Are Past Life Memories Real?

A history of recurring dreams

Every winter, from 1986-1990, I relived a past life  so vividly, I cannot doubt that my prior existence as another version of myself was real.

The theme of these memories had played a role in my life since childhood.

I was killed in the Wounded Knee Massacre of December, 1890.

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown, was published in  1970. I first saw this book on display on the front desk at the Leicester Public  Library and instantly reached for it and checked  it out. I was suddenly immersed in the story of Western Tribes and their terrible fate at the hands of the U.S. government. Since part of my family were Indians, it took hold of my imagination and never let go.

Time magazine reviewed the book saying:
“In the last decade or so, after almost a century of saloon art and horse operas that romanticized Indian fighters and white settlers, Americans have been developing a reasonably acute sense of the injustices and humiliations suffered by the Indians. But the details of how the West was won are not really part of the American consciousness … Dee Brown, Western historian and head librarian at the University of Illinois, now attempts to balance the account. With the zeal of an IRS investigator, he audits U.S. history’s forgotten set of books. Compiled from old but rarely exploited sources plus a fresh look at dusty Government documents, Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee tallies the broken promises and treaties, the provocations, massacres, discriminatory policies and condescending diplomacy.”


I began to have recurring dreams that I was a white woman with very pale blond hair. I am looking at a large rock with a dry, twisted tree growing out of it. I scream and start crying. I know that behind that rock is a dead Indian man who had just been shot. I wake up.

Of course, Westerns were all over the television when I was growing up, and a young girl’s fantasies could easily run in the direction but of this dream. But this had no element of wish fulfillment. It was tragic. And it wasn’t the end.

Shamanic Illness

My Saturn Return was bearable, even though it is in the 7th House. But my 8th House Saturn Transit was from Hell. It is a Scorpio House for me and Venus, my chart ruler, is in there in Sagittarius. OUCH!

This was the most intense, darkly Scorpionic time I have lived through yet. I won’t say why,  (except that it involved a man — what else?) but I was subjected to terrible, unrelenting  psychic attack.
I was shocked and horrified that my one reliable defense, my powerful abilities in meditation were useless. I could not still my mind, but was surrounded with a black vortex that swirled around me and made me feel oppressed and ill. I still remember an entity putting something around my neck as if to strangle me from behind. The person who was doing this was indulging in some pretty nasty thought forms!

That obvious attempt to kill me on the astral plane woke me up to the kind of danger I was in, so  I sat down and said “I am going to push this darkness away with my light.” I began to focus on the golden  light in my heart, and willed it to  grow and grow  until all the entities, and the vortex were pushed away. Suddenly I was immersed in a sea of streaming golden light. It was as if I had gone into the sun! And in the midst of this molten light were two eyes and face like Christ, ( or Albrecht Durer lol! )

Afterwards, the attack energies were gone, and I began to have Shamanic dreams.

The recurring dream from my childhood  began again.  The same rock, the tree. my screams and the knowledge that an Indian man had been shot and lay behind the rock. It wasn’t because of the book this time. Maybe it was because I had Indian friends and was around them and on the reservations a lot. But the dream coming in the midst of visions and spiritual visitations, gave it it more significance for me. And the fact that I remembered it from so long ago.

One Who Was Lost Returns

In 1986, I began to work with a spiritual healer as a form of therapy. I had a terrible family life as a child and have had to periodically clear stuff away to be free of them and move on. The healing involved very deep kundalini yoga practices and I took to it like a fish to water.

It was about six months into this work, in December,  that I was meditating in the living room, when a man appeared before me. He was so real, I could touch him! He was a Plains Indian man with very long, thick chestnut brown hair and big, doe eyes. Weird part was, was that the lower part of his face was sealed over with a kind of filmy bandage  as if to erase his mouth. He was lanky, and brown, and wore skins — very 19th century looking. Telepathically, he sent me a message. “Stop trying to find me. I am not in a body. But I look after you.”

Words cannot convey how weird this was.  What he said hit me like a club, for I knew that he was the dead Indian man behind the rock in my recurring dreams.

