30 True Past Life Stories Compilation - 4 Hours of Stories About Past Life Memories 04:19:41

After all of the background, my story is going to get very chilling very fast. I've always believed in past lives, and a large reason for that is because I grew up having memories and dreams of various past lives. I have also done past life regression a few times. I'm an old soul, and since I was little, I've been able to recount at least ten of them. I've been here many times.

The memories are just there. They always have been. They're so vivid and so detailed. One of my most memorable ones in particular was when I was a young girl living in medieval times. From my recurring dreams and memories, I was 15 at the time. I was part of a super wealthy family. We had an estate on top of a hill and grew wheat. It was the largest estate.

and a trail behind our large house led to a smaller village. Our weed field was between our house and the trail that led to the village. Our house looked onto endless landscapes, and it was beautiful. I believe a big land battle was going on at the time. Nights would come by a lot, and I always admired how handsome they were.

We were ultra-religious, and I had my own bible, and it was encased in silver with gemstones. I read it every day. I remember feeling sad a lot. I had a sister who was 17, and I was the ugly sister. I had long brown hair that my mother or maid always braided. My long hair wasn't the ugly part, nor were my brown eyes.

but I had small and squinting eyes, a large nose, and uneven lips. My sister had long, dirty blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a perfect face, and she was getting married to the most handsome guy around, was also wealthy. I remember having a huge crush on him, but I supported my sister's marriage, and my mother and his family had arranged it between them. We both actually vied for him at one point.

Our father was out fighting and it was just my sister, mother, maid, and I. A few weeks after my sister got married, I was walking along the path behind our house when a handsome knight rode by. He was 16. He had light brown hair and brown eyes that lit hints of gold in the sunlight. He stopped his horse, hopped off, and started conversation with me.

I remember wondering why he approached me, as I felt like ugly crap, but I went along with it. He asked my age, I said 15. He complimented my dress and my hair. He had the most warm smile, there was just something about him. He then asked if I wanted to take a ride with him on his horse, and we did. We rode through the fields and watched the sun set.

I remember over time we fell really deeply in love with one another. We wanted to get married. I remember my mother being oddly okay with this. He had to leave for battle and said that he would be back in a week. He promised that we would be married when he got home and that that was the last of the hardships and the battle. I believe the battle was coming to an end, except he never came back.

News got back to me from one of his battle buddies, and I was devastated. I was so devastated that I actually got sick, and that's how I died about a month later. I know this sounds like some made-up, cliche medieval love story, but it's not. I'm 27 now, almost 28, and this past life has haunted me for probably at least 15 years.

I felt symptoms of sickness, sadness, every time I dreamt about it or remembered it, up until I met my now husband. Mind you, I have brown hair and blue eyes in this life, and he has dark brown hair, and, you guessed it, brown eyes that light up gold in the sun. This will be important. Well, my husband, who was my fiancé at the time, we got married this June,

As an aside, congratulations to you both. Went on a short mini-trip for Valentine's Day this past February to a city that I used to live in for a few years. I wanted to take him to this steakhouse that I always used to go to, as it was so delicious. There are many rooms to this steakhouse, and we sat in a room that I hadn't sat in before. As we were sitting in our dim-lit room enjoying our steaks, I looked to my left.

On the wall was a row of large pictures and landscapes. Not paintings, but real pictures. Of centuries-old estates, medieval castles, and stone mills. Everything was from that era. My eyes stumbled upon one picture in particular, and I froze. My heart started beating really fast, and my blood ran cold. On the wall was my house from this past life.

Everything to the exact T. Mind you, I had never told my husband about this past life. I look back over at my husband who was staring at me so deep into my eyes and so intently from across the table. He was giving me a look that I had never seen before. The first thing he blurts out, I've dreamt about it too. My eyes widened and I almost choked on my steak. What? What?

We've oddly always been so in sync and deeply connected. I always describe our love as one that transcends space and time, so I believe it's why he could tell that I had both dreamt about it and had memories of the place by the way I was looking at it. We don't need to speak to read each other's minds. He says, ''Yeah, I used to dream about it all the time.'' I said, ''It was my house in one of my past lives.''

He then responded, "It wasn't my house, but I was there all the time." I said, "I think visiting me." And he said, "I believe so." He held this stare. I looked at him back straight in the eyes and in this dim-lit room, his brown eyes were glowing hints of gold. They normally only do this in the sun. And then I put it together. He was the knight that I had fallen deeply in love with.

I had always felt such a feeling of 1000 years of familiarity when we lay down and gaze into each other's eyes. And he had too. We had told each other this in those moments. And for me, it wasn't your normal cliche, "Wow, we are so close, I feel like I've known you for a thousand years" kind of feeling, but rather a "We've been through a lot together."

We are finally reunited. You're with me again. You came back. And with you, I am home. Kind of feeling. And I never knew why I oddly felt that specific way. And now, I finally knew why. He has always felt the exact same way. We continue talking. I told him what I remembered and he told me all of his memories.

It was the exact same story, except mine was from my point of view, and his was from his point of view. We had lived together. He also told me the way that he died. Someone had sliced his shoulder with a sword during battle, and towards the end of the quick slice, the end of the sword hit his jugular. Now we also know why he lives with chronic shoulder pain. It's the same shoulder, too."

Only the front of the house and the left side was showing, as well as the field in the front. So, we continued on about what was behind it, and what everything looked like. We just continued with, yep, to each other's description, and that's exactly it. We had remembered what everything behind the house looked like. The trails, the millhouse, the wheat field, the height of the wheat field, the village, identically.

Once we got back to the state that we live in, I purchased markers and a notepad. I suggested that we both draw out, on different pages, of what everything looked like, just for fun, for further confirmation. We faced each other so that we couldn't see what each other were drawing, but I noticed that we were both using the exact same colors. Once we finished, we turned the pages around and, what do you know, identical drawings.

I knew past lives were real, but this was further confirmation. I fell even more deeply in love with my husband in that moment, and I believe he did too. Our deep connection grew. Now, if that wasn't crazy enough, we were speaking further on past lives that night after the drawing, and he told me that he had dreamt multiple times of being a photographer. The year was 1942, and it was World War II,

and he had a memory of traveling a lot for pictures to submit to a newspaper. He said that he was a journalist. He said he had round-shaped glasses. He has glasses in this life too, but not round-shaped. And that his wife had short brown curly hair and blue eyes. He also mentioned having a son, a daughter, and then another son.

I said while getting even more goosebumps, "That's funny. I did past life regression once, and I was a woman in World War II in the year of 1942, and I worked for a newspaper. My husband had glasses and traveled for photography and submitted them to me. He was a journalist. I had a son, a daughter, and then a son, and I had brown curly hair and blue eyes.

Both of our appearances were mentioned as important earlier, because I had the exact same hair and eyes in our World War II life as I do now, and he had the exact same eyes in our medieval life. It's also probably partially why there's so much familiarity there, apart from the soul connection and matching energetic in-sync frequencies. All we could do was laugh at this point. Another past life together.

And I'm sure there's more we have yet to uncover. We've been together through several past lives, somehow making our way back to each other each time, and falling in love immediately all over again. We are two intertwined souls of this universe that somehow let no circumstances keep us from finding our way back together, again and again and again. And I get to be part of something so beautiful.

And, at the end of this life, I know that I will be with him again in the future ones. Okay, so this is a story about not only my past life, I guess, but also my best friends. People always joke around about us, not in a mean way really, but I just don't think they understand it. We don't really share our story with others too often because they don't seem to get it, but...

