I woke up as if out of a coma and found I was back to the person I had been before the accident—with one major difference: Now I had to deal with the consequences of my actions three years earlier. I no longer had my past-life organization. I had given up my membership in the A.R.E. and given away most of my metaphysical library. Worse yet, all the “like-minded” friends I had acquired over the years had moved on, rebuffed by my rejection of their continued friendship.
This was a very strange place to be, for I knew I had been the architect of all that took me away from the life I had and the people I cared about, but I did not understand why. Every feeble attempt I made at trying to find an explanation about what happened and to reconcile with those I left behind failed. It was very much the dark night of my soul.
It took another three years to emerge from this desolate place, but when I did, my thoughts centered on Edgar Cayce, the most documented psychic of the twentieth century. I had been a student of the Cayce readings for many years and I knew that if I were to get back to the person I was before, I had no better guide than Mr. Cayce and the esoteric truths contained in his readings.
In 2006, I enrolled in Atlantic University, which was founded by Edgar Cayce in 1931, the same year he began the Association for Research and Enlightenment (A.R.E.). I started a three-year Masters in Transpersonal Studies program, which eased me back into the esoteric studies I had abandoned years earlier.
In my last year of studies, I enrolled in an elective course on Near-Death Experience. A required reading was Coming Back to Life: Examining the After-Effects of the Near-Death Experience, by P.M.H. Atwater, L.H.D. In her chapter on Major After-Effects of an NDE, she identified one of the symptoms of a near-death experience as: “Difficulty Understanding Time Sense or References to What Occurred in the Past or Might Occur in the Future—A Sense of Timelessness."
In talking about how survivors processed memory before and after the NDE, she wrote: “. . . recollection of events that occurred before their episode was different. They could still remember past events, for the most part, but the process of that memory seemed slower, somewhat impersonal, as if they could not fully identify with it . . . Any number of survivors described a “line of demarcation” that seemed to have formed at the time of their experience, separating those things before from anything that came after.”
I was stunned. This exactly described my experience nine years earlier. Could this be the answer I had been searching for? It sounded right, but I wasn’t convinced it applied to me because in my mind, I could not have had a near-death experience without dying first.
Luckily for me, P.M.H. Atwater and I attend the same Unity Church so the Sunday after I read that passage, I sought her out after services and told her about my experience. I repeated that while her book had a plausible explanation of what I went through, in my mind I could not possibly have had an NDE. I didn’t die in the accident. In fact, I was conscious the whole time.
“Did you think you were going to die?” P.M.H. asked. It was then I recalled that split second when I did think it was the end. She said it was at that moment when I thought I was going to die that I had the NDE. Later Betty Riley, a renowned intuitive spiritual awareness consultant I had known for years through the A.R.E., confirmed that, saying at the moment of impact my etheric body shot out of my physical body, thus triggering the NDE.
With that explanation satisfying my need to understand what had caused such a drastic shift in my consciousness, I threw myself into the very work I had abandoned years earlier, trying to make up for lost time. In my writing classes at AU, I was reintroduced to the Cayce readings on inspirational writing. When it came time for me to declare the subject of my culminating project (thesis), I decided to initiate a research project on inspirational writing as taught by Edgar Cayce.
In doing the research for my thesis and then expanding that research into my book, Soul Writing: Conversing With Your Higher Self, my enthusiasm was rekindled for what could be acquired when doing stream of consciousness writing. Cayce said that it was our birthright to communicate with Source and I found no better means of doing that than through inspired writing—or as I later called it, soul writing.
The process itself wasn’t anything new. It had been around for centuries. The biographies and journals of famous writers, composers, and artists throughout history contained passages in which they commented on what it felt like to be in the flow, of tapping into a higher consciousness and a source of divine inspiration coming from some unseen place, and then committing those words to paper.
The ability to write in an altered state of consciousness is a powerful tool in soul development. Although I had been doing it for over twenty-five years, to this day I am continually finding new ways to apply it to my life. I have used it for psychoanalysis and healing; for obtaining information on esoteric philosophies; for writing greeting cards; for enhancing my psychic ability; for obtaining guidance on career decisions; for understanding personal relationships; for writing to assist others through the Companion Mode of Healing; and for soul’s growth. The list goes on and on.
