I opened my eyes to the room around me after forty-five minutes of a guided trance-like meditation. It was intended to take me to memory of any past lives that wanted to come forth. My first time doing this was in high school. I had no expectations, but ended up seeing myself standing in a busy crowd of people in front of a Greek temple. I could see my sandals and loose white garb. I was alone, but I wasn't lonely.
Interesting, I thought after. It was very visceral, but there was no message. I didn't even know what to do with the information.
About two years later in an Art History class in college, my teacher pulled up a picture of a Greek temple and asked, "Does anyone know what type of column this is?"
"Ionic." I whispered out of nowhere.
"Ionic!" She confirmed.
I nearly fell out of my seat. I had never been to Greece and I'd definitely never studied the nuances and varieties of ancient columns there. As far as I knew, I'd never even heard the word before.
It peaked my interest enough to read a couple of books on the subject (my favorite being Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss, M.D) and do a few more regressions.
I believe I've been a female commoner in ancient Greece, a lesbian geisha, a humble and self-sufficient Polynesian man, and most notably, a poor Latin American woman in the '70's.
In this particular regression, I suddenly saw myself as a young Latin American girl with curly black short hair between 4-9 yrs old. I was running and playing on a dirt field while some boys from the neighborhood played baseball. I was wearing hightop, hand-me-down converse and a magenta graphic shirt with sequins. Images of me running, skipping and jumping around in this dirt field flashed before my eyes and were felt with deep knowing familiarity in my body. When the meditation prompted me to ask about what I had mastered here in this particular life, time fast-forwarded. I saw the same girl in her 20's walking across the same field to a little bodega she worked at. She was feeling confident. It was one of those stand-tall, good day feels, but I got the sense she felt this way often: good. And that’s it.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was so simple. It was so unremarkably remarkable. Her life was not heavy with importance. This woman was essentially nameless. No history made. No selfless devotion. No mastery. No groundbreaking accomplishments other than feeling good. Feeling good was her mastery. The young girl playing and feeling a little unsure of herself grew into a confident, happy, content woman. That was it.
So it begged me - an enthusiastic achiever - to ask, "Was that life insignificant? Is any life insignificant?"
To which I realized, this would be the most significant life I had possibly ever lived.
Thus I answered: "No. Not one bit."