After hearing all of the stories that you've done previously, I feel like our story would fit here with you and your audience. And I would love to share it with more people that are open-minded, so here it is. It all began when my family relocated to a new city. We had one major move prior. We'd moved to a different state, and I remember feeling stressed about it. At the age of, like, eight, not wanting to leave my room.

I loved it, but when they said that I could choose the color of my new room, it made me feel better about it. Then, when I was 10 or 11, we moved again, but this time it was just to a different city, but the same state. However, while I would be going to a whole new school, having to meet new friends and, once again, leave behind my awesome pink bedroom, I somehow felt better about it. I was actually excited about it.

for no other real reason other than just moving. No one thought much of it at the time, maybe my parents were relieved that I wasn't as difficult about it, who knows. So I started at my new school and yes, I was excited, but also still a bit nervous, and maybe even shy. However, I didn't get to really be the quiet reclusive new kid because as I walked into the room,

There was a young girl standing in the back, like she was expecting me, and she was all smiles. Her name was Lily, and she immediately ran up to me and gave me a warm, huge hug. As she hugged me, she whispered to me, "I've been looking all over for you," and she pulled back, still wearing that same big smile. It was strange. She made me feel like I immediately belonged here, but also as if I've known her my whole life.

I just accepted it for what it was and found my place at my desk, next to hers, per her request. From that day forward, our friendship and bond blossomed at an astonishing pace. We immediately became close friends, closer than any of my previous friendships that I've had. It was as though we were two pieces of the same puzzle, fitting together in everything that we did or said.

Our interests aligned perfectly, our pet peeves matched, and it was uncanny how often we knew what the other was thinking, or how we could complete each other's thoughts and sentences as we got older. However, nobody else seemed to grasp our connection to one another, nor could they understand the depths of our friendship. It seemed to transcend a normal BFF situation, and while I could sense that it was a strong friendship,

I didn't think of it as anything else, but for Lily, there was more to it. Over time, she would make comments like, "I'm so happy that you're finally here. I've been waiting forever for you to come back." And then the statement that really made me curious, "I'm so happy that we got to do this again." I used to just think that they were weird comments and never said anything about it, thinking it was just Lily. At this point, we were probably around 12.

I know that I thought the comments were a little out there, but it was always something that I could shrug off. She was highly intelligent, but also had a quirky side to her, so I just thought it was her odd choice of words. But that last comment really made me question things, and since it got the best of me, I questioned her about those almost cryptic comments. She looked at me bewildered and asked, ''You don't remember?''

"You don't remember us before these bodies?" I was confused what on earth did she mean by "these bodies." I know that I had to have a weird look on my face, and I know that she could read it too. She looked surprised, and maybe even a bit disappointed as she said, "Oh, I thought you knew already." She asked me if I remembered my last life, the one where we grew up together.

Again, I made a comment to her about not knowing what she was talking about, and was confused about the growing up part. We were still kids, we hadn't grown up yet, and I certainly hadn't known her the twelve years I'd been on this earth. I asked her what she meant, and after giving me another look of pity, she agreed to explain but made me promise not to tell anyone as they wouldn't believe her. I promised.

She began to tell the story of two friends from a time long ago. She said those two girls were us. They did everything that they could together. They met in high school and had been inseparable since. They shopped together. They did chores together. They even went to each other's houses as adults just to talk and hang out. She described how they were both married, but while their husbands worked, they found time to be together to do whatever they wanted.

Lily even stopped her story to say that we were living at the wrong time. She then explained how, even though they were just friends, it didn't stop people from gossiping and spreading rumors. Dangerous rumors, for that time. The first time she explained this to me, that was pretty much where she left the story. Telling me that the two of us once lived in a different life, at a different time. I was still shocked and confused.

At the time, I didn't even know of the phrase "past lives" or what reincarnation was. However, at the same time, I believed her. I had no reason to. I still didn't even fully understand what she was talking about, but something was making sense in my head, or telling me that what she was saying was the truth. I told her that while I didn't fully understand the concept,

I did believe her. So, after embracing what she explained as the truth, she became more open with me and told me even more stories of things that she remembered from the past. She said that while she had darker blonde hair and I had black hair in this life, it was the opposite. She said that she'd looked completely different, but said that she knew it was me because my green eyes looked exactly the same.

She told me about different things that we liked to do, like gardening. We had started a garden at her home where we grew all kinds of different flowers and sold them as is or made oils and soaps with them. Her stories were always fun to listen to as she made it seem so magical and like we genuinely enjoyed our lives, but she never explained how we ended up in our current life.

Once again, I asked her about it. I asked her why did we get a second life in the first place. She seemed hesitant to tell me, saying that it made her sad, but I barely understood this as is, so I wanted to know as much as possible. Reluctantly, she finally agreed to explain it. As mentioned, the rumors and gossip that revolved around us only got worse.

to the point that it caused suspicion in my husband at the time. We'd gotten into an argument, he became violent, and I succumbed to my injuries. Lily said that no one would talk to her about it when she showed up at my home and saw the medics. When she finally found out what had happened, everyone blamed her, saying that she ruined mine and her own marriage. Saying that she was heartbroken was an understatement.

She was inconsolable for weeks and no one seemed to care. She said her husband didn't seem to have the same thoughts, but he also wasn't comforting her. It was at a time where men didn't normally show their feelings or their soft sides. She then told me how she couldn't get past that feeling of guilt and sorrow and only saw one way out of it. She left a letter explaining everything and then locked herself in the basement.

but after she finished explaining the ending, she immediately perked back up and said that we shouldn't be sad because we were given a second chance. She said that she remembered her past life at a younger age, but when she talked about it or questioned it with her parents, they also had no clue what she was talking about, which made her think that no one would understand or remember, so she never talked about it again.

That wasn't until she had a dream where she was talking to someone who told her that I had come back too and that we would meet again. That was what kept her going. Then, when I walked into class that day, she knew that it was me. It was kind of hard to take it all in at such a young age, but everything I said, she told me about, and I believed her.

The manner in which she explained it all and the emotions that she expressed as she told me everything was enough for me to know that it was the truth. I remember asking my parents about reincarnation around the same time, and the most I was really told was that it wasn't part of their religion, and they were very clear about that. I could tell that they didn't want to even entertain the idea, so when they asked me where I'd heard it from, I just told them that I saw it in a magazine.

From then on, I never talked to anyone else about our past lives, except for Lily. Getting to the present time, we're both in our late twenties. We're both married to very loving and understanding husbands, and the four of us actually get along really well and spend a lot of time together. I actually have a little girl, and Lily is pregnant with her first as well.

If I could remember my past life, I'm sure that our bond that we have now is just as strong as our previous one. Once again, we do a lot of the same things together. I also felt comfortable enough to explain our past lives to my husband, and while he didn't understand it at first, when Lily started explaining it more while her and her husband were over, I could see the look of intrigue as he listened.

As mentioned, they have both been very understanding and open-minded. Overall, I could not ask for a better life. The family that I've created and chosen are truly the ones that have been there the most for me, and the most important. And for that, I am incredibly thankful for whatever it was that gave Lily and I a second chance.

After getting permission from my friend, I wanted to share this story with you and others that might find it interesting. Several years ago, my friend Elaine had an experience that left us all questioning the very fabric of reality. It all began when we went on a seemingly innocent road trip and visited an old historical mansion that was turned into a small museum.