It wasn’t until I became a serious student of this method of divine communication that I realized that what Dr. Fredericks and my spiritual team shared with me years earlier was true. I already had at my disposal an exciting new way to explore previous lifetimes—through soul writing—and I had acquired it when I was just nine years old.
Looking back, I could see how the universe so skillfully planted that seed. As a child I wanted to come up with a secret code so that I could write messages that my parents could not read. When it came time for me to create the code, I locked myself in the only private room in our house—the bathroom—sat under the sink, closed my eyes, then said a prayer asking the Divine for help in designing an alphabet known only to me. With pen and paper in hand, I sat there for quite a while, confident—as any child would be—that my prayer would be answered. Suddenly, to my delight I began writing strange looking letters and I knew my prayer was being answered. I was being given my new secret alphabet.
Fast-forward some twenty-five years and I am in a calligraphy class at my local community college. The instructor is explaining the origin of handwriting and pulls down a chart illustrating the first alphabet. I stared at the chart for a long time, sensing it was oddly familiar but not sure where I had seen those letters before. And then it hit me. It was my secret alphabet! I was flabbergasted. Before I could consider how the instructor knew “my” secret code, she announced that the chart was of the Phoenician alphabet dating back to 1000 B.C.! Somehow, someway, when I put out my request to the heavens for a secret code, I pulled in that ancient alphabet. The question then became—was it floating around in the collective consciousness or had I known it first hand from a previous life in that time period?
In college, I had another experience with soul writing that was equally startling. As a history major, my area of specialty was eighteenth-century American history, which I discovered an affinity for when I was in high school. I wasn’t a particularly disciplined student. I loved going to the lectures, but seldom read the required books. Consequently, I’d always be in a panic on exam day when I realized I was not prepared. But something miraculous always happened to bail me out. I’d sit at my desk and revert to my childhood habit of closing my eyes, saying a prayer and asking for assistance. When I did that, the pen would fly across the paper, expounding on the subject confidently and without hesitation. I seldom remembered what I wrote until I later reviewed the returned paper, noting with astonishment the “A” scrawled across the top page.
Once I was called into the office of an especially demanding professor whose class on the American Constitution was challenging even for the most scholarly students. Our class had been asked to write an essay on a Constitutional Convention delegate of our choosing. After reading our papers, our professor declared his overall disappointment and asked that each of us come to his office so he could address us individually. I was a nervous wreck as I went up the elevator in University Hall for my allotted appointment with him. But instead of chastising me, he returned my paper and said, “You have the most uncanny feel for the eighteenth century of any student I ever had.”
Needless to say, I was taken aback by his comment, but in a split second its truth permeated every part of my being. I did have an uncanny feel for the eighteenth century—more so than any other time period in history. The way I experienced writing about life in the American colonies was vastly different from the way I wrote about a different era and country. It was only eighteenth-century American history that caused my pen to take flight. An “uncanny feel” indeed.
As a teenager I knew about Edgar Cayce, had devoured books by Ruth Montgomery and Jess Stearn, and became an insatiable student of reincarnation after reading A Search for Bridey Murphy. However, I did not put two and two together that those earlier writing experiences had anything to do with my own past lives until I was in my early thirties and bought a subliminal writer’s programming tape by Richard Sutphen called, “Start Writing Now.” At the time I was a freelance advertising, marketing, and public relations specialist and I wanted to make the leap into feature writing. I thought if I listened to this subliminal program every night, I would be able to break free of whatever was keeping me tethered to the unfulfilling type of copywriting I had been doing for years.
As I listened to the recording, Sutphen suggested creating a mental movie in which I perceived of myself as already writing. He said to create a vivid fantasy in which I was successfully expressing myself in words. He suggested the movie was real and asked me to play the role, play the part, and experience every detail in my mind. If I did this, he said my desires would be communicated to my subconscious mind, which would assist me by generating circumstances to create my programmed reality.
