Many Lives, Many Masters by Weiss Brian L

Author:Weiss, Brian L. [Weiss, Brian L.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Publisher: Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Published: 2012-04-30T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter

NINE

Each week another layer of neurotic fears and anxieties was stripped away from Catherine. Each week she appeared a bit more serene, a bit softer and more patient. She was more confident, and people were drawn to her. Catherine felt more loving, and others gave love back to her. The inner diamond that was her true personality was shining brilliantly for all to see.

Catherine’s regressions spanned millennia. Each time she entered a hypnotic trance, I had no idea where the threads of her lives would emerge. From prehistoric caves to ancient Egypt to modern times—she had been there. And all of her lives had been lovingly overseen, somewhere beyond time, by the Masters. In today’s session she emerged in the twentieth century, but not as Catherine.

“I see a fuselage and an airstrip, some kind of airstrip,” she whispered softly.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I can’t see … Alsatian?” Then, more definitely, “Alsatian.”

“In France?”

“I don’t know, just Alsatian. … I see the name Von Marks, Von Marks [phonetic]. Some type of brown helmet or a hat … a hat with goggles on it. The troop has been destroyed. It appears to be a very remote area. I don’t think there’s a town nearby.”

“What do you see?”

“I see buildings destroyed. I see buildings…. The land is torn up from … bombings. There’s a very well hidden area.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m helping them with the wounded. They’re carrying them away.”

“Look at yourself. Describe yourself. Look down and see what you’re wearing.”

“I have some type of jacket on. I have blond hair. I have blue eyes. My jacket is very dirty. There are many wounded people.”

“Are you trained to help with the wounded?”

“No.”

“Do you live there or were you brought there? Where do you live?”

“I don’t know.”

“About how old are you?”

“Thirty-five.” Catherine herself was twenty-nine, and she had hazel eyes, not blue. I continued the questioning.

“Do you have a name? Is it on the jacket?”

“There are wings on the jacket. I’m a pilot … some type of pilot.”

“You fly the airplanes?”

“Yes, I have to.”

“Who makes you fly?”

“I’m in service to fly. That’s my job.”

“Do you drop the bombs, too?”

“We have a gunner on the plane. There’s a navigator.”

“What kind of plane do you fly?”

“Some type of chopper plane. It has four propellers. It’s a fixed wing.” I was amused, because Catherine knew nothing about airplanes. I wondered what she would think “fixed wing” meant. But, like the making of butter or the embalming of the deceased, under hypnosis she possessed a vast store of knowledge. Only a fraction of this knowledge, however, was available to her everyday, conscious mind. I pressed on.

“Do you have a family?”

“They are not with me.”

“Are they safe?”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid … afraid they will come back. My friends are dying!”

“Who are you afraid will come back?”

“The enemy.”

“Who are they?”

“The English … the American Armed Forces … the English.”

“Yes. Do you remember your family?”

“Remember it? There’s too much confusion.”

“Let’s go back in the same lifetime, back to a happier time, before the war, the time with your family back at home.

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