I sometimes wonder why- or if- I didn’t recall past lives at an earlier age.
Nearly every case I come across that’s uncovered even half the details I’ve uncovered was a case involving a child, or someone who had known since they were a child.
But I had no clue. I had a vague sense of being displaced, living in the wrong culture, location, and era, and massive waves of deja vu for medieval and Victorian items, but it was easy to write it all off as something vague and inconsequential. If I talked about past lives as a young child, nobody wrote it down or remembered (I’ve asked).
Then there are the places I gravitated toward. I don’t know what to make of that. I think the strongest case for having been John Harris and William Longespee comes from the way I wandered around England looking for something that I couldn’t put a finger on, but that could have just been the absent-minded wanderings of a lonely Yank in a faraway country… or could it?
Then there’s the fact that the life I suspect I lived before this one ended in 1982, and this life began in 1984. Basically, I exited during a sort of “Pax Americana” where the culture, technology, and aesthetics were all in a period of stasis. There was very little difference, culturally speaking, between the America of March 1982 and the America of March 1992.
I look at photos of the man I may have been, and I can’t help but notice how much of the tacky decor in that little apartment in OC looks just like the sort of thing I saw in dens and living rooms everywhere in my childhood. I grew up with similar music, lived to see Reagan’s farewell speech in 1989 (he was on every channel and made me miss my cartoons), and I was surrounded by the same ideas, same clothes, and same cars. For me, the change was so gradual that I barely noticed, and I could be forgiven for forgetting that I had lost two rather inconsequential years from a decade when change was a dirty word.
It’s also worth a note that, much like Phil, throughout my life the times I haven’t had a cat were the exception rather than the rule so there was very little change there. I think part of the reason I don’t want to hear from that thing that contacted Phil is because it apparently had a habit of giving cats terminal cancer, and I’m in no hurry to lose my pal.
But it wasn’t Phil’s life I remembered first. In fact I had no idea who Philip K. Dick was until I came across a joking reference to him in 2007 (someone made a crack about him having a cameo as the voice of God so I looked up his Wikipedia article). I had never read a single work by him until the second half of last year because honestly, I was put off by the Christian imagery. It was John’s life that came through first, and I didn’t remember that with any clarity until I was 28. There were plenty of signs it was lurking just below the surface in hindsight, but it seems weird that it didn’t come up sooner.
I think the lack of clear recollections before I was solidly an adult (well, age-wise at least) is one of the reasons I still have doubts about my experiences, even if I can kind of understand why I didn’t remember. That on top of the severely stressed state I was in when the memories of WWI finally came through have always left me unsure if there is anything to this.
I wish I could find more adult recall cases. Apparently we’re invisible, and part of why I’m having a hard time tracking down information and confirming memories is because most of the reincarnation researchers out there are only interested in children.