When he said to begin the visualization now, my mental movie began. I saw a woman who appeared to be around twenty years of age with long, straight black hair that cascaded down her back. She timidly stood at the top of the stairs, dressed in a loose-fitting long white cotton shift with a white lace-trimmed nightcap on her head. With only a candle to illuminate her way, she cautiously began to descend the stairs. She looked a bit nervous, as if she did not want anyone to discover her roaming the house at such a late hour.
When she came to the bottom of the stairs, she lit another candle on a nearby desk. She pulled out the chair, slowly seated herself, pulled out a journal that was tucked in the folds of her skirt, and reached for a quill pen. The moment she began to write, the pen that I had poised over my own journal began to move.
“This summer was especially beautiful. The flowers in the garden were resplendent in their color and fragrance. I so enjoyed walking among them. It kept the memory of him ever near to me. I could feel his presence. I could hear his voice. Such a comfort in these difficult times of separation. I know in my heart he is mine. He has always known in his that I am his. There is no denying it to each other. But there is always that pain . . . I am alone in the garden just as I am alone in this life. A prisoner of my emotions . . . Would that times be different.
This went on for another four pages until the writing stopped, then a hesitation, and then a date was written: September 7, 1793.
1793? What in the world is this? It read like a sophomoric historical romance novel. I knew I didn’t write like that. I had never written like that. I wanted to be inspired to write feature articles, not this trite stuff about flowers in a garden. Who in the world is doing this writing? It certainly isn’t me. Yet what was it that Richard Sutphen said at the end of the visualization exercise? “You have just seen your reality.” My reality—or someone else’s?
Thinking it a fluke, I played the tape the following night and once again, there was that same young woman at the top of the stairs, wearing the same clothes, carrying the candle as she gingerly walked down the stairs, seating herself at the same desk, reaching for the same quill pen, and once again commencing the writing. And as before, as she wrote, so did I.
“Breakfast was quiet. Some disturbing news arrived last night . . . I did not hear it all as I was busy with our son, but I knew it was a serious discussion as my beloved was pacing the floor most of the night. Even I was unable to console him . . . .”
Again, four pages describing in great detail an event in the life of this mysterious woman. This time the diary entry—for lack of a better term—was dated April 30, 1794. The following night, the same thing happened, with a journal entry of May 8, 1795.
“Let me go. I asked him today to let me go but he refused. He does not want me to leave him. I do not want to leave but I grow weary of this bondage. I see so much around me that I can never call my own. It is sad. It is more a tragedy for us both, he says. And I know it is so. But I am the one bound to this place. I am the one who must run and hide. I am the one who cannot express the joy that fills my heart when he is near. I cannot share that warmth of feeling with anyone. I am unable to say it, to shout it to the world . . . .”
And on it went. I received several more journal entries over the course of the next few days. The final one was dated June 1, 1798.
What had I stumbled onto? The writer’s subconscious programming tape was not developed as a past-life tool, but after these journal entries, I could not help but wonder if in fact I was that woman on the staircase who did her clandestine journal writing in the middle of the night. I did not have to wait long for an answer. I received that confirmation the very next night, when the journal entry was directed at me. Rather than reflecting something that occurred 200 years earlier, it was dated that very night: December 16, 1990. I soon realized that my past-life aspect was communicating with my present-life personality.