The days leading up to this event were quite the normal vacationing fun, and nothing was askew, until we saw a pamphlet for this place. We've gone to plenty of art shows and museums before, but when Elaine saw this place, she said that she really wanted to make time to go there. She said that she couldn't explain why, but she knew that something would be there for us.

I didn't see any reason not to go, and we adjusted our plans to make room for it. As soon as we arrived, Elaine explained that she had an inexplicable sense of deja vu. She said that this place looked very familiar to her, yet she's never been here. It was in a state that neither us nor her family have ever been to. We just chalked it up to just being that strange phenomenon and went inside.

Shortly after, I could tell that something was going on in Elaine's head, but she was not outwardly expressing it. I stayed quiet as we went through the various rooms, looking at the antiquated tools and structures, as well as the art strewn across the walls. The further we went in, the more that I could see the unease in her. Then, we reached a small room that contained a beautiful gown and a painting with a dim light hanging above it.

The painting was of a young girl with striking green eyes. Her dark hair pulled into an elegant bun with thin soft curls framing her face. The woman was wearing the same gown that was hanging in that room. Elaine seemed to stop at the painting, staring at it intently. I looked over at it and saw that her eyes were watery, like she was holding back tears. Something about the painting seemed to pull at her heartstrings.

I nudged her, looking back at the painting and asking her if she was okay. I know her. Like, I knew her and she knew me. Like, I was her. Knowing who we were, I just kind of chuckled and said, "Oh yeah?" She looked over at me and I could see her visibly swallowing hard. So I again asked her what was wrong.

She said that she didn't know, and we soon moved on, the rest of our tour being pretty silent. After we left, I tried to lighten the mood and said that the place was pretty interesting, and talked about some of the things that we saw. She seemed to try her best, but I could still feel something was there that she wasn't talking about. We went back to our hotel, where she talked about what she felt.

She reiterated how she felt something telling her she needed to go when she saw the pamphlet. And the whole time that we were in the mansion, she felt like she had been there before. She was able to go through all the corridors and rooms smoothly because she just knew where each room was. Then we got to the picture.

She talked about how she had a rush of emotion flow through her from happiness to confusion and sorrow, and it was all overwhelming. She explained how even though the painting said "Artist Unknown", she knew who that was and who painted it. She said the woman in the photo was named Arabella, and her father's friend painted it. Yes, she said her father.

She said that she used to be Arabella. I didn't quite understand what she was saying at the time, but she briefly explained how she felt like her life as Elaine was a second life. I was confused but also curious to hear more about her experience, but we stopped to have dinner and just enjoyed our night. The next day, Elaine woke up seemingly a bit sorrowful, but also enlightened I suppose.

She told me about a very vivid dream that she had, and explained how it had been a recurring dream for her for as long as she could remember. They never made sense, as it seemed to jump around a lot though, but that night, the dream made sense, and it was the clearest it had ever been for her. It was as though she was telling me a story.

She explained that she was Arabella, and that she was laying in a large green field with a handsome young man sitting next to her. Then she could hear the booming voice of a man yelling out her name, Arabella. She recalled how scared she felt as the man she was with kissed her and ran off, and then how she stood up to begin walking towards the voice that she had heard.

She said that the dream ended, or she may have woken up as she was running, so she didn't know what else happened. However, she now understood what was going on in the dream. She was Arabella, and even though his name was not mentioned in the dream, she knew the young man that she was with was named Felix, and he was her true love. She also knew that the person shouting for her was her father.

That dream, and our visit, awoke something in her. It was no longer a "this feels familiar" but a straight up "I remember this former life." It was the 18th century. She explained how her family was very wealthy and had a high standard to live up to. Everything she wore, said, ate, and how she did it was all scrutinized.

She was the youngest of three daughters, but she was also very different. She was bored with the life that they lived. She didn't want to sit in a room all day, watching dancers or play the piano. Everything she did was to prepare to be a good wife and secure her future with another wealthy man, so she didn't tarnish her family's name. The problem with that, though, was that she already had eyes for someone else.

She was in love with Felix. His family owned a shoe repair store, and he was very creative with making musical instruments out of anything. She remembered being impressed and explained how he made a bell or chime for blades of grass and a few of her hairpins. She was infatuated with him, and she knew that she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life, but her parents wouldn't allow it.

because his family was far from the wealthy status that they required. She was told that she would marry a friend of her father's. She and Felix met in secret to enjoy each other's company, and try to plot out how to run away together. But the part in the dream was the last time she would ever see Felix. Her father caught them after warning him multiple times, and she was forced to stay inside after that until she was married off.

The painting was done by her arranged husband a day after their wedding. As Elaine recounted these details to me, I watched her smile and become red in the face as she talked about Felix, how dull she looked talking about her daily life, and then the tears began when she talked about her wedding and posing for the painting. You could see the pain in her eyes. I was at a loss for words watching her explain all this.

She never really had an interest in that kind of thing, so I doubted that she had just randomly read a history book or researched this, planning this whole scenario out. But if none of that happened, then what other explanation is there? After we finished, I told her that we needed to keep track of all this and to look into it further when we returned home in a few days. She assured me that she could never forget it again.

Fast forward to when we did return home, this had definitely piqued my interest, so I wanted to look further into it. We went to the library and looked through old archives, and we even went through some shady third-party site similar to Ancestry to find more about Arabella. The surface info we found about her and her family was damn near identical from what she told me.

We located her old family mansion. We found pictures of them all with names underneath, one of which said "Arabella". Before we looked into the mansion more, Elaine was able to accurately describe the layout of the house. She could even describe the hidden pantries, the color of the drapes that hung in the window.

and even described how there was always a faint scent of rose that lingered in the halls, due to the oils and cleaners their housekeepers used. Granted, that wasn't found online, but all the details that she gave, even things like how the place smelled just flowed out of her, like she was giving a tour right there, and the physical details were eerily accurate.

Again, Arabella's home was in a state that she had never been to as Elaine, so we couldn't find any other explanation other than she had to have lived a past life. The only disappointing part was that we didn't find much information on Felix. We found an old shoe business and the last name of the family, which Elaine remembered, but there were no real records following them.

We couldn't find anything about their lives, nor obituaries. I think that kind of cemented the idea for us that he was not one of the popular and wealthy families, so there just wasn't much on them. But we could at least confirm that they were real. Since this revelation, Elaine has really embraced her past life. She enjoys talking about it with others, and has even started drawing a lot more.

She's an amazing artist, with anything from oils, charcoals, or even just pencil and paper. And seeing her draw these gorgeous old dresses and homes, with statues strewn about the yard, it's obvious where her inspiration is coming from. I always thought the idea of reincarnation was an interesting subject, but nothing ever swayed me in one way or another until this event.

Now, I can say that I, without a doubt, believe that it is absolutely possible. I experienced something with my first kid that I never could have been prepared for. Between family, friends, and forums, you learn a lot about what you need to know as a first-time parent.

My daughter, Sophia, was an unexpected but welcoming surprise for my husband and I after being told that, due to medical conditions, it would probably be difficult for me to become pregnant. We had tons of help and support from others, but there are just some things you have to learn on your own, such as how to handle certain conversations with your children, or even how you help them grow up and learn as they go into school.

When Sophia started school, she was ecstatic. I know a lot of kids are. I was when I was younger, too. She couldn't unbuckle her seat fast enough to get out of the car. She told me a nearly minute-by-minute rundown of how her days went, but I loved it. I loved hearing about her day. The good, the bad, the scary for her. She always told me how she felt about everything, too.

