This task is always hard to do. A long time ago I created several documents separated from my past life journal, which I called «chronicles», extracting from the journal all the regressions and research related to each specific life, so I have part of the work done. But memories never come in a chronological way, and when they repeat themselves, they usually come extended. So I always have to review all the information I have to order it, and then build a tale enjoyable to read. Frankly, I think writing a novel is easier than this. But it is the task I have committed to.
My American Old West past life was quite fun, I have to admit it. I always remember it with a smile. It is proof that not all the lives we remember are traumatic, and neither are there always «unsolved issues», at least not too serious issues. Why did I remember it then? My impression is that it simply gave me information to understand, to understand myself and to understand certain emotions that arose in a relationship I had with a college mate whom I will call M. In a future entry I will get deeper in this. Many times I have thought there were no special reason to remember some lives. As time passes, I think all the lives we remember have some relation to our current life, even though it is only to remind yourself what you should not do, or to be aware there are better ways to do things, or simply to know your virtues and flaws, and to try and polish these latter.
Before the memories, I will speak a little about the background. Was there something that made me think I had a past life in the Old West? Well, not much, I think I didn’t even mention it in my past life journal, but later on I would realize that some of my emotions and personal interests were undoubtedly related to this life. For example:
1. In 1993 (I was 18 and I hadn’t met M yet), I visited Eurodisney in Paris, along with some members of my family, and we stayed at the Cheyenne Hotel, decorated as the typical Old West street. I spent the two days in a cloud. As a real child with a constant smile on my face. Besides, by that time I had a long skirt down to the toes and a brown suede waistcoat. Now I wouldn’t wear them even getting paid, but right in that place I proudly showed them off. I felt at home. I think it is the strongest resonance I can identify in this life… and probably the nearest I have been to visit a past life place 😂 😂.
Here you can see the rooms from the outside:
4. As opposed as it might seem, I never liked Westerns in the least. I don’t know, maybe becasue they are very unreal and Indians were always the bad guys. Probably there was something that didn’t resonate with me.
5. The movie «Dances with wolves» was indeed a real wonder for me. I went alone to the cinema to watch it. Twice, if I remember correctly. Here I was even younger, the premiere was in 1990 so I hardly was fifteen, and by that time I was very introverted and doing those things alone was hard for me. I didn’t care. I wept as never before with a movie. In my Old West past life there were few Indians left, but I think I recognized those same starry skies and the awesome landscapes.
6. As a teenager I loved tartan shirts. I would still wear them today if it wasn’t that I always go with sport clothes almost 24/7.
7. It is very possible that life, in which I saw exploitation and death scenes of domestic animals, was an important reason for me to become vegan in this life. It is just a pity the indoctrination and brainwashing during my childhood was stronger than my subconscious knowledge and rejection to such horrible practices, so it took me over forty years to stop doing it, shame on me 🤦♀️.
Source: http://reelfoto.blogspot.com/2011/10/old-west-as-presented-by-detroit.html
And now we return to the beginning. At the very beginning, as curiously this life was the first one to develop, when I began to meditate as far back as December 2011. After a few attempts, I achieved a deeply enough level using a self-hypnosis recording. One of the fist images I saw was that of a pair of leather boots with spurs I was wearing. The ground was sandy. And above, a splendid blue sky. I was a blonde-haired, very boastful, young man. I knew I was a cowboy. Nearby there was a horse I appreciated very much, it was brown with large white spots, it was saddled and I knew I had stolen it from some (stupid) Indians. I had a six-bullet silver pistol and I was feeling happy and proud. For a moment I saw a thin, red-haired and freckled girl I liked a lot. That was all.
A few days later I saw again a short scene of this life. I saw the horse again, but I only had a small intuition: this horse would end up getting me in trouble.
It wasn’t until two months later that I had the first good regression, in which M turned up. At the beginning it seemed to me a strange scene, I was about to discard it as it looked like pure imagination. But if there is something I learnt in all these years is that we always have to trust ourselves and let the scene develop. I copy and paste it literally:
«I saw a character with blonde, long and straight hair, young (no older than twenty-five), blue eyes, a rather tough expression, sitting close to me. The eyes are covered because he’s wearing a cowboy hat. It seems strange to me he doesn’t take it off in a closed place as the one we are in, closed and dark, full of smoke. It is a canteen. And he doesn’t take it off because we are playing poker and he doesn’t want us to see his eyes. He is smoking. Me too. I recognize myself as the young man of life 1. And I see him as a friend. Though he looks a bit like H, I don’t think it is him. I see the reverse of the cards, on the filthy table we are sitting at. The bar occupies all the back part, and to the left of my position. There are more men, but not many. Two or three tables more, perhaps, but I see no one clearly, not even the ones playing with us. The cards have a pink drawing, there is a geometric design on it, I think, and around little drawings that make up a pattern.
Then I see myself outdoors, I come back home, and I go with the white and brown mottled horse that I robbed the Indians. I think I have a mother, a brother (I’d say older than me), and a bit younger sister. I have the feeling I died young.
And then I had to take a rest, and I thought the eyes of my cowboy friend reminded me a lot of M’s… but I don’t discard I’m just delusional.
(Regression 19-2-12)
Luckily, it wasn’t long before more information came to me, for the moment they were mainly intuitions, including the cause of my death.