The entry was written both in first and second person, so it was confusing to follow. “She” referred to me by name, saying she incarnated as the present entity, Joanne. Then she wrote:
“She is so like me, yet she disbelieves. I would not believe so easily. We are one. She feels my passion. I share that with her in dreams, in songs, in moving pictures. She remembers. No more passion in this lifetime, sweet Joanne. Just all these confusing memories for you to sort through. We would not have planned this now if we did not think you could handle it. If we did not think you were ready. You remember me but you are much more than the sixty-two years I walked the face of the earth. We are here in assistance to help you to remember it all—all of the evolutionary lives you’ve lived—to prepare you for the great work that is ahead. Now we must get beyond this—beyond this incessant disbelief of yours. I know you are saddened by what you perceive you are missing in life. I share in that sadness but I also rejoice because so much more lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy but the world is finally ready to hear the message. It has taken all these centuries to reach this point. Remember your purpose. Go beyond your life as me. Go beyond them all. Gather them together like fragile flowers in your basket. Breathe deep the splendid hues and remember. Remember it all—you have the ability. Go beyond the doubt. We are with you always. I, as a part of your higher self for that is where I now reside to give you comfort and courage and encouragement. Tap into those memories as only you can. No one else can do it for you. So many will be healed by your words and we—all of us who are you—will rest at evening’s call knowing it is done. Knowing all is as it should be. You write about no limits to what can be done if you believe in yourself. Believe, Joanne, dear child believe, for within you lies the key that will unlock the final door of your servitude and free all of us to soar in the Universe, touching the earth with an iridescent light unseen before. For one soul freed brings freedom to all others. One soul freed brings freedom to all. Free us, Joanne. And you.”
I was stunned. This entry turned the tables on me as the writer because instead of me initiating contact with my soul, this time my soul was writing to me. Some past part of me was resurfacing and using the written word to paint a picture of a life that existed two centuries years earlier. I finally understood that I could go into an altered state of consciousness and use this form of writing to access past-life information. These were details about myself that came from my soul, not stories given to me by psychics, tarot readers, astrologers, channelers, and mediums who wanted me to believe they knew more about my past lives than I did.
Knowing I am the sum total of all my previous incarnations, I recognized that the essence of who I am, what issues I faced, lessons I learned, and any unfinished business I incurred from my first incarnation to my present life was contained within my soul’s memory. By getting in touch with that aspect of me through soul writing, I could tap into that storehouse of past-life memories. Using the writer’s programming tape, I had stumbled on a way to submerge my current personality (conscious self) and invite my past-life aspect (subconscious self) to emerge and through writing, record events from “her” lifetime in “her” own words.
With that as my intent, I began a nightly ritual of meditation, visualization, and prayer. At first I received information in diary format, but the dates skipped around in no particular order. Each entry contained a fascinating peek at my prior lifetime, but provided no cohesive storyline for me to follow. At some point, however, the dizzying time-hopping stopped and the writing became more focused, giving a chronological accounting of events over a six-month period in that life. The process took years and I ultimately ended up with a 600-page manuscript, as yet unpublished.
I became so caught up in the drama of my karmic story and its ramifications on me in the here and now that I did not give much thought to the process I was using to acquire that information—that is, until I read Frank DeMarco’s book, Chasing Smallwood—Talking With the Other Side. Frank, the co-founder of Hampton Roads Publishing Company, was now retired and writing his own books. We met at The Monroe Institute and during the course of our conversation, I discovered we both were talking to the other side via writing in an altered state of consciousness.
I bought all of Frank’s books, anxious to learn more about his process and how it was similar or dissimilar to mine. Everything he wrote was thought provoking, but it was Chasing Smallwood that really captured my attention. In it he described how early one morning he found himself sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking coffee and writing in his journal. He was moving between his normal consciousness and an altered state in which he was able to allow “someone else” form the words. That someone else turned out to be Joseph Smallwood, a nineteenth-century American who was a Union officer during the Civil War—and as it turns out, a past-life aspect of Frank.
While reading Chasing Smallwood, I could not help but compare Frank’s experience to my own and noticed one important difference. During the years I was communicating with my past-life aspect, “we” did not engage in an ongoing conversation with each other. It was pretty much one-sided, with me being the silent witness as she wrote about her life story. It never occurred to me to stop her by interjecting questions as Frank did with Joseph. The closest I came to Frank’s process was in that December 1990 missive when my pastlife aspect addressed me directly, urging me to do the work that would set her, and other past-life aspects of myself, free.