I was happy when we got to do this. I got scared about that. And so on. But when it came time for her to start learning how to read and write, she seemed to struggle a bit. She said the letters were confusing to her. I assumed it could have been the letters that looked similar, like maybe B, P, and D. Or maybe some more abstract ones like O, C, and Q.

So I told her I would help her, and we got some flashcards and other activities to help. They seemed to help some. She was learning the difference or understanding them, but unlike other assignments or things she did where she got animated after figuring it out, she would just be still and explain that she did it. When I asked her about it, she said that they looked funny to her.

I mean, how do you explain to a kid that that's just the way the words are and that you can't change them? Because I didn't know how to. But then, I began to find hints that may explain the confusion for her. One day, while cleaning up Sophia's room, I found some papers that she had colored and scribbled on. She liked to take paper from the printer and draw on it, and we were okay with that.

I thought that she showed us all of the work that she had done, but I had never seen these before. But it also wasn't just a picture she drew. These papers had different symbols on them. Symbols I had never seen before. They were drawn in semi-straight lines. Sometimes scribbled out and rewritten. Some of them were slightly changed. Like a line drawn fixed or something like that. It was just so strange seeing these everywhere.

Curiosity got the best of me, of course, and I asked her about it. I asked her what was the picture of, and she quickly corrected me. "It's my name. I'm trying to remember how to spell it." She lit up when she told me this like I was used to seeing her. I giggled about it. Knowing kids can have quite an abstract drawing to only tell you that it was a simple flower, right? But letters were something that she was learning.

and I felt that it was appropriate to correct her, to help her with it. I showed her how to spell her name, showing her each individual letter and slowly enunciating it. Once I was finished, her smile slowly faded, looking more faked than anything, but she looked at me confused and insisted that I was wrong. She slowly pointed to the symbols, telling me what each of them were, just as I had done for her.

But what she was saying was not English. I didn't know what she was saying. I asked her to explain more, but like an exasperated parent or teacher, she had her hands on her hips and told me that that's just how they were. She then went into talking about something else entirely. After some quick playing and finishing her cleaning, I left the room with the drawings in hand, all except for one.

She asked to keep one of them, saying that she didn't want to forget again. She had several, so I had no issues with letting her keep one. I was just confused by the statement. I put the drawings aside, continued with my day, and, to be honest, forgot about it. While Sophia was at school, I had been on the computer looking for something in my desk when I spotted the drawings again.

The curiosity all came rushing back to me, and I wanted to look into it more. One of the coolest things I've learned is how you can draw letters and symbols in a translator, and it can tell you what it is. So, I slowly and meticulously drew these symbols the best I could, and it answered some questions. The symbols my daughter was writing were Arabic. How on earth did she know Arabic?

and where could she have learned it? I can't say that we were super careful with what we watched around her. She seemed to really understand the difference between real life and fake movies. We didn't watch anything graphic around her, but we still watched some more-than-PG-13 kind of things. But even after asking my husband, we could not think of anything we may have watched that had Arabic writing in it, especially to that extent.

But based on what I found, Sophia was writing something to the effect of A-I-something-A-N. I don't know if I was writing something wrong or if Sophia did, but it seemed to kind of break in the middle. But what I was putting was definitely those letters. When Sophia returned home that afternoon, I asked her about it. I showed her one of the papers that I had taken from her room a few days prior.

I pointed to them, and I asked her again to help me with the letters. I spelled it out like I did above, in English, but she was pronouncing them in Arabic. In between both of us confusing each other, I was finally able to get her to break it apart more and I could see the middle letter that I was missing. It was a D. So now I had A-I-D-A-N. I was trying to pronounce it to her and she laughed and said, "'No, Nadia.' She wrote it backwards?'

I tried to mention this, but she again laughed and said no, that I was in fact wrong and sounded it out, pointing from right to left. Again, I let it go, telling her that she could go play while I continued to look into the name, but once I put the symbols in, as Sophia explained, sure enough, it read back to me as Nadia. Sophia was definitely writing in Arabic, but the mystery still remained on how she knew this.

I again left it alone that night, after showing my husband what I learned. He was just as astounded by it as I was. When I was getting Sophia ready for bed, I brought it up one more time. I mentioned the name Nadia. She confirmed it was her name. When I told her that her name was actually Sophia Grace, she agreed, but said Nadia was her original name. I asked her if she knew Arabic, since that was how she wrote it.

She smiled and agreed, saying English was new and different to her, but that she liked it. That definitely could explain why it was harder for her to start learning how to read and write. It was a completely different language for her, and it was written from left to right. I then asked her about her name, about her knowing Arabic, and she happily explained more.

She explained the home she used to live in. She explained how it was always hot, and the homemade bread that her mother would make. She even said that she was sad that it was over because she missed her mother, but she knew that she had to go, that God had told her it was time. She explained it like how a parent would tell her it was time to go home. I asked her how that happened, how she had talked to God, and she got quiet, claiming she couldn't remember.

The change in her mood was pretty noticeable, and what she told me already was not something I would have ever expected in my life. I certainly didn't want her to recall something traumatic, so I wasn't going to push it. I'd heard stories about past lives before, but it was never talked about when I was a kid, as it wasn't something my family believed in. I looked into it a lot more after Sophia's recollection. If I was skeptical at all before...

I definitely wasn't afterwards. A past life was the only explanation that I could come up with. If she just heard one word or phrase, maybe from someone or a movie or show, I could explain that away. Especially if where she heard it from also included the story of a young girl with her mom. But the fact that she could pronounce the symbols correctly, and that she wrote them from right to left, and later she could even write more letters,

She was trying to write out the whole alphabet, I believe. I just couldn't explain that. She had to have learned that, or known that from something deeper. And the change in her demeanor when I mentioned meeting God? That nearly gave me the chills. I was convinced. I didn't want to press the matter, since on any given day it didn't seem to cause her any distress.

She didn't have nightmares, and the most difficult part for her just seemed to be learning how to read and write English. So, there seemed to be no reason for us to do anything about it. Sofia is 14 now, and she doesn't talk about Nadia anymore. And she also doesn't write nor speak Arabic. I thought it would be really cool to learn it with her and maybe look into her life, possibly, but...

I think I'm happy just knowing that we both got to share this experience. This is a story about my daughter, Madison. Madison was our first born child, so everything that happened with her, we were experiencing for the first time. She was born healthy and just seemed like a very happy baby. One of the things I remember as a kid was when my dad laid on his back and held us in the air on his feet.

We called it "Airplane" and we would make the sounds and everything. I loved it then and I did it with Madison when she was a bit older too. She was always full of laughter and her eyes were wide with amazement as we did it. As she got older and could articulate things more, she would demand to wear a hat as we played "Airplane" and between the little gibberish and the few words that she could speak, she would seem to try to have a whole conversation as she was flying.

We just thought it was what babies did. When Maddie was about two, she would run all over the house with her arms out like she was an airplane. It was just something she liked to do. We both just thought that she enjoyed it because of us playing. But then as she started talking and forming clearer sentences, she was saying things that didn't make sense for her age. One of her favorite things to say when she was scared or surprised was, "'Oh golly gosh.'"

The first time she said it, I wasn't home. It was just my wife. She thought it was funny as she had never heard it before and asked her where she learned to say it. She said that she looked at her confused and told her, I've always said that, and then continued to play. When I got home and my wife told me what happened, I was shocked because I had heard that before, but not from Maddie.

