It doesn’t matter my name, my gender, my age or my origin. Maybe I’ll give some of this information later when it’s really useful. What matters is that I’m not crazy or have a strong imagination. A random event was enough to make me understand that all those things that have been trying to convince me for so many years that they belong to the realm of my imagination are real. And they are much more real than this sad reality we live.
I turn the pages of Michael Newton’s book and with each page I feel the tightness in my heart grow stronger. This man had seen what I had seen. He knew as much as I did. It wasn’t my imagination. All these years the world that existed in my head was not a world but memories. Memories not of the previous life but of the place you are before you came to Earth. I feel Strange. Now I might even feel a little crazy. I do not know what to believe. But there are so many similarities.
The woman who gave me the book (a woman who luck brought into my life, who we met because we had to share a hotel room in some European country) says that I must be a recent transmigration. How come I have such vivid memories of this. I remember a lot, and the more I remember, the greater my desire to find my life back then, those who were around me then, in this world. I know we came together, I know we chose to come. We chose to come because something very bad would happen to us if we stayed there. We were forced to come. But I don’t remember exactly why we chose to go into this process knowing the consequences. We knew where we were coming and what would happen to us. We knew that we would lose our memories, that we would lose each other, that we would lose our privileges. The other choice must have been truly horrible.
This is the one possibility that exists: to choose to leave the world you live in and come to Earth, but it is not the most common one. It is probably the rarest. The most common is to be found on earth as a “lesson”. It’s not exactly punishment, although the word would fit because Earth is not the Promised Land. Earth is the prison of that real world. It is the place to which those who threaten the happy life of that world are sent. In both cases you lose your memories. You lose your normal form. You lose a part of yourself and recreate it. You lose almost everything. In the second case you are forced to build everything from scratch again and again until you complete the purpose for which you came. In the first case, in my case, how long you will stay depends on the agreement you have made and the reason you chose to come.
There are other options. You can come to Earth keeping your memories, keeping your normal form. But this has its parts. The price is very heavy and hard. No one makes this choice unless they are looking for someone… unless they have come for a very specific purpose.
The only way out of this world is death. But only death that does not depend on you. If you choose suicide, you return again and again and live the same until you complete - without trying to escape - your entire course.
From the day I realized, I lost sleep. I put on one of those sleep tracking apps because my boyfriend complains that I’m having nightmares and rambling. I still don’t have any result that I can say is useful.
In the morning when I wake up, I don’t remember what I saw, only details. Faces, expressions, some furniture. I’m still trying to put it all together. It needs time. He wants calmness. The first I have and the second I am trying to get through meditation. There is no reason to fear the unknown. When we explore it, it is likely that we will find it a pleasant change.
Now that I write all this I feel my body ache. My heart hurts. I feel fear, but even more strongly I feel longing. I’m scared but I’ll keep looking… until I find us all. I need to do it to stop feeling alone, to stop feeling different. I remember that when I was a child, so young that I hardly remember anything else from that time, I began to have images in my mind. Images that at the time I thought were created by my imagination but in the end they were memories. I was talking to myself and I can clearly remember the anguish in my mother’s eyes every time she caught me talking to myself. Since then I tried to hide but I was too young to do it. Growing up I learned to hide my “fantasy” better. So well that those around me were relieved. I found a job that some people call “good” and so it went from “crazy” to “smart but a little weird”.
My body feels foreign. Even my name feels foreign. I feel alien to the life I live. I want to go back. It’s excruciating. I remember things from me. I remember my name. I remember what I looked like. I remember and I will fight for it…
I’m here to tell what I know. To help those who remember but also to ask them for their own help. I’m looking for my company. I won’t stop until I find them. I will keep providing information about those until I find them. If anyone remembers or knows someone who does, I’m asking for their help. Only our names I will not say - our real names, not the ones we were given on Earth. These will be our “ID”.
Thanks!