I thought about this for quite some time and as a result included a segment about using soul writing for past-life exploration in my thesis as well as devoting a chapter to it in Soul Writing: Conversing With Your Higher Self. When it came time for me to consider a sequel, I realized that using soul writing to acquire past-life information was the direction I wanted to go.
Because of my own experiences writing my past lives, I wanted to test the theory that this was something anyone could do. I knew it was too ambitious to think I could teach soul writing in the morning and then ask participants to have a conversation with one of their past-life personalities in the afternoon. After all, it had taken years for Frank to be able to do this. I only had done it once and then quite by accident. Being a past-life therapist, however, as well as an avid practitioner of soul writing, I wanted to find a way to combine the two and design a research project around it. I decided that rather than having volunteers take on the more advanced level of carrying on a conversation with their past-life aspects, I would divide the session in two distinct but related parts. First, I would conduct a traditional past-life regression. Once that was completed, I would ask participants to remain in an altered state of consciousness, but to sit up, take pen and paper in hand, and through soul writing ask for any additional information that would either expand on what they received in the regression or clarify some unanswered questions. In this way I could prove my theory that you could obtain pastlife information directly from your soul without the need or influence of a middleman.
To add to the uniqueness of the research project, I included the Companion Mode of Healing, whereby I wrote simultaneously with them, asking my Source for information on their behalf that I could share with them. I had no idea if it would work, but in theory, it sounded plausible.
I enlisted the help of fifty volunteers who ranged in age from twenty-three to eighty-one. Some of these people were individuals I knew on a casual basis, having met them at one of the A.R.E. functions I hosted, or at my church, Unity of Charlottesville, but most were unknown to me. Of the fifty, only seven were men. I developed certain criteria for the project, asking people to volunteer only if they either had previously experienced a successful past-life regression, or if noa regression, that they be experienced at going in and out of an altered state of consciousness. This was important to me because a two-hour research session was not the time to work with inexperienced meditators.
The enticement of a “free” past-life regression, however, compelled some volunteers to ignore my stipulations, as they felt confident they were ideal candidates for the project. Of the fifty people whose sessions I ultimately used, seventeen had never had a past-life regression before and twentyone had never been in an altered state of consciousness. Fortunately this usually worked out fine, and I only had about a half-dozen participants whose sessions were unusable.
When all fifty usable sessions were completed, I created a statistical breakdown of the volunteers I used in the study. Of these:
• 88 percent said the session impacted their life in some way.
• 78 percent said they were able to make the connection between their past life and their current life.
• 76 percent said that the soul-writing portion explained, expanded, or clarified the information they received in the regression.
• 72 percent had no pre-conceived notion of what lifetime they were going to visit.
• 68 percent said they received further insights into their past life in the days following the session.
• 68 percent said they felt the two of us were connected to the same Source when doing the soulwriting portion of the session.
• 66 percent said they wanted to explore further what they discovered.
As it would be impossible to include all fifty regressions in one book, this first volume chronicles half of the sessions I conducted. The regressions are presented chronologically and span lifetimes from the first century to the early twentieth century. Of the total sessions I conducted, the biggest block—34 percent—occurred in the 1800s. Nearly 60 percent took place in European countries; 35 percent were in the United States; and the remaining 5 percent occurred on other continents.
Several clusters of soul groups came forward. These individuals described the same time period, similar surroundings, and life-changing events, even though they did not know each other in this life. Some experienced spontaneous healings when they discovered the origin of their physical karma. Many recognized individuals in their present life as having played a similar role in previous lifetimes, which ultimately added to the understanding of their relationship today.
Quite a few had “ah ha” moments as they made the connection between the two lives. This happened most often during the soul-writing session when they—or I—received information that explained an event or a relationship that was unclear in the regression.
Let’s face it. One of the most difficult aspects of dealing with the validity of past-life information—whether written or otherwise—is that you seldom will find concrete evidence of its existence. There are rare exceptions to be sure, but as a rule, this “proof ” eludes everyone. Edgar Cayce gave over 2,000 life readings, telling people who they were in previous lives, but could he or they prove it? Of course not—and it is this lack of proof that nonbelievers use to refute that reincarnation is a reality. Frank DeMarco struggled with that same question—even more so as he was having an actual conversation with Joseph who was giving names, dates, and events that could be checked out. Frank didn’t always find what he was looking for, which only compounded the doubt.
