seven past lives

caveman

I’m in a wild place
squatting naked next to a lake
no other people around
maybe an animal or two
it’s peaceful here
I see my reflection in the water
the face looks cro-magnon
or perhaps neanderthal
but I feel fully conscious
it’s an experience of
wholeness and awe
wonder and peace
maybe my first visit to earth
in a human-like body.

priest

pre-columbian central america
I lead and perform religious rituals
human sacrifice
vivisections
I inflict terrible agonizing physical pain on others
I perform these cruel acts without malice
but also without compassion
motivated by a religious conviction so deep
that it completely disconnects me
from the reality of the suffering I cause.

heretic

europe
middle ages
my head is being held underwater
some religious authority
is attempting to force me to admit something
or perhaps recant or repent some blasphemy
next
I’m in the woods
hung upside down from a tree by my left foot
as punishment
for contradicting the established order
it’s a form of crucifixion.

zealot

europe
1600s
I’m a member of a religious sect that practices self-injury
I drip hot candle wax on my back
I cut myself because the pain “brings me closer to god”
I shove hot pepper up my nose
to make myself sneeze
“to get the devil out”
I allow myself to be mock crucified
when I’m 24 I hang myself “to be with god”
I’m found hanging
from a wooden beam in one of the rooms of the monastery
I am dead
the walls and floors are made of stone.

simpleton

colonial new england
I’m mentally impaired
my neck and hands have been locked in wooden stocks
as punishment for looking at a pretty young girl
my consciousness is primitive
I feel bewildered most of the time
but I find comfort and solace
in a direct experience of nature
standing in a meadow
awes me
calms me
fills me with peace
I have no concept of why I’m being punished
but I have no ill feeling toward anyone about it either.

diplomat

japan
late 1800s
I’m a japanese diplomat
working to open my country to contact with the west
I want to bring the two halves
east and west
together
I want to build a bridge between
old ways and new ways
I hope to be
an ambassador to the future.

assassin

chicago
1920s
a dark alley at night
I’m an enforcer for the mob
a tough guy
a hit man
but this time
someone’s put a hit on me
the nose of a revolver
kisses the skin behind my left ear
someone pulls the trigger
bye bye.

(PDF version)

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The seven past lives by Rick Belden, unless otherwise expressly stated, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
January 29th, 2009 in poems | tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

2 Comments

  • 1. Lisa M.&hellip  |  February 18th, 2009 at 3:37 pm

    I just read your recent poems, and this one was especially interesting to me. I can’t imagine actually remembering a past life, much less lives like these. Wow. Makes me wonder where I’ve been and what I’ve done in past lives, but for some reason I don’t want to know. I think it’s remembering some of the details like you’ve remembered — being hung, hurting others, doing terrible things. I’m not sure I could deal with that.

  • 2. Rick&hellip  |  February 18th, 2009 at 10:23 pm

    Thank you for your comment, Lisa. While I appreciate your point of view, I feel it’s important to note that I tend to see this sort of information as metaphorical rather than literal. As I said in an earlier post (“the body is the gateway”):

    Some stories emerge from the body in the form of what is often called a “past life” memory. From the standpoint of using the information for insight and healing, it doesn’t matter … if a “past life” memory is literally and verifiably true. What matters is whether or not the energy the story contains and expresses feels real and authentic in the body and the psyche.

    Therefore, I never feel scared, intimidated, guilty, or whatever when information of this nature comes up. It feels real and personal when it comes, but I don’t feel personally attached to it, if that makes sense.

    Generally, I’m trying to clear something in myself when one of these stories emerges, and having access to the information only assists me in that process. The literal truth (or not) of the story, which isn’t something I can determine anyway, isn’t the object of the process for me.

    Maybe these stories are literal echoes of actual events from other lives (mine or someone else’s), or maybe they’re metaphorical echoes of physical, psychological, and spiritual experiences from this life. Or maybe they’re both. I tend to favor the metaphorical model because I find it to be the most productive approach for me, but as I said, there’s no way to know for sure. I just use whatever comes to me to help myself now, in this life.

    Regardless of its source, every one of these “memories” has helped broaden my perspective on the human experience and deepened my understanding of my place in it.