Only Love Is Real by Brian L. Weiss

Author:Brian L. Weiss [Weiss, Brian L.]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Though I may not be a king in my future life, so much the better: I shall nevertheless live an active life and, on top of it, earn less ingratitude. - Frederick the Great

He was perspiring profusely now, for the second time, despite the heavy airconditioning in my office. Sweat poured down his face, drenched his shirt, rolled down his neck. A moment ago he had shaking chills and his body shivered. But malaria could do that, alternating bone-chilling cold and inflaming heat. Franc isco was dying from this dreaded disease, alone and thousands of miles from his loved ones. It was a terrib le, painful way to die.

Pedro had begun this office visit by drifting into a deeply relaxed, hypnotic state. He quickly went back through time and space, into a past lifetime, and immediately he began to sweat. I tried to dry his face with tissues, but it was like trying to stop a flood with one's hands. The sweat kept pouring down. I hoped that any physical discomfort cased by the drenching sweat would not affect the depth and intensity of his trance state.

“I'm a man . . . with black hair and tanned skin,” he gasped through the sweat. “I am unloading a large wooden ship . . . heavy cargo. . . . It's boiling hot here. ... I see palm trees and flimsy wooden structures nearby. . . . I'm a sailor. . . . We are in the New World.”

“Do you know the name?” I inquired.

“Francisco . . . my name is Francisco. I am a sailor.”

I had meant the name of the p lace, but he had become aware of his name in that lifetime.

“Do you know the name of this place?” I asked again.

He paused for a moment, still sweating profusely. “I don't see that,” he answered. “One of these accursed ports. . . . There is gold here. In the jungle . . . somewhere in the d istant mountains. We will find it. ... I can keep some of what I find. . . . This accursed place!”

“Where are you from?” I asked, looking for more details. “Do you know where your home is?”

“On the other side of the sea,” he answered patiently. “In Spain . . . where we are from.” He was inc luding his fellow sailors, unloading a ship's cargo in the broiling sun.

“Do you have family in Spain?” I inquired.

“My wife and my son are there. ... I miss them, but they are all right . . . especially with the gold I send back. My mother and my s isters are there, too. It's not an easy life. ... I miss them greatly.”

I wanted to learn more about his family.

“I am going to take you back in time,” I told him, “back to your family in Spain, to the last time you were together, before this current journey to the New World. I will tap you on your forehead and count backward from three to one.

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