Past lives

For many years I have been interested in whether we have lived before, and if so, whether these memories are accessible to us. I have read books about it, and a couple of years ago, I started on a course teaching hypnosis techniques and past life regression therapy techniques. I am now one lesson away from gaining my diploma in Past Life Therapy.

Yesterday, I ran a Past Lives workshop for Abus Coritani and there were twenty one people there. Jung, in his work, commented on how often the same situation and types of people came up (archetypes) but I am always surprised at the variety of different experiences that people have. Some are very vivid, others only impressions. It also intrigues me that on the guided meditation part, the part designed to allow the body to find a sufficient level of relaxation to let regression take place, some people do not follow the meditation as it is spoken to them, but instead they create their own unique landscapes.


Are these experiences really views into our previous lives? Can we learn from these experiences? Can we bring something back with us which can empower us more in this life? The more I see of it, the more I believe we can. What I am wondering now though is, is it also possible to view our future lives in this same way? I think I see a few sessions coming up!




Falling, falling, the leaves are falling,
In hues of orange, gold and red.
Wind through the trees, winter calling,
All that now lives will soon seem dead.

Misty mornings, damp and chill,
Steel grey skies that set the mood.
The birds overhead cry sharp and shrill,
As they gather up the plentiful food.

Small creatures filling up their stores
To see them through the dark and cold
We all must obey Mother Natures laws
It has been this way since days of old.

And as we watch, the wheel is turning
Away from Summer, towards Winter’s pain.
But not all is sorrow for soon we’ll be yearning,
To feel the warmth, the fires of Samhain.

The pumpkins are carved, the lamps are lit,
Outside the grove the excitement is high
We stand there robed as we gather the kit.
We write our worries, only we know why.

The Cailleach comes under cover of dark,
To strip away all the debris and rot.
Our circle is drawn and we gather together to mark
The end of Summer, though its not forgot.

Our dear departed join us, the veil is thin,
We invite them through the Northern gate again.
Our ancestors of blood and bone rush in
As we honour them at the feast of Samhain.

Diane Worthington 2013