Originally posted by: AKHIAWAL
I'm liking it.Very good.I'm also writing my first story.But not many people comment there also..
Originally posted by: AKHIAWAL
Link to nehi dena aata.Forum me hi hain.Manan ss:tere pyar men.
Originally posted by: AKHIAWAL
Meri hi hain.Woh help kar rahi hain.
MANIK EXPLORES MORE LIFETIMES
Dr. Dhawan wanted to learn more about the sources of Manik's underlying despair, which had been deepened even more by his brother's tragic death. They needed to understand more about the superficiality of his relationships. Were his mother's constant criticisms of his girlfriends and the guilt of the abortion blocking his love? Or had he just not yet met the right woman?
The regression process is like drilling for oil. You never quite know where the oil is, but the deeper you go the better your chance of striking it.
Today they were going deeper. Manik had only recently begun to remember his past lives. Frequently in the beginning, lifetimes are entered at their most traumatic points. This happened again.
"I'm a soldier . . . English, I think," Manik observed. "Many of us are brought in by ship to capture the enemy's fortress. It's huge, with high and very deep walls. They've filled the harbour with large rocks. We must find another way in." He became silent as the invasion was delayed.
"Go ahead in time," Dr. Dhawan suggested. "See what happens next." He tapped three times on Manik's forehead in order to focus his attention and help him bridge the gap in time.
"We have overcome the rocks, and we have breached the fort," he answered. He began to grunt and to sweat. "Little tunnels . . . we are running through them, but we don't know where we are going. . . . The tunnels are narrow and low. We must go single file and bend over as we run."
Manik began to sweat profusely. He was breathing very rapidly, and he seemed extremely upset.
"I see a tiny doorway ahead. . . . We are running through this door.
"Ugh!" he winced suddenly. "The Spanish are on the other side of the door. They're killing us as we come through, one at a time. . . . They have struck me with a sword!" He gasped, holding his neck. His breathing became even more rapid. He was now gasping for air, and sweat was pouring from his face, drenching his shirt.
Suddenly his movements ceased. His breathing became regular, and he was calm. As Dr. Dhawan dried his forehead and face with a tissue, the sweating began to diminish.
"I'm floating above my body," Manik announced. "I have left that life ... so many bodies ... so much blood below . . . but I'm above that now." He floated in silence for a few moments.
"Review that lifetime," Dr. Dhawan instructed. "What did you learn? What were the lessons?"
He pondered these questions from a higher perspective.
"I learned that violence is a profound ignorance. I died senselessly far away from my home and loved ones. I died because of the greed of others. The English and the Spanish were both stupid, killing each other for gold in faraway lands. Stealing gold from the others and killing themselves for it. Greed and violence killed these people. . . . They had all forgotten about love."
He grew silent again. Dr. Dhawan decided to let him rest and digest these incredible lessons. He, too, began to contemplate Manik's lessons.
Dr. Dhawan's POV -
Over the centuries since Manik's senseless death in a fortress far removed from his English home, gold has changed to dollars and pounds and yen and pesos, but we are still killing each other for it. Indeed, this has been going on throughout history. How very little we have learned over the centuries. How much more do we need to suffer before we once again remember about love?
Dr. Dhawan came out of his thoughts as Manik's head began moving from side to side on the chair. He had an amused smile on his face. He had spontaneously entered another, much more recent lifetime. Once Manik began to remember lifetimes, his visual experiences were particularly vivid.
"What are you experiencing?" asked Dr. Dhawan.
"I'm a woman," he observed. "I'm quite beautiful. My hair is long and blonde . . . my skin is very pale."
With large blue eyes and elegant clothes, Manik was a prostitute much in demand in post-World War I Germany. Although the country was besieged by runaway inflation, the rich still had money for her services.
Manik had some difficulty remembering the name of this elegant woman. "Magda, I believe," he uttered. Dr. Dhawan did not want to distract him from his visual appraisal.
"I'm very successful in this business," Magda said proudly. "I'm a confidante to politicians, military leaders, and very important businessmen." She seemed a bit vain as she remembered even more.
"They are all obsessed with my beauty and my skill," she added. "I always know just what to do." Magda possessed an excellent singing voice and often performed at elegant soirees. She learned to manipulate men.
Probably from all her lifetimes as a man, Dr. Dhawan thought but did not say.