It was something my grandfather said all the time. I never heard anyone else say it, not even someone in my family. My grandfather passed before my wife and I got together, so neither of them would have known that. There was no reason to even talk about him really, but I did ask my parents if they had mentioned him or said that saying around Maddie, because they had watched her on occasion, but they said they hadn't.

There was no reason to lie about it. He wasn't a black sheep of the family or anything. He was well-loved and severely missed, but she was too young to even know about death, so there was no reason to bring him up. Overall, we just chalked it up to a weird situation and let it go. Even if she continued to say it, and it threw me off. Another significant event was when she was around four.

I was looking at my wife's car in the garage after she was having some troubles with it. I am not a car guru, but I know some things that my dad taught me. So I was testing things when Maddie walked in and in her cute little voice, she asked me what I was doing. I told her that I was trying to fix mom's car and she asked to see.

She's always been a curious kid, so I lifted her up to stand on the bumper and look into the car. She asked what happened. I tried to explain as simply as possible because, well, you know, she's a child. She tried to put her arm down between parts and I told her to stop because I didn't want her to get hurt. She put her other hand out to stop me and said, "I know what I'm doing, Mikey. I was taken aback for a couple of reasons.

I had never heard her voice get so stern before. I'm her father, and she has always called me as such. My name is Michael, but not even my wife calls me Mikey. Very few people in my family do. One of those people was my grandfather. I just stared at her and watched as she struggled to reach into the car. She then pulled her arm out, exasperated, and said she couldn't reach it, but started explaining something down in the parts of the car.

I put my hand in there and pulled out a clip that seemed to be warped and broken. She then explained, in a way that a child would, that it was a bad broken part, and that it wasn't closing. I was confused, so I just thanked her, and she went back to her cute voice and walked out of the garage. I called my dad and explained to him what the car was doing, and he literally explained the exact thing that Maddie had.

that the part was bad, and that it was causing an issue with the seal. In other words, not closing. I replaced the part, and the car seemed to be back to normal. How would my four-year-old that had never worked on a car, obviously, even know that? And know the purpose of the part? It was such a strange event.

But the biggest memory that really made me realize there was something more going on here was one 4th of July night. We just had a small thing at home with the three of us. It was getting late and we were picking up as Maddie was swinging. She liked to swing pretty high and jump off the swing yelling, ''Gear up!'' And then she would run around the yard like an airplane until she finally landed in the grass near us, sprawl out, and then stare up at the sky.

She giggled and then said, ''Daddy, do you remember when I was a pilot?'' My wife and I just looked at each other confused. She'd never been on an airplane, or actually even seen one up close. My wife laughed and said, ''When would you have been a pilot, Maddie?'' She rolled over, looked at my wife with this kind of duh look on her face and said, ''In my old life, remember?''

I tried to tell her that she'd only had this life and ask her what she meant. She had so much confidence in her voice as she told us that we were wrong and that she had an old life just before she died. We didn't really know what else to say, so we just let it go. Later that night, my wife and I talked about what she said and tried to think of every possibility.

We were always open with her and any questions she asked, because she just always seemed like a really curious type of kid. She was very curious, and she wanted to know how things worked, but it was also a lot more modern stuff. Like when we got a flat screen TV, she was strangely amazed by the technology. She was amazed by the computer when I tried to search how the bulky tube TVs differed from plasma flat screens.

But as we talked, we couldn't think of any shows that we had watched about death or pilots. We weren't even really religious. Not even our parents were outwardly religious, so reincarnation wasn't something that would have been talked about. Yet, here we were. And my young daughter was talking about having a past life. Now, my wife and I are very open-minded, though. Not that we expected this with our first child,

So, after dinner one night, we started watching some unsolved mysteries, and there happened to be an episode about reincarnation. I nudged my wife to look at Maddie, as she had stopped drawing and was watching the TV very intently. When it went to commercials, I asked, ''Hey Maddie, do you think that's what happened to you?'' She turned around surprised and said, ''Well, yeah, that's exactly what happened.''

I thought that I would try to see if she remembered anything else, so I asked her if she remembered her name. She didn't hesitate when I asked, and she said Leo. I was shocked for multiple reasons. It was crazy to hear her give a name, but she also gave the name of my grandfather. With her using his weird little catchphrase, knowing about cars and claiming she was a pilot, that all matched my grandfather.

He was in the Air Force, and he was a highly regarded pilot. When he retired, he had his own little car shop that he ran out of his garage, which was how my dad had learned as well. He was also one of the few people in my family that called me Mikey. While I didn't want to ask, because a young child should not know and understand death yet, I did ask her how he died.

She got up from the floor and came over to me, putting her little hand on my knee and looked me in the eyes. She had a look of pity on me, and in a lower, softer tone, she just said, ''I didn't kill myself, Mikey. It was my lungs. They just gave out. But I'm okay now.'' Then, she went and sat back down to watch TV. I tried not to let my wife see, or even Maddie see, but my eyes were admittedly filled with tears.''

I had to leave the room to compose myself. My grandfather had lung cancer. We all knew it. It was too far in for chemo to make a difference, so they just gave him some medications to try to make him comfortable with however much time we had left. My grandmother came home from an appointment to find him slumped over in his chair next to an open pill bottle, and it was assumed that he had ended his own life. He talked about how he didn't want anyone to have to take care of him,

and he didn't want them to suffer through it. So, he said that he would pray that God would take him before then. That made us all think that he did it out of guilt or grief. That thought had loomed over our family for years, all of us feeling guilty for leaving him alone with his thoughts. But here my daughter was, claiming to be Leo, and telling me that it was the cancer after all, and that it was just his time to go.

I was an obvious wreck and a mix of emotions. I finally calmed down and explained to my wife, and then I called my parents again to ask if they had mentioned him at all to Maddie. They once again said no. I didn't tell them the whole thing because, again, I didn't think they would believe it. And I really didn't want to upset my dad, but I held what she said very close to my heart,

and it comforted me knowing that he didn't suffer and that he was okay. Maddie is now 26, and she remembers talking about it as a young child, but she said most of the memories are now gone. I think after she told us how he died, that it seemed he was finally able to move on, letting Maddie live her own life. Whether she really used to be my grandfather, or there was more to this, I will never know.

But I will never forget it, and I'm lucky to have such a wonderful daughter and that second chance at a final goodbye. For as long as I can remember, I've been having this recurring dream about an old town that comes alive at night with the sights of a carnival. The dream seemed to be less detailed and short at first, but over time, I've remembered more of it and could recall more details.

In the dreams, it was as if I was just walking around, taking in the sights of it all. I remember hearing people screaming from the riots. I remember the game booths and hearing the men call out to gain attention. I even remember the smell of the popcorn and funnel cakes. I went to the fair with my family before, and the dreams started after that, so at first we all thought it was just because of that.

For years, I dreamt of that carnival and all the festivities in it. I loved going to them every year too, but while some kids were upset to have to leave the fun, it always seemed more severe than that. I almost felt homesick when we left, like I was leaving something behind. The obsession with the carnival slowly increased as I grew up. I always played in my room as if I was a carny, trying to get people to join in.