«First thing I saw, I was outdoors, under a lot of sun, in a typical Old West town landscape, that is, a sandy ground, a wide avenue, some wooden establishments… I am bare-chested, and washing myself thoroughly, using a brush and a wooden tub we’ve placed on top of a barrel. I also wash my hair, with a bar of soup. It is hot, it seems, as I let the air dry me. I am with my blonde friend, but I only know he is near and after teasing me a bit for my dirtiness, he leaves. The reason we are washing ourselves, I think, is because we have just arrived full of dirt after a good riding. Later on the regression, it comes to me we earn an extra money escorting the carts that travel a route between two cities, I don’t know which. With cart I am not referring to a wagon, but rather to a small carriage, completely covered, that was used as the usual transport between cities… a stagecouch, comes to me now. At that moment I have the horse near, including the rifle, a Winchester (this came to me as such). We always carry weapons, just in case.
Then I had varied images, disperse, what comes next is more about "knowledge". My usual job is the ranch, helping my mum. We have beef cattle (I see the cows clearly, Hereford-type race, I think it is called so, of a heavy constitution, brown and white). I see a small cowshed we use to shelter the calves mainly, the first days of their life, besides the horse stable, of course. But I also have a lot of time to be idle, and that’s what my friend mainly does. I see him sitting on the porch, well, and I with him many nights, watching the stars, smoking and talking. I’d say he’s two or three years older than I am, and it comes to my mind that his surname is Johnson.
At a certain point a very clear image comes to my mind, a woman that looks like an Indian, she’s barefoot and she’s wearing an Indian dress, it looks greyish to me but I don’t know if that’s its real colour, or if I see it that way because it’s night time. She’s in front of me, at a certain distance, and she’s an old woman, this scares me a bit. I think it’s an image that got engrained on me when I was little, maybe she got too close to the town or maybe she was a prisoner, as I have the impression they try to push her to get her away from me. I don’t know the exact situation in which Indians are right now, I don’t know what year it is, nor what part of the country we’re in, but I have the feeling that if there are still some Indians left, they are only a few and are more or less under control. In any case I think I have seen only a few, and they inspire me a bit of fear and contempt, but this is due to pure ignorance and the stories I’ve heard, not anything personal.
(Regression 28-2-12)
«At the beginning of the meditation I didn’t know very well who I was, there were many people inside a wooden building, quite tall, I don’t know what this could be, maybe some kind of barn or something like that. There are mainly women and children. We are restless and scared. It was quite confusing. But when I got more concentrated, more at the end of the meditation, I knew I was the cowboy, but as a child, maybe nine or ten years old, no more. I want to pretend I am not scared, like the little kids that cry and cover their heads, but of course I am. We can hear some shots nearby. Some dare to look through the slits, and what happens is that they have captured some people (I’d say they’re Indians, but I don’t know for sure), they have forced them to kneel down, with their hands on the back of their heads, and they’re executing them one by one. I think they have tried to attack the town, they say they’re criminals and the people in the town are merciless with them. My rational part wonders if this would be legal. I guess that in case they’re Indians, I don’t think anyone would care. Or maybe the situation got out of control of the judge and he couldn’t oppose the lynching. They don’t let us children get near, of course, despite curiosity is killing us and we all want to see a corpse. I think my mother is near, and it’s posisble she calls me Tom or Tommy at some point. I’m wearing a red tartan shirt.
By the way, if Indians indeed appear in this life, the image I have of them is not like the Cheyennes, that is, the typical of long hair and plumes adorning their heads, but the more aggressive one of shaven heads, crests, fierce and indomitable warriors. I don’t know to which tribe they belong. When I’m thinking about this, a somewhat pejorative comment from Tommy comes to me: “And what difference does it make, aren’t they all the same?”
I have the feeling this is at the end of 19th century or the beginning of 20th (this is valid to all the ages in which I see Tommy), though I can’t completely discard it is my rational mind the one that has decided this. More than anything because I see few Indians, and those I see are quite defeated. During the executions I believe I think “I hate Indians”, with the logic inherent to a child that judges without knowing.
But many more images have come to me from this life, at the beginning and at the end of the meditation. I have seen men hanging from trees, this time I’d say they’re white, and we (“my friend” the blonde one and I, grown-up) have had something to do with it… though I don’t know how. Or we might just have encounter it when we left the town to escort the stagecoach. I have seen a town girl with a hat and long and curly hair, I imagine she means something to me, I think she’s a bit older and was with other kids playing among or on some wooden planks. But above all, I have seen my friend in several, quite disturbing, flashes. It came to my mind he’s the judge’s son.
Well, sometimes he makes fun of me, he tries to scare me telling me the Indians will come back to kill me because I stole their horse. But when we talk at night there is something in his eyes that scares me, a coldness and an emptiness that shouldn’t be there. Somehow he’s disenchanted with life and has no hopes for the future… and I think he keeps inside a deep hatred or resentment for something that happened some other time (I think in this life). But I don’t know what.
At a certain point during the regression I think of him: “You sold me”. I know he betrays me for something, probably after committing some kind of outrage together, and though I know I could expect him to do so, it still hurts me.
I also started to feel suddenly an acute pain on my back, at heart level, as if they had plunged a war hammer from behind. It seemed a penetrating pain and reached my heart. I also felt a headache, on the forehead to be exact. I suspect these injuries caused my death, but I have no idea why or how they were caused.
It is a pity there was barely any emotion during the regression.»
(Regression 13-3-12.)