Then Manik's voice lowered to a whisper. "I influence these people. ... I can get them to change decisions. . . . They do it for me," she said, impressed with her status and ability to influence these powerful men.
"I usually know more than they do," she went on somewhat ruefully. "I teach them about politics!" Magda enjoyed power and political intrigue. Her political power, however, was indirect; it always had to be mediated through men, and this frustrated her. In a future life, Manik would need no intermediaries.
One young man in particular stood apart from the rest.
"He is more intelligent and serious than the others," Magda observed. "His hair is brown, and his eyes are very blue. . . . He is passionate in everything he does! We spend many hours just talking. I believe we love each other, too." She did not recognize this man as anyone in her current life.
Manik looked sad, and a tear formed in the corner of his left eye.
"I left him for another ... an older, more powerful and wealthy man who wanted me exclusively. ... I didn't follow my heart. I made a terrible mistake. He was terribly hurt by my action. He never forgave me. . . . He didn't understand." Magda had sought security and external power, putting these qualities ahead of love, the real source of security and strength.
Apparently her decision was one of those that mark a turning point in life, a fork in the road that, once chosen, cannot be undone.
Her older lover lost his power as German politics swung wildly to the violent new parties, and he abandoned her. Magda lost track of her passionate younger lover. And finally her body began to deteriorate from a chronic sexual illness, probably syphilis. She was depressed and did not have the will to resist the rampaging disease.
"Go to the end of that life," Dr. Dhawan urged her. "See what happens to you, see who is around."
"I'm in a cheap bed ... in a hospital. This is a hospital for the poor. There are many others there, sick and moaning . . . the poorest of the poor. This must be a scene from hell!"
"Do you see yourself?"
"My body is grotesque," Magda answered.
"Are there doctors and nurses around?"
"They are there," she answered bitterly. "They pay no attention to me. . . . They are not sad at all. They disapprove of my life and what I have done. They are punishing me."
A life of beauty, power, and intrigue had ended on this low note. She floated above her body, finally free.
"I feel so peaceful now," she added. "I just want to rest."
Manik was silent in the chair. They would review that lifetime's lessons another time. He was exhausted, and Dr. Dhawan awakened him.
The chronic pain in Manik's neck and left shoulder gradually disappeared over the next few weeks. His physicians had never found the origins of this pain. Of course they had never considered a mortal sword wound from several centuries ago as the likely cause.
That evening, Dr. Dhawan sat down in his office at home to study Manik's case.
Dr. Dhawan's POV -
I am constantly amazed by the short-sightedness of most people. I have many acquaintances who obsess daily about their children's educations: which nursery school is the best, private schools versus public schools, which college board prep courses are the most effective, how to maximize grades and extracurricular activities to give their children an edge to get into that college, that grad school, ad infinitum. Then the same cycle will start with their grandchildren. But these people think that this world is frozen in time, that the future will be a replica of the present. If we continue to chop down our forests and destroy oxygen sources, what will these children breathe in twenty or thirty years? If we poison our water systems and food cycles, what will they eat? If we blindly continue to overproduce fluorocarbons and other organic wastes and blow holes in the ozone layer, will they be able to live outdoors? If we overheat this planet by some greenhouse effect and the oceans rise and we flood our coasts and overstress oceanic and continental fault lines, where will they live? And the children and grandchildren in China and Africa and Australia and everywhere else are just as vulnerable because they are all inescapably residents of this planet. And consider this. If and when you reincarnate, you will be one of these children. So how can we worry so much about SAT tests and colleges when there may not be a world here for our progeny? Why is everybody so obsessed with living longer? Why squeeze a few more unhappy years out of the geriatric end? Why the preoccupation with cholesterol levels, bran diets, lipid counts, aerobic exercise, and so on?
Doesn't it make more sense to live joyously now, to make every day full, to love and be loved, rather than worry so much about your physical health in an unknown future? What if there is no future? What if death is a release into bliss? I am not saying to neglect your body, that it is all right to smoke or to drink excessively or to abuse substances or to be grossly obese. These conditions cause pain, grief, and disability. Just don't worry so much about the future. Find your bliss today. The irony is that, given this attitude and living happily in the present, you probably will live longer anyway. Our bodies and our souls are like cars and their drivers. Always remember that you are the driver, not the car. Don't identify with the vehicle. The emphasis these days on prolonging the duration of our lives, on living to one hundred years of age or more, is madness. It's like keeping your old Ford going past 200,000 miles, past 300,000. The body of the car is rusting out, the transmission has been rebuilt five times, things are falling off the engine, and yet you refuse to turn it in. Meanwhile there is a brand new Corvette waiting for you right around the corner. All you have to do is gently step out of the old Ford and slide into the beautiful Corvette. The driver, the soul, never changes. Only the car. And, by the way, I think there might be a Ferrari down the road for you.