I would set up all these stunts for my toys and stuffed animals, and even got my siblings involved and made play money for my parents to pay and attend. I would dress as a clown, or something similar several times for Halloween. One of my birthdays was carnival themed, and my parents set up little booths for the snacks and the games. I even got this wonderful children's play tent that looked like it came straight from the carnival,

Something about it all just brought me pure joy. But then, the dreams started to shift a bit. Instead of me walking around and enjoying it, it instead appeared that I was now sitting still while others continuously walked by me. Then it seemed like those walking by would always be staring at me. They would keep walking, but everyone would glance over as they passed. I couldn't see myself, so I had no idea why.

Even those dreams started with me entering the carnival, and had some pleasant parts to them too. But the more people that looked at me, the more the dreams became less wanted. The people would slow down, some would stop, some would point and laugh while others looked scared or almost like they took pity on me. I didn't understand it, but I was becoming angry. I wanted to shout at them to stop staring, but I couldn't bring myself to do so.

I knew what to say, but I just didn't seem to have a voice. Those dreams, they started changing as I grew up. I still enjoyed the carnival, but I was much less obsessed until I started having these dreams. This made me again focus on it and question what the meaning of it all was. Did it have a meaning? Was there some kind of message behind it? Or was I just the lucky kid with a recurring dream that would just slowly drive me insane?

Because I was a preteen boy, I didn't like to show my feelings or weaknesses, so I never told anyone about the shift in my dreams. My parents had even practically stopped asking about them, so I felt that they weren't important. And maybe it was best for me to just try to ignore them, but I could tell that it was affecting me mentally. The dreams would enrage me, and I would wake up in a bad mood.

I seemed to pay more attention to the way people looked at me and treated me, almost to the point of paranoia and annoyance. I felt like I didn't belong. I felt like I was having more bad days than good. But this was just how I lived my life, thinking it was just me. As a teenager, my family stopped going to the carnival, so it never really crossed my mind. That was until there was a commercial for a carnival that was going to be in town.

I don't know why, but it got my attention, and I felt like I needed to go. I brought it up to my parents, asking them if they were interested, and they kind of looked at me strangely, asking why I would want to go. They also commented that they thought I grew out of it as a kid, and it really didn't answer my question, but I already knew the answer. It looked like if I wanted to go, I would be going alone.

So when the time came, I told my parents I was going to go to a friend's house for a while and then set out to the carnival alone. To my surprise, the moment I stepped onto the carnival grounds, a wave of happiness and comfort washed over me. It felt like coming home after being away for a very long time. The lights, the laughter, all the smells and the energy, everything seemed familiar.

I remember just being overwhelmed with the feeling of belonging there. I didn't understand why I felt this way. I knew my obsession as a kid, but this just felt different. As I roamed around, enjoying my time, I came across a section called something like "The Bizarre and Strange" and was once again drawn to it. As I walked through, I saw people like the sword swallower, a contortionist, and even a fire juggler.

And while most people would enjoy those sights, I was more focused on the spectators. Some of the things they said or the jokes they made put me on the offensive. Overall though, the connection to the carnival was so strong that I felt like there had to be a reason. There had to be something other than just enjoying it. But I didn't know what. I didn't know what to do with this information or where to go with it.

But then, it was like going to the carnival awakened something in me. I had another dream, but this time it was clearer. I walked by a stall with a name, something along the lines of The Lizard Man. It was in first person, so it was as if the person was me, and I walked behind the stall and waited, as others all walked by and stared. That's when the feelings of being watched and being angry came back.

When I awoke, I quickly made a note of my dream, something I had started doing. I've never gone to a carnival or circus of any sort and seen something called the Lizard Man, and I felt something telling me that there was more to this. I started researching this more, and after a lot of digging around, I finally did.

There was something called a freak show back in the 20s, where it was basically a showing of people and creatures with birth defects or unique abilities. One of those people in the show went by the Lizard Man. His limbs hadn't formed properly, so they were much shorter than normal, and he had random patches all over his skin that were purple or grey in color, and almost scaly to the touch.

People said he looked like he was a cross between a human and a lizard. Unfortunately, a lot of his personal information I couldn't find because of where he resided. And the show was not in the US, so it was all in a different language. But while I couldn't read it verbatim, I felt like I knew this person. I felt like I knew what it said. And the only thing that makes sense to me, the only thing I can seem to grasp about all of this...

is that I used to be him. All of the recurring dreams about this old-timey carnival, of being behind a stall and being watched or made fun of, even all these issues and fears of people judging me and feeling like I have to be my best at all times, I feel like it really makes sense to me, and I feel like it all stems back to when I was him. My parents are both pretty religious, and their religion doesn't believe in reincarnation, so...

When I even brought up the idea of past lives, without even mentioning my opinion or experience, my dad laughed, and my mom told me that it all wasn't real. Needless to say, I didn't tell them about it. I did however tell a really close friend of mine, whose mom is really open-minded about things like that. They both believe me, and her mom mentioned how there are past life regression therapists out there,

and now I really want to go see one. I've since graduated and moved out, so now I feel like I can really focus on myself and what I want to do with my life. I want to see if I can get more information about my possible past, but also maybe get some closure so that I can move on and live a happy, normal life now for both of us. I grew up in a very religious town and family.

And while I was a rebellious teen because of that reason, these events caused me to be even more shunned from my family. With that being said, I don't talk about it to just anyone, in fear that my daughter might be picked on. I don't care about me. I'm an adult and I can handle it. However, I do love hearing similar people's stories because it let me know that we aren't alone, so I would like to share this with you as well.

I had two kids, one boy and one girl from a previous marriage. When I met my now husband, we wanted to try for one more kid, but I'd had a miscarriage, which stopped us from trying for some time. I felt guilty like it was my fault and became depressed, but something told me that we shouldn't give up, and after some self-reflecting and healing, we started trying again.

To our surprise, I was pregnant around two months later. However, that was the worst pregnancy I ever had. I had many complications, to the point that the doctor even told me that if I continued with it, that the baby may have complications. However, my husband and I persevered. Grace was born premature, but otherwise turned out to be a very healthy baby.

In fact, her infant years were the easiest ones of my three kids. Our life was pretty normal from there, as much as it could be. But once Grace was old enough to talk, that was where things started to change. I would see her just stop talking or playing with her siblings, and just watch them with puzzled looks on her face. One time she did this, and I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "...it's all wrong."

but she wouldn't elaborate. That was until I finally pushed her. She asked what happened to her baby brother. I told her that she never had one, and she told me that I was wrong, that she had an older sister and a younger brother. As mentioned, she had an older brother and an older sister, but no younger siblings. She swore that she was the middle child, though. She even told me that I wasn't her first mom. I once again told her that she was incorrect. I was her mom.

I would know because the pregnancy wasn't easy, but she replied with, "Yeah, you're mom now, but I had another mom." At first, I thought maybe she watched something, maybe a family with a middle child that she connected with, so I just let it go. But then there was another unexplained issue. She seemed to be afraid of snow. The first time she saw it, she didn't want to touch it. She didn't want to be in it.

The first time I tried to take her out to play in it, she screamed and cried until I brought her back inside and calmed her down. What kid didn't like to play in the snow? However, fears can be irrational, right? So I let it go. But since she still had to go outside to go to school, she slowly got better. But she had to be with someone at all times.

She would not let go of my hand, or she wouldn't leave her siblings' sides. One day, after she came in from simply standing on the porch, making a snow castle, I asked her why she was so afraid of snow, and she replied with, Because I died in it. I just remember looking at her funny and thinking maybe she was mistaking the word died for something else. Maybe she meant she got cold, or she got sick or hurt.