Four Years of Memories

After that,  every December, I got one more piece of the story.
The second year told me I had been captured by the Lakota Tribe and had married this man. I had a feeling he was Cheyenne for some reason. I can’t explain that.  We were very happy together. White men didn’t like captured white women being happy with Indians, so they killed him.

The third year,  I found out that one of my clients had been in the cavalry unit that was at Wounded Knee and had seen me being killed. We made eye contact at that moment, and out of that we had some karma (for want of a better word.) to work out.  When I told him this, he said he knew it was true. It was like something fell into place about our relationship and his perception of me.

The last year was  in December, 1990.

As a person with Iroquois heritage, I was a subscriber to Akwesasne Notes, a tribal newspaper printed on the reservation in upstate New York. I came home one day and found it on my doorstep. For some reason, I didn’t want to touch it. I picked it up like  a dead mouse and threw in into a corner of the kitchen counter.

Later that day, I sat meditation and had a vision of men and horses riding to the mass grave  on Pine Ridge where the bodies of those slain in the Wounded Knee massacre were buried. They did  a ceremony during which I saw a ghost come out of the grave and come back to me. My spirit  had been trapped there, and had been returned to me.

Later on, I was able to finally able to open that edition of Akwesasne Notes. It was all about the Wounded Knee massacre with its classic photo of Big Foot dead in the snow. There was an article about several spiritual leaders from Pine Ridge riding on horseback to the mass grave of the victims to do a  healing ceremony for those who were buried there. It was the one-hundred year anniversary of the Wounded Knee massacre.

I wrote to them about what had happened to me but they never responded. The next year I went to South Dakota to visit the grave and place a tobacco tie on the fence that surrounds it. I realized I had been afraid to go there before that. I still don’t really like to talk about this, but I think the information about past life memories might be of value , rather than what the memories are about.

As part of that trip, my friend and I drove to Pine Ridge to bring clothes and shoes to the people on the reservation, for winters are terrible there. I was shocked to know how much the whites hated the Indians and how much they exploited Lakota culture to make money. Hypocrisy or cynicism? Probably both.

Driving through the Dakotas caused me physical pain — psychic, physical pain, and heaviness.


In 1992, I was at meeting in support of Leonard Peltier. There was a chance him might be let of prison on parole. Of course that was sabotaged in the most horrible way.  I connected with an Indian guy who so resembled the man who visited me from beyond the veil that I had to speak with him.
He was part of the Peace and Dignity Run. Native people  from Alaska to  Argentina to Mexico City running through Indian lands, collecting feathers on the way that were  attached to long staffs, to meet for four nights of ceremonies at Tenochtihuacan ( Pyramids of the Moon) on Columbus Day. It was five hundred years since Columbus invaded the Americas looking for slaves and gold, and this was an empowering way for Native people to protest its celebration.

I was there at the Pyramids of the Moon  as, under a full moon, tribal members from many lands and cultures, worked their ancient rites together in that place. It was an amazing experience to be there.

I find I still question the idea of past lives in the sense that  a discreet and singular personality goes on for several lives. But I shouldn’t. I think these experiences are a good indication that Past lives are real.

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Heimdall, Rowan, Aquarius, Winter Dreams

Another Heimdall coincidence: I discovered the Ogham tree associated with him is the Rowan or Mountain Ash. Rowan is also the tree ascribed to Aquarius in “Celtic Astrology”. Again this dream coming in January at the start of Mercury retrograde in  Aquarius.

January 12th -14th
For three nights of this Mercury retrograde in my sun sign Aquarius, I have dreamed of Heimdall, the divine ‘Watcher’ of the Rainbow Bridge that connects Heaven and Earth. His name has been constantly chanting through my mind — making sure I don’t forget, or ignore, the call of the Messenger. Heimdall is equated with Mercury, or Hermes, the God who carries messages from the Otherworlds to those of us in the Mortal realms. Those of who carry the Witchblood are most likely to pay attention.This blog post is my way of anchoring this message in the Reality.

That Heimdall and his message belongs in the Book of Winterspells can be shown by spelling all of his powers:

The name Heimdall means the White One, also ‘World Radiance’.  His colors are blue and silver — all are the colors of winter in the North, fire and ice, sun on snow. Like the winter sun, he possesses a supernatural clarity of vision, and due to the silence and stillness of the earth, he hears the whispers of the Other.  Much like those who bear the witchblood.