However, for Frank and those of us who know reincarnation is a reality, we only have to go within for verification. When dealing with a previous lifetime, it’s more important to get in touch with how it processes internally than Googling every name and event you receive. Instead, ask yourself— does it produce strong emotions? Is it personally meaningful? Does it transform your life? Only you know those answers.
What benefit is there to talking to that aspect of yourself that lived before? Well, considering that Edgar Cayce said we have been in the earth for more than ten million years, I’d say we have a lot to learn from our former selves. Wouldn’t it be useful in this Earth school to have private tutors who knew our soul’s curriculum intimately—having passed or failed those classes in previous incarnations? Wouldn’t it helpful to have someone give us his or her Cliff Notes?
Consider this. Edgar Cayce said that in our time there has been a great influx of Atlanteans and that they are having an influence on the affairs of the world today. Now think about how far our technological advances have come. It’s a little frightening when you realize we are just about—if not already—at the point we were when Atlantis disappeared. If our former Atlantean selves could talk to us now, what do you suppose they’d say?
Talking about the number of Atlanteans reincarnating at this time, Cayce’s Source said, “. . . is it any wonder that – if they made such alterations in the affairs of the earth in their day, as to bring destruction upon themselves – if they are entering now, they might make many changes in the affairs of peoples and individuals in the present?” (364-1)
Later Cayce’s Source said, “. . . much will depend upon these souls as to what manner of activity will be in the world a score of years hence.” (5306-1) Still later, talking on the same subject, his Source added, “. . . all those souls that enter the material plane . . . will apparently be destined to fulfill interesting roles in their service to their fellow man, and find a very unusual approach to same.” (2892-2)
And it’s not just Atlantean incarnations that can teach us something. Each and every one of our sojourns on this earth is a treasure-trove of information that we can apply to our present life conditions. Cayce said, “Each soul that enters the material manifestation has something to contribute . . . .” (1350-1) Do you think the contribution ends when the physical body dies, or does every word, thought, and deed get recorded in the Akashic Records for us to check out so we can read and obtain the guidance we need to move forward and not repeat past mistakes.
Cayce once did a reading for someone who asked what was his specific mission and objective in this incarnation. Cayce’s Source replied: "The activities of an individual entity through any given experience are to make the paths straight. Where there have been the misapplication, misconception of the activities of Creative Forces in an individual experience, then it is the correcting of same (877-22)."
So how are you to correct that “misapplication, mis-conception” unless you are informed about it? And who better to inform you—than you?
This is something that Frank learned firsthand from Joseph Smallwood. Even to someone who does not believe in reincarnation, Frank’s conversations with Joseph read like an engrossing history book. These stories have some vague familiarity to them because you may have heard or read about these people, places, and things before. However, there is a whole new element added to them because they’re based on the perspective of someone who actually lived through it—not on hand-me-down tales that have been embellished over time. So many people today warn against the evils of revisionist history and yet, when you think about it, what we know today is all revisionist history. The truth resides in the souls who lived through it, and while their version may be tainted by their perspectives (just as ours is today), it’s a lot closer to the truth than what we were taught in school.
So where does this all leave us? The jury is still out as to whether this was the groundbreaking event in past-life work that Dr. Fred and my guidance referenced so many years ago. Certainly there are many therapists who use writing as an element in their work. This has been true for at least the last century, but I believe using it in quite this way is another story.
To conclude, consider the response Edgar Cayce gave in reading 1094-1 when asked, “For what did I come into this plane at this time?” His Source responded, “To meet self; for thou hast walked backwards . . . Go FORWARD! Ever has been, ever is, the command of Creative Force to “GO FORWARD!"
Notice Cayce’s Source said, “To meet self.” And that’s exactly what the men and women in my research project did—they met a past-life aspect of themselves. Here are their stories.