So I tried asking her what she meant and when this happened. And she explained it in detail. She said she was playing with friends in the woods until she had to go home, but she got lost and didn't know how to get out. She said she was alone and scared. She said that she got really cold and really tired, so she sat down. And as she was starting to feel warm, she fell asleep. I tried asking her when this happened,

and she just shrugged saying that she didn't remember but it was a long time ago. I asked her where this happened and she just said "soda". It happened in soda? What is soda? I tried asking her what that meant and she said that she didn't know, that she just remembered that it was in soda. I sat there in silence not knowing where to go with this and that's when she told me that that was why she was here now.

Then after she fell asleep, she got to choose a new mom and she saw how sad I was so she wanted to help. I was so confused but I just let it go, not knowing what to make of any of it. But as she mentioned these things more and more, curiosity got the best of me and I started looking into it. Maybe there was something on the news recently about someone dying in the snow and she locked onto it, causing her to be afraid of the snow.

I hadn't found any local stories of someone dying, but I did find some stories about people dying in the cold. One story I found was about a young girl that went missing for two days and was found in the snow. She had died of hypothermia. Police suspected foul play because she was found with some of her clothes having been removed. But there was no other information on this case. There were two problems with this story.

This happened years prior to Grace being born, so it definitely wouldn't have been on the TV. But it also wasn't in our state. It was in Minnesota. And that's when it clicked. She was saying "soda." She was too young to know the states, so maybe that was just something she remembered. I wanted to get to the bottom of this, so I called Grace into my office.

Before I could say much, she saw the girl on the screen and got excited. She pointed and said, "'Hey, that's me!' She started telling me more about this life, and when I mentioned Minnesota, she started jumping up and down and said, "'That's it! That was it!' I had heard stories of past lives but never experienced it or knew anyone personally. It was the only thing that made sense to me. How else could she know about any of this? She could barely read.'

After looking into this case more, I was able to track down the girl's mother on Facebook. I really wanted to reach out to her to ask more, but I hesitated. A lot. What if she didn't think the same way? What if I just opened old wounds again and caused her to hurt all over? But then, something nagged at me to just do it. So I finally did.

To my surprise, the woman replied and said that she was willing to answer any questions if it meant I had any information to help. I was expecting her to call me crazy or to block me or something, but she was kind. She agreed that what Grace explained sounded like what happened to her daughter. So after talking for a while, she actually invited us to meet her in person. We lived in Nebraska at the time, so it's not like it was around the block.

But after explaining this all to my husband, who had also been very open-minded, he thought that we should consider it. Especially if it can help not only Grace move on, but maybe even give this woman some closure. So, Grace and I took a trip up north a month later to go meet this woman, expecting to just spend the weekend there. Grace seemed to understand what we were doing, and she was excited.

But when we finally got there and knocked on this woman's door, I wasn't expecting Grace to run to this woman and hug her tightly like she knew her for years. I almost cried because it seemed so natural. After talking with her, and the woman listening to Grace's story, she confirmed that it was exactly what happened to her daughter. Grace even went to her old room, without being pointed into the correct direction or getting one door wrong.

It was surreal. There was no other explanation in my mind other than this being a past life. How else could she know all of this? Overall, the visit seemed to go very well for everyone involved. That woman and I became very close friends, and Grace finally lost her fear of the snow. She understood the safety in it, making sure to not be alone and to stay bundled up,

but otherwise, she went out in it as normal. We still talk about this on occasion, but it seems to just be part of Grace now instead of controlling her. But her second life gave two other people the chance to heal, and for that, I really don't need any other explanation. This is a story that I've kept to myself for a very long time.

Other than family, because they were involved and affected, the only other person that knows about this is a close friend. I still get this bizarre feeling recalling it, and I know that many people may not believe it, but I wanted to share it. However, just to give my family privacy, I will not be using real names, nor will I be sharing where I'm from.

What now feels like a century ago, my family and I gathered at my grandparents' rustic summer home for a much-needed and long-planned family reunion. It was a picturesque cabin with a little guest house on the same property, both tucked away in the woods, surrounded by trees and a gorgeous lake. This home was built by my family, and the land had always been in our family.

I knew that one day it would be passed down to me and my brother. At the time of this reunion, I had one child, a young daughter that I'll call Emily. Emily was about six at the time, but she had never been there before. She met my grandmother, her great-grandmother, but she always came to see us. I was excited to take her so that she could experience and share similar memories that I had made there.

I wanted her to swing on the tire swing that my dad put up. I wanted to take her swimming and fishing in the lake. I wanted her to be able to get out of the busy city and experience the beauty that was nature. Our time there was perfect. Everybody wanted to meet Emily, as many of them hadn't yet. There were a few other kids close in age, so all the cousins and second cousins were able to play together. We were all having a great time.

As the sun began to set and people were slowly trickling down, my daughter was in between being fully awake and in need of a nap. Emily and her great-grandmother always seemed very close. She loved being with her and doing everything that she did, so I accepted when she wanted to go sit out back on the porch with her and swing, thinking that she would doze off too. I went inside and was talking to my mom and a few other relatives,

Nothing of importance really happening at this point. It had been no more than 15 minutes or so when I heard the back door open and my grandma come in. She was alone. I wasn't concerned because there was no one around but family. I knew that she would be fine out there. What I was concerned about was the distressed look on my grandma's face. I went to ask her what was wrong and she asked to speak to my mom, her daughter, alone.

I nodded and the two of them walked off to her bedroom. I went out to check on Emily, who was still sitting in the swing and singing to herself. I asked if she was okay and she said yes, and then she asked if Nana was okay. That's what she called her. I said that she was, and Emily said that she didn't mean to make her sad. I couldn't see how she could have, so I told her that she didn't and I sat with her.

Shortly after, my mom came outside and asked to speak with me. She asked me what Emily had said to Grandma, and even what I could have said to Emily about her. My mom had a suspicious yet worried tone to her voice, and I had no idea what was going on. First, my grandma was upset, still hiding in her bedroom, and then my mom, and all over what my six-year-old could have said.

It didn't make any sense, and I demanded an explanation. So I went back to sit with Emily to try and figure out what was said. I asked her and she looked down at her lap, like she was sad or that she knew she was going to be in trouble. I tried my best to reassure her that she wasn't in trouble in any way, but I just wanted to know what they talked about.

Little did I know that my daughter had actually set off a chain reaction of revelations that many of us in the family were unaware of. Emily, in her innocent yet perceptive way, had asked her Nana why she never visited her grave anymore. Startled by the question, my grandma inquired further. Emily pointed out into the trees behind the home that we were in, saying, ''Over there. I missed hearing you sing to me.''

But it's okay. I'm not sad. I'm happy now. And you should be happy now, too." The impact of those words? Emily had no idea what she had done. Emily seemed to know about a long buried secret. One that I didn't even know about. My grandma had experienced a heartbreaking tragedy in her youth. She'd become pregnant before marriage, and her father found out.

He went into a rage which led to a devastating outcome. The unborn child was lost, and my grandma had buried her in the trees, scared, not knowing what else to do. She would often go back there to talk to her, and sing to her, and would be out there for hours. For decades she had carried this secret with her, weighed down by guilt and pain, but you would never guess it. My grandma was always the life of the party.

She loved having people over and would do anything for you if you were in trouble. If people fought, she was always there to break it up and fix what was broken. It was almost unbelievable, and I wanted to go back and check in the trees to confirm this, but my mom stopped me, telling me no. I remember her using the same parental tone from when I was a child, and that alone told me that this had to be true.

