Looking for some stuff on past lives
Sep. 27th, 2011 05:22 pmSo I was watching this movie...
We were watching THE SECRET OF ROAN INISH. I kept tearing up and getting all sniffly, in ways that had nothing to do with the lines or the plot or anything. The kids rebuilding the cottages got to me.
I was cooking when it hit me: I lived in one of those cottages, a low whitewashed stone thing with a thatched roof. My wife cooked bannock on an open hearth like that. We loved children into existence on a straw-tick mattress supported on a rope-spring bed. We laughed much and loved deep and I drowned in the cold North Sea.
It's not the first time I've had that. There's a mountain in the Pyrenees, and I know it well, although I've never been and only seen it briefly since. Or the time I identified all of my father's vacation photos, without knowing his itinerary or having been there myself. One doesn't forget Connemara, not even for death.
It's odd having memories that aren't mine.
Any advice? Any help?
Am I just having hyperimagination?
We were watching THE SECRET OF ROAN INISH. I kept tearing up and getting all sniffly, in ways that had nothing to do with the lines or the plot or anything. The kids rebuilding the cottages got to me.
I was cooking when it hit me: I lived in one of those cottages, a low whitewashed stone thing with a thatched roof. My wife cooked bannock on an open hearth like that. We loved children into existence on a straw-tick mattress supported on a rope-spring bed. We laughed much and loved deep and I drowned in the cold North Sea.
It's not the first time I've had that. There's a mountain in the Pyrenees, and I know it well, although I've never been and only seen it briefly since. Or the time I identified all of my father's vacation photos, without knowing his itinerary or having been there myself. One doesn't forget Connemara, not even for death.
It's odd having memories that aren't mine.
Any advice? Any help?
Am I just having hyperimagination?
I have some too
Date: 2011-09-27 10:52 pm (UTC)driving an oxcart in central Asia, a hell of a long time ago
bringing pony herds down from the steppes in the spring, possibly part of the same memory
standing in a cold, bare, small room in a cottage in Marseilles in 1815 or 1816. It's raining. The cottage is at the top of the hill, on a cobblestoned street. I look down the hill and can see Moose in his incarnation in that life, struggling up the hill, wearing a French naval officer's coat, plain tricorn hat, and dark breeches that don't match his coat. He look exhausted, and somehow I know he has been a prisoner of war. He has a seabag on his shoulder. That's all I can tell. Moose remembers that too.
I have no advice. The memories baffle me. I occasionally see things that move me unreasonably, mostly objects. It's all a mystery.
no subject
Date: 2011-10-01 07:41 pm (UTC)I'm kinda used to having this as I've been experiencing all kinds of things like this for over 15 years. For me it's a normal thing to have some memory come up at random times and it gets easier to "deal" with the longer it's been going on.