***
PROMO
Dr. Dhawan's POV -
Earlier that day, Manik could not remember his name. In a hypnotic trance, he had emerged in an ancient lifetime, one he had previously remembered in the office. In that lifetime, he had died after being dragged by leather-clad soldiers. His life ebbed away as his head rested in his beloved daughter's lap, and she rocked rhythmically with despair.
Perhaps there was more to learn from that time. Once again, he remembered dying in her arms, his life fading away. I asked him to look at her closely, to look deeply into her eyes and to see if he recognized her as someone in his current life.
"No," he sadly answered. "I don't know her."
"Do you know your name?" I asked, returning his attention completely to that ancient lifetime in Palestine.
He pondered this question. "No," he finally said.
"I will tap you on the forehead as I count backward from three to one. Let your name just pop into your mind, into your awareness. Whatever name comes to you is fine."
No name popped into his mind.
"I don't know my name. Nothing comes to me!"
But something came to me, popping into my mind like a silent explosion, suddenly clear and vivid.
"Eli," I said aloud. "Is your name Eli?"
"How do you know that?" he responded from the ancient depths. "That is my name. Some call me Elihu, and some call me Eli. . . . How do you know? Were you there, too?"
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "It just came to me."
I was very surprised at the whole situation. How did I know? I have had psychic or intuitive flashes before, but not often. This felt as if I were remembering something rather than receiving a psychic message. Remembering from when? I could not place it. My mind stretched to remember, but I could not.
I knew from experience that I should stop trying to remember. Let it go, get on with the day, the answer would probably arrive spontaneously in a while.
An important piece of some strange puzzle was missing. I could feel its absence, hinting at a crucial connection still to be found. But a connection to what? I tried, not very successfully, to concentrate on other things.
Later that evening, the puzzle piece arrived suddenly and very softly in my mind. All at once, I was aware of it.
It was Nandini. About two months ago, she had recounted a tragic but touching lifetime as a potter's daughter in ancient Palestine. Her father had been killed "accidentally" by Roman soldiers after they dragged him around from the back of a horse. The soldiers had not really cared what happened to him. His mangled body, his bleeding heal, had been cradled by his daughter as he died in the dusty street.
She had remembered his name in that lifetime. His name was Eli.
My mind was working quickly now. The details of the two Palestinian lifetimes fit together. Manik's and Nandini's memories of that time meshed perfectly. Physical descriptions, events, and names were the same. Father and daughter.
I have worked with many people, usually couples, who have found themselves together in previous lives. Many have recognized their soul companions, traveling together through time to be united once again in the current lifetime.
Never before had I encountered soul mates who had not yet met in the present time. In this case, soul mates who had travelled nearly two thousand years to be together again. They had come all this way. They were within inches and minutes of each other, but they had not yet connected.
At home, with their charts filed away in my office, I tried to remember if they had shared other lifetimes. No, not as monks. One story but not two, at least not yet. Not on the India trading routes, not in the mangrove swamps of Florida, not in the malarial Spanish Americas, not so far in Ireland. These were the only lifetimes I could remember.
Another thought dawned. Perhaps they had been together in some or all of those times but had not recognized each other, because they had not met in the present. There was no face, no name, no landmark in the present life, no one to connect to the people in previous incarnations.
Then I remembered Nandini's western China, the timeworn sweeping plains where her people were massacred and where she and a few other young women were captured. On these same plains, which Manik pinpointed as Mongolia, he had returned to find his family, his kin, his people destroyed.
Manik and I had assumed that his young wife had been killed amid the chaos, destruction, and despair described in his recall. She had not. She had been captured and taken away for the rest of a lifetime, never to be held again in the strong arms of her Mongol husband.
Now those arms had returned through the hazardous mists of time to hold her again, to hug her sweetly to his breast. But they did not know. Only I knew.
***
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