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{A past life remembered by Blessed Hostess, the person who channels Clovistia. She has agreed to share a few past lives as educational tools. The images that are shown are not meant to be historically accurate. They are chosen because they best represent the memory itself}.

I became aware that a distant voice was calling a name “Abu”.  I would hear it randomly over a period of weeks, that stretched into months. But there was nothing else. I did some research and learned that this was a name often used to refer to a man that showed respect, usually a father figure. I wondered who this person could be and why I was hearing his name. Whose voice was it? Was it calling this name for help? No, it sounded more happy and joyful. It sounded more like a child’s voice, or maybe it just felt that way to my ears. I enjoyed the sound and would always stop when it drifted into my awareness.

On the day that I remembered this life, I had a great deal of anxiety because a young family member was going away on a trip. I was worried something would happen and they would never know how I felt about them.  I feared that there would be unspoken words between us. But, the 11 yr old grandchild was too young to understand my fear. I could only give a hug and long goodbye, in an effort not to frighten them with my fear. I resolved to go to bed, rest and be alone. I began to hear that voice calling “Abu!”  I relaxed back into the sound of the voice to escape and began to drift in to the past. . . . Through a haze of emotions, time and space, I began to hear: “Abu! Abu!, Abu Shakar, wait, wait for us! Abu!”. I could faintly hear the sound of voices on the wind. I started to be aware that I was drifting, and I decided to let the memory unfold. I covered my head and tried to clear my mind, getting as comfortable as possible. . .

Year: 1531
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Afsyrian
Location: Base of Himalayas
LIfe path: Nomad

As my mind drifted back into time, I became aware that I was standing at the base in a great meadow, over shadowed by great mountains, that I immediately recognized as the Himalayas.There was a chill in the air, and I felt a slight shiver. I looked down and became aware that I was sitting on a camel. From the height, I could see across a great green meadow, with springs flowers blooming all around. I felt my body and realized I was a man with a long beard. As I ran my fingers through the beard, it felt silky, and I smelled of lavender. I held the hairs up and saw that it was grey. I ran my hands down my body and realized I was wearing flowing robes. My head was covered.

“Abu, Abu, Abu Shakar, wait, wait for us! it is prayer time” came the sound of a familiar young boy’s voice in the distance. My eyes swept across the greenery and I saw many familiar faces. “Abu Shakar, it is prayer time” came a voice very close me. I looked down as saw the excited faces of a group of young boys. Their faces shined in the afternoon light. Their smiles were electric. As I took a closer looked around, I recognized all the faces and realized they were all family and friends. I became aware that I was the leader of a group of nomads, of this group of specific nomads. The word Afsyrian drifted into my mind. Some of the members were riding camels, others were walking. Another group of young men were running towards me to announce it was prayer time. I was Muslim. I sat smiling and enjoying the excitement of the boys. I loved prayer times. It was a joyous moment shared by all. I dismounted and hugged the young men as they reached me. “Abu can I lead the prayers, please, I have been practicing”, came a voice from a young boy with pleading eyes, and I said yes, you may lead the afternoon prayer. Go and choose a good location. Immediately the young boys dashed off; prayer rugs in hand, jumping and laughing

Suddenly a woman appeared to my right and gently took my arm.” Let me walk with you Abu”, and she gently guided me towards the young men. Her touch was so light and loving, and I smiled down at her. She was wearing a beautiful head covering. I realized that I could not walk well on my own, and I needed a cane or help. We walked a short distance were the nomad group was gathering together and lining up for prayers. The young boy had taken his position at the head of the group. He began the call to prayers, a haunting, summoning, pleading call for all souls to stop and take refuge in the words of Allah. I lowered my head and looked directly into the eyes of the woman I was walking with. I was momentarily frozen by her eyes. I stopped to stare into her face, memorizing all her delicate features. She had lovely black eyes, and a sweet face. She shyly put her eyes down and asked if something was wrong.

No, I thought. This was a perfect moment in time. I was in a land that I loved, surrounded by the most important people in the world to me. The day was a glorious gift. We had food and water. There was no war. We enjoyed peace and prosperity. No, there is nothing wrong and I smiled at her. I lifted her chin up so that I could look into her eyes. This was my beloved daughter Afsahar. I became aware that I felt completely blessed when she entered my life and has taken care of me faithfully since her mother, Rashida, had passed away long ago. I took a moment to hug her and thank her for taking care of me. We walked together over to the others and prepared to perform our prayers. As the prayers began, the moment began to fade away and I thought the memory was over, when I realized that I was in a different location, and I was receiving a different glimpse of his life . . .

During my next glimpse, I was awakened by loud clamoring outside my tent, and men’s voices giving instructions. I went outside under the breaking morning light for prayers and realized that today was a grand day. Excitement buzzed in the air and I was filled with excitement. Today we would be going to the bazaar to sell our wares. We traveled through many countries on the silk road and sold our wares at various bazaars. Our tribe created handmade rugs and the demand was great. Eagerly the men climbed onto our camels for the days ride. It would be a glorious day.

