I was regressed into a past life

Reincarnation is fun!

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Here’s why I believe in past lives:

1. In the absence of any religious beliefs, I find it comforting. (I suppose I could turn to religion for comfort because then I’d get to believe in heaven but I’d also have to accept the risk of burning forever in hell. Whereas the only risk involved in reincarnation is coming back as a potato or someone who sniffs a lot or has keyboard sounds on their phone.)

2. It’s fun! There’s no proof either way so I’ll choose the more fun option. It’s nice to imagine past lives. Unless you are the Dalai Lama, in which case you are always the Dalai Lama, which is a massive downside to being the Dalai Lama.

I know I’m in a minority here. A YouGov study found that just a third of Britons believe in an afterlife and only 16% of these were on board with the idea of reincarnation. But I’ll believe in anything really. Ghosts? Yes, of course. Even though ghosts kind of contradict reincarnation. But who am I to say how it all works?

I tell you what else I like. Talking about people being a young or old soul. (Once again, I don’t know how this works. Maybe you have 50 lives and then your time is up and they bring fresh soul blood in.)

I mainly use this young/old soul thing as an excuse not to bother doing stuff and to be world-weary and jaded. I’m an old soul! I’ve been here for hundreds of years. I can’t be full of joy and wonder all the time. And sweetness and light. I’ve been through a lot of stuff over the millennia, okay?

All this means it may not surprise you that I once had a past life regression. I feel compelled to explain how this came about. As while I’m happy to believe in reincarnation, hard cash tests the limits of my beliefs. It wasn’t something I sought out and paid for, it was for a feature on a radio show.

But it wasn’t live on the radio. That would’ve been a terrible risk. It might’ve turned out I was Pol Pot. Although probably the bigger risk would’ve been how boring it would all sound.

Here’s what happened. The regressor (is that the right word?) got me into an intensely relaxed state and then took me through all these different rooms in my mind and asked what I could see.

Which was fields. And children running through them. Washing lines with sheets billowing in the wind. An old church in the distance. So far, so Persil ad. But then I saw me. In a brown dress with a white apron and frilly cap and wearing a yoke, from which two buckets of milk hung. I was a milkmaid! I don’t even like milk! The regressor asked where I was and I immediately knew I was in Hornchurch.

Now, I know of Hornchurch but I’d never been there before or previously considered it in any way. If all this came from my imagination, I’d be slightly disappointed with myself. Hornchurch is only 15 miles from where I lived at the time and just 20 miles from where I grew up. It also makes me worry that I’ve been too safe in my previous choices. But then don’t forget I’m an old soul. I couldn’t be bothered to send my soul all the way to Bhutan or Tasmania. Been there, done that. Let’s stay close to home this year.

I also saw my husband. He had thick sideburns and ruddy cheeks and I really liked him. I was really happy. And honestly, the whole experience was one of the nicest things I’ve ever done. I felt amazing afterwards. So light and happy. And glad I wasn’t Pol Pot.

Some don’t have to be regressed for a radio show to remember their past lives. They recall them spontaneously. But this tends to only happen up to the age of seven. And are most commonly recalled and spoken about between the ages of two and four.

Researchers have also found that on average, the past life ended around four and a half years before the new one. And in three-quarters of cases, the previous life was cut short and a quarter were before the age of fifteen. Violent deaths were also very common. I feel worried about milkmaid me now. I hope she didn’t get trampled by cows. Which would be weird as I ALWAYS WORRY ABOUT THIS HAPPENING WHEN I’M IN A FIELD.

My conclusion from all this is that if you get a really bad and young death, you get another go. This sounds fair. I like this so I believe in this now.

This has all been on my mind recently as I’m listening to a podcast called Extrasensory, about a case of reincarnation and it’s so extraordinary that I had to look up the people involved as I started thinking the show must be a work of fiction.

But there are some very compelling cases for the existence of reincarnation. The most famous of which is an Indian girl called Shanti Devi. There was so much weird evidence that Mahatma Gandhi investigated and his commission concluded it was true. And I’m not arguing with Gandhi as he liked harmony. And was a lawyer so would probably win.

I have been told before that my belief in reincarnation is narcissistic and it’s just that I can’t bear to imagine history without me in it. That feels unfair. Maybe I need to go to Hornchurch and see what comes flooding back to me. Or milk a cow and find that it comes naturally to me. Then there’s my proof.

I’ll tell you the weirdest thing though. When my son was born and I first laid eyes on him, my first thought was, ‘Oh it’s you!’. I recognised him. I knew that I’d known him before. Now, I was quite off my face on drugs (non-recreational) and lack of sleep at the time. But for me, it’s enough. I just really hope I’m not a potato next time.

PS If you like this, please like this.

PPS Please tell me in the comments about anything relating to this post.

PPPS I don’t really have anything else to say, I just wanted to do a PPPS.