He offers protection with a sacred shield inscribed with the snowflake pattern of the Helm of Awe.

He carries the Hunting Horn, or echoing horn, whose blast can be heard in all the worlds. Like a great wind blowing through the trees, a wintry blast! The horn is made of bison horn, and horned creatures are sacred to the winterspells…
With this horn, Heimdall announces the Rangnarok, the Twilight of the Gods, when he will do battle with Loki, Trickster God of mischief. The end time, when all the worlds are withdrawn back to the Source is a winterspell…

The White Hart or Stag, who frequents this blog, Eikthymir, stands on the roof of Odinns Hall eating the leaves from the Tree of Life.  Sacred dew drips form his antlers, like the musk that quickens new life in the Spring. His antlers, like a fence, enclose the sanctuary with strong protection. I myself have enlisted the aid of the antlered Stag as a defense during psychic attack. I know his gift of rebirth is a promise and a truth.

Heimdall’s Rune is Algiz that represents the flying swan, and the Valkyries who are Swan Maidens who carry souls between Life and Death along the Rainbow Bridge. They fly by means of swan feather cloaks, teach hidden wisdom to shamans and warriors, and lead souls into the Netherworlds when their time comes.
The feminine attribution of Algiz is called Hamingja in rune shamanism, the giver of luck and a guide on the path to higher consciousness.

Some thoughts on this:

For me the syncronicities are many, and that Heimdall’s name should be en-chanted for three nights with Mercury retrograde in Aquarius makes the message even more significant. My star sign is Aquarius and this is one of my winterspells…

I am part Iroquois. In Iroquois tradition, all white animals are sacred to the divine realms which, to be honest, in most primal cultures is equated with the world of the Ancestors, or the Dead. In such cultures, death is not perceived as final, it is simply entry into another world. Before the white people come, a White Dog Sacrifice was conducted every winter by the Iroquois. In this ceremony a White Dog was given to the Gods to ensure a good relationship with the Otherworld powers.
As a bit of an aside, for us this rite may be disturbing, but for those in alignment with magical consciousness, the white dog is sacred, already part of the Otherworld. His mortal appearance is a gift to the people who then send him home in gratitude.
All white mammals, albinos, are rare. Rare creatures are always sacred in primal consciousness. It is also important to note that in pre-horse cultures, dogs were the most useful and valuable animals, and the sacrifice of the most valuable is most powerful.

All white animals are sacred to the North, for it is the House of Death, darkness, burial, winter, but also the stars, so much more brilliant on nights with no moon, The radiant Milky Way courses overhead every January in Massachusetts, more visible than at any other time.
I always felt I my spirit came to earth from the North Pole. That I fell from the stars at that point. I had a psychic reading a few years ago with a woman from one of the tribes here and she told me straight away that I was born in the North. Most people are born in the South. This makes me different, as one travels from death to birth rather than the other way around. Therefore do I live my life in reverse…

My spiritual name, Whiteswan was given to me in a Lakota ritual reinforced by dreams and presence of the White Swan in the 7th House of my Vedic Horoscope.
The Rune Algiz is in the shape of a reversed peace sign without the ring. It is said to represent a swan falling from Above to Below. I sense it as descending into the head of Heimdall and imprinting its sign on his brow. This brings to mind the Awen which looks like Algiz reversed. The Awen is like the rays of the sun streaming down through the trees and is imprinted on the brow of prophets, seers, and poets, such as the bard, Taliessin, in Faery Tradition. I feel the Awen is also connected, for Heimdall, with his messages from the Gods and his trips along the Rainbow Bridge, is the bringer of Higher Consciousness. As Above so Below.

Another thought: If the meaning of my dream is to hear the trumpet blast announcing Rangnarok, the Twilight of the Gods, perhaps signaling the approach of 2012 when some say the world will end, have no fear. As Heimdall fights Loki we shall see a shift in consciousness. The Yin and Yang, dark and light, male and female shall be engaged in the spiral dance as we ascend back to divine realms. For those who heed, this shift will be a shift to more consciousness, not annihilation.

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