In the distance we could hear the faint sound of music and we knew that our caravan was headed in the right direction. On arrival at the bazaar, all the sights and sounds surrounded us. The smell of incense, aromatic meats cooking on open fires, savory spices, flowers and other aromas drifted on the wind. Loud sound, from music and loud voices calling to buy different wares soon surrounded us. Our young men eagerly unloaded our wares into a waiting stall, and immediately they were surrounded by buyers. I slipped off my camel to greet my friends and make acquaintances with those I had long not seen. I walked down through this year’s bazaar and marveled at how large it had become. I wondered how much bigger it could get by next year. I remembered a time when the bazaar was much smaller, and we all knew each other back then. This year it was teeming with life, buyers, sellers, beggars, money. By the end of the day, I was ready for rest. We would return home tomorrow. We went just outside of town to raise our tents and sleep. I drifted away . . . .

My next glimpse into this life found me lying in bed gravely ill. I had a wonderful, long life. I shared it with people that I genuinely loved. I have been blessed to know Islam to its greatest depths permeating every cell of my being in a joyous chain of memories. This life had been so filled with blessings that I began to realize that it was my favorite past life memory so far. It expanded my awareness of peace and tranquility. This entire life I had enjoyed each and every day like a small gem. I was aware that I was a popular, kind, giving, pious man. But my end was near.

I became aware that I was surrounded by men, women and children who were crying. My daughter was by my right side, her head leaning on my shoulder, she shuddered wailing and tears flowed down her soft face. She was praying for me in between sobs. I realized that she had never married. She had dedicated her life to taking care of me. Now would be the time for her to move on and have her own life. I hugged her and gently whispered that I wished her peace and happiness. I thanked her again and again for her sacrifices for me and her kindness.

I suddenly became aware that I was moving up out of my body. I just began to drifted up, and it was without pain. I knew I was drifting towards paradise and my heart jumped with joy. When I was approximately 10 feet above my body I turned around and looked back at the life I was leaving behind. I wanted to see it one last time. I saw that beyond the tent there were men, women, camels, children. Everyone was gathered outside my tent. I smiled at their loyalty and my heart felt great joy. Abruptly I looked down and I was looking straight into the face of my daughter who was looking up beyond me towards paradise.
For a moment I was able to see her future and fear shot thru my veins. “Wait!”, I yelled so loudly.
Frantically I struggled to get back inside my body. Just one final minute, just one final word. I had to talk to her one last time. I yelled loudly “Stop. Wait. No, I cannot go now, please one more moment. Just one more word!!!!”

But tragically I continued to drift away. I watched as her tears ran down her cheeks, and I became agonizingly aware that she would never be the same. That she would never marry and enjoy life. That she would grieve for me for the rest of her life. There was nothing I could do to stop it and it hurt every cell in my body to be aware of it. Why, oh why, did this have to happen. This was a fantastic life! Maybe my best life! Agony swept over me and I demanded to know what I have done wrong to deserve this painful awareness of her pain. I loved her more than I loved anything that was alive in this life. But all she will remember of me is that I was gone. I was never to return. We would never touch each other again. Her grief would surround her and suffocate her ability to enjoy life ever again. I continued to drift and then the memory was over.

“Wait!”, I yelled so loudly that it resonated through me. Frantically I struggled to get back inside my dead body. Just one final minute, just one final word. I had to talk to her one last time. I yelled loudly “Stop. Wait. No, I cannot go now, please let me go back! Please just one more word!”.
But tragically I continued to drift away from my body.

I became aware of myself again. I felt my body and knew that I was home again in my body. I immediately cried. I cried for his grief, for his sadness. It physically hurt me to know the depth of his despair. As this past life memory began to wear off and I became more present in myself. I gradually became aware that this pain, this deep pain that he felt in his final moment seemed familiar. Yes, this aching feeling in the pit of my stomach was indeed familiar. It was the same feeling I was experiencing when I was away from my children and grandchildren. The feeling that I had to share one last word with my loved ones during specific moments, was this same memory. I could almost smell/feel/taste this past life memory that bound all these emotions together. It had developed into an anxiety disorder. This life and my current life were connected with this moment in time. I could think of different sensory triggers that activated the anxiety. I held this past life memory beside the memory of my current life, and I knew that gut churning feeling. I thought of times when my grandchild left, and the emotional feeling was the same. It radiated with a frequency that was so unique it was like smelling coffee, completely different than any other feeling or memory.  I had lived with this my whole life and small snips of time, space, memories in this life flashed past at different times. But, I did not know where it was coming from. I was once asked what kind of childhood trauma I had to cause this terrible anxiety.

At the time of this memory, I was not seeking any metaphysical assistance. I had to heal myself the only way I knew how. The idea of using past life therapy as a means to heal myself would not come to me for years. So, I prayed. I prayed to the God I knew. I prayed to the universe to please help me, because I needed help. I thought I cannot do this myself. I need your help repairing me back to a whole human being. I prayed to be shown the way, and I promise to follow if the doors were open for me. I drifted into a long sleep that lasted all afternoon and night. The next morning, I felt exhausted, my body ached, my mind was dull. But that feeling of panic that had gripped me the day before was somewhat less like a knife. I could breathe easier. A journey to recovery had begun. I had setbacks and successes, but gradually the string of emotions subsided and eventually stopped. I later learned that I had somehow released the negative energy that was bound in that past life. It now hurts much less to think of Abu, Afsahar, and family members . . . Now whenever I think of this life or experience the pull to drift back to these emotions, I imagine that I am throwing pink roses and flowers onto the memory. Beautiful, sweet, fragrant, pink flowers for healing.

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