Conquistador
If you are following my lives, you know that in my recent past life as Alexander in Rome, I had a wife named Alesophinia, and she is my best friend Pam in this current life.
Relationships can be so complex!
Shortly after that memory I was eating lunch with Pam. She didn’t remember Alexander or Alesophinia. But, she thought might be remembering a past life, and she wanted to share it with me, which is common with spiritual friends.
This would be her first past life memory. She hoped that I would understand, since there was always the chance that I would laugh at her. I was not comfortable sharing Alexander or Alesophinia, until she remembered it herself, so it was not related.
She was having a recurring vision that was upsetting her and she needed to share.
She began her story by sharing that the appearance of the foothills in our area were causing her a great deal of stress. We live in a high desert landscape with rocks and sand in small foothills.
Abruptly Pam says that she wants to move away from the area because of the creepy crawly feeling she gets whenever she drives down specific areas of our community and specifically of the foothills. This area triggered a chronic vision or feeling that something bad has happened at some time in the past.
On this day, I sat back and prepared myself to listen quietly and be supportive, because the landscape was not affecting me at all.
I said, “go ahead and tell me what is bothering you”.
She took a deep breath and began describing what the vision is and she says:
I am in an area with landscaping that looks very similar to this area, and I am aware that I am a Native American girl child, about 4-5 yrs of age. We live peacefully on the banks of a river with clear fresh water. The fish and game are plentiful, and we are living a quiet life. We own beautiful horses, and I have a loving family.
Tears begin to stream down her face, as she says, “something bad is happening”.
Everyone is running around and there is yelling and screaming, horses are running by, dogs are barking, there are loud sounds.
I am being held by a man with big hands, and he is stabbing me. I am covered in blood, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. I realize that I have just been killed and am hovering above my body by about 5’. I am looking for my mom.
As I look around I can see that they have the tribe in a circle with fire sticks that make a great sound and then person dies, as well as long metal swords. They are wearing strange shaped metal helmets. They have angry faces.
I become aware that they have my father. They are holding him, and they stab him with a big sword, while others near him are held back with the threat of being killed. They throw his body in the dirt. There is a big pile of my people in the dirt, there is a lot of blood.
They seem to be systematically killing everyone in our tribe and removing any remembrance of Indians. The village is empty; there is not one left there. Everyone has been herded into this one area. Now they are grabbing my mother. I can only be a sacred witness to the horror. But, the landscape that I fear is right behind every one.
This one moment that I associate with the hills in this area is happening right now. The dirt and rocks look the same. They are the same size, color and spacing, and I want to run away. But I continue to hover watching what is happening below me. Then I begin to slowly drift away into a golden light that seems to be waiting for me.
A certain phrase is repeated in my mind, “I have not forgotten, nor can I forget”.
She stops her story and looks at me. I have been closely following and quietly listening. Our eyes locked and there are words that are left unsaid.
There is a long pause as we stare at each other.
I finally asked her, “can I share something?”
Because as you described your perspective I began to become aware of my own perspective and memory of the same moment in time.
She nods yes, please.
As you were telling me your story, a memory has drifted into my own consciousness that I cannot set aside. It is a sweet little girl’s face looking up at me with trusting eyes.
A beautiful woman comes walking up to stand behind the child, bending down she puts her arms around her. This magical moment dominates my mental vision.
I realize that her tribe is my tribe. The peace and joy she described fits into my memory perfectly. This woman is my wife, and this child is my daughter.
I looked into Pam’s eyes and said, “Who was your father in that life? Because I feel that I am her Native American father”.
Pam blinks back some tears and begins crying with her head down.
She knew. We both knew.
As the creepy crawlies begin to engulf my body, I know with certainty that I was her father. The last moments come into focus in my mind. I recognize those helmets that the men are wearing. They are bad men, they are wearing conquistador helmets. It shines in the sun, with sharp edges. I hate the way it sits on the head of these devils. An overwhelming rush of emotional anger wells up in me quickly, my breathing increases, and my mind races looking for a way to save everyone, anyone, myself, but there is none.
I see their sneak attack on the tribe, how they came walking down the river quietly in the early hours to surround the tribe and begin the killing. I am at a loss as to the purpose of the killing, other than that they can do it. We have no weapons, no gold, nothing of value, they even leave our horses.
The entire village is slaughtered just because they can. It makes no sense that I am aware of. The attached is random with men being killed first, the women are left vulnerable, but they fight and lose their lives avoiding being the spoils of war.
It is not possible to enslave Native Americans; they would rather die. Hoka Hey, it is a good day to die. It is historical.
The children are killed in the general fighting as a side effect. Stabbed, shot, trampled. No one is left, which I guess is a good thing, I don’t need to worry about anyone being left behind. I drift away as well.
We are both breathless in our tears. My friend and I hold hands and begin to share little glimpses of time and common memories that overlap with each other, and I understand her anxiety seeing the landscaping because it is so similar. I think it happened perhaps in Utah, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, possibly around the four corners area. All have very similar high desert type landscaping.
The afternoon becomes a spiritual therapy session as we each share our perspectives and some of the earlier joy in our lives together riding horses, fishing, swimming, sharing the joy of tribal life and memories of her mom.
I felt so close to Pam as I held her hand, and I was hoping that maybe this release of energy will cause her to decide to stay. I tell her that she can run but she cannot hide from these memories, and I ask her to stay and not move away. She smiles but does not commit.
The following week she goes on vacation to find a place that calms her soul, seeking peace. I don’t know where that will be. Ultimately she moves across the country to find a peaceful place and I lose contact with her. I miss her and hope she is happy.