She told me not to bring it up to Grandma and that she would figure it all out. However, Emily seemed to be able to tell that something was wrong, and she was adamant on seeing her Nana. After asking if she could go in, she allowed her in, and the remaining few of us stayed outside, continuing to entertain ourselves. They both came out shortly after, my Grandma's eyes slightly red from crying, but she was all smiles as she carried Emily.

They both were. The rest of that night picked back up, and everyone, including my grandma, was lighthearted and laughing. Emily and I stayed in my grandma's spare bedroom that night, and my mom was staying in the guest house, so we were all up pretty late talking. Emily long since asleep. My grandma apologized for the way that she'd acted earlier, but I kept telling her that it was okay and that she didn't need to talk about it if she didn't want to.

I even apologized, unaware of how Emily would have any knowledge of that. I didn't even know about it. But I listened to her story, and I saw a part of my grandma that I never knew of. After she explained further, she mentioned how she always felt something different with Emily. I could agree with her. They always seemed extremely close from the moment that they met. Emily had a very bad illness shortly after being born,

I was stressed out trying to calm her, but nothing worked. Even my mom tried to help with similar results, but when my grandma came over, she asked for Emily, and I teased that I would be surprised if she calmed down. To my surprise, she did. She calmed down near immediately, and I was shocked. It continued like this as Emily grew up, too. They were so close, and I never knew why.

Not that it made a difference to me, it was just heartwarming to watch. My grandma explained how she always felt like Emily was her guardian angel on earth, and that her unborn child was part of Emily. Normally I would have probably said that sounded insane and weird, but I could absolutely believe it. It's like Emily had known her a lot longer than six years, and how else would she have known about the grave in the woods?

She didn't even understand death yet. No one had passed since I'd had her, so it was never something that she would have known about. After this event, my grandma and Emily seemed to have an even stronger, inseparable bond. She stayed over at our place often, and Emily always wanted her to stay in her room with her. I loved it, and I know that it meant so much to my grandma too. It was like she got to live with her baby after all.

My grandma passed away two years ago, and it was very hard on all of us, especially Emily. But after her service, Emily was the one to tell us that we needed to be happy, because she would never want us to be sad. Knowing the bond that they had together, I felt like it was my grandma herself telling us this. Emily is now 13, and she remembers her Nana vividly, and talks about her at times.

However, she has no recollection of the conversation she had that night at the reunion. She remembered how close they were, but couldn't explain why. Even with my grandma now gone, my mom and I still talk about that night. Emily's innocent words had triggered a very powerful healing process, and I'm thankful that my grandma was able to pass on without any guilt or sadness in her heart.

I was an elementary school teacher for about 15 years, and one thing I learned about children, very young ones, is that they have no filter. They will say whatever is on their mind, and for the most part, it's true. Unless they fear they may be in trouble, of course. With this in mind, I have heard many, many stories from kids. Some quite alarming and just bizarre.

I wanted to share one with you that I remember quite well that has stuck with me all of these years. This was when I taught first grade. There was a little girl that I will call Sally. Sally started class about halfway through the school year, as her family had just moved to the area. I do what I normally do and introduce myself to her outside of the class, and ask if she would like to share something with the class, or just introduce her from her seat.

I didn't like to put kids on the spot if they didn't need to be. She asked to do it from her seat, as she was very shy, and it showed. Everyone was very kind when they looked at her and said hi, and some kids even tried to invite her to play with them. She would refuse, however, and would watch them from the side, typically just singing to herself.

Finally, we did a team activity, so I did push her a little to intermingle with her classmates, and she actually became good friends with another girl. At one point while they were at recess, Sally came up to me after scraping her knee and asked to clean it up. I took her into the restroom to get a rag and then back to the classroom, as I kept my own supply of bandages. As I helped her get all fixed up, I asked her if she was liking her class and her new friends.

She smiled and nodded at me. I didn't say much else. And then she said a bit more than I expected, and it left me confused. She told me, "'At first I was scared because in my last life the kids were very mean to me. I of course just assumed she meant her last school and maybe she had problems there. It was upsetting to hear about because she was a really smart and kind girl, and I couldn't see any reason as to why someone would choose to bully her.'

So, I told her, ''I'm sorry to hear that. That wasn't very nice of them, was it?'' Then, she continued talking. ''Yeah, they made fun of me because my mommy was poor and I didn't have a daddy. They threw food at me and pulled my hair and sometimes cut up my clothes. Again, I was thinking that this was awful and it broke my heart to hear it, but I was confused because I had met her parents, both her mom and dad.''

Of course, her dad could have been a stepfather, but I don't think he was. They looked way too similar. His mom was also a stay-at-home mom because they had an older son that was in about the sixth grade and a newborn. So, neither the part of her mom being poor or her not having a dad made sense to me. So, I asked her about the one that was a little more obvious.

"'But you have a dad, right? Wasn't he with you and your mom at conferences?' I asked her. "'Yeah, but that's my new mommy and daddy. In my old life, I didn't have a daddy.' At that point, I just agreed with her and finished up so that she could get back to her recess. It left me wondering for a little bit as to why she kept phrasing it as her old life. I thought maybe she was adopted, or in foster care?'

because of how she briefly described her old life, but again, she looked like a spitting image of her father. I brushed it off as kids just being kids and then let it go. But then, another event occurred with her that added more to the story. I had partnered the kids up for a class assignment, and since Sally had become close to this one girl, I put them together.

As I walked around to check on all the kids, I stopped at each table as I listened to their process. When I went to Sally and Katie's table, I asked how they were doing, and Sally thanked me for letting her work with Katie. I said you're welcome, and I asked them about their project. After some time, Sally again mentioned how much nicer this school was, and all the kids and teachers.

This time I asked her if she remembered what the school that she went to prior was, and without skipping a beat she told me. It was a saint's name school for girls. I'd never heard of this school and I had lived in this area my whole life, so it seemed to cement my idea that she went to a different school in a different area. I asked her if she knew where this school was, and she said that it was far away, and that people talked differently at that school.

I was trying to decide on what to say or ask next, but Sally continued talking for me. I didn't like it there. The girls were very mean to me about my clothes. So I told her that her clothes were very cute, and Katie said that she liked her shirt. Katie was always a very kind girl to everyone, so I appreciated her help. But then Sally explained more. I had to wear a special skirt and shirt.

and the other girls had a lot of them, but I only had the one, and it was always dirty. They made fun of me and ripped my skirt. I apologized, and Katie hugged her, and changed the subject, saying how much she liked her and seemed to cheer her up. I again walked away, reminding myself to look up the school when I had the chance. I had written down the name of the school, but after that, it was out of sight, out of mind, when you have a class full of young kids."

We also have classroom duties, and those selected change weekly. I chose randomly by pulling sticks from a jar, and Sally was chosen to help wipe down all the tables. This was done before they went to recess. So, as she cleaned them, I cleared the board and, due to our previous conversation a day prior, I complimented her on her outfit. She thanked me, and then thanked me for being a much nicer teacher.

I said you're welcome and thanked her for being such a great help. That's when she sat down and started bawling. I immediately went to console her and ask what was wrong, and what she said has always stuck to me. Everybody's so nice here, not like they were in my old life. I was afraid they would all hurt me here too, even you, but you're my favorite teacher. This has obviously affected her, possibly even traumatized her.

and I wanted to bring it up to her parents in case they weren't aware of what may have happened to her. As I knelt in front of her, I asked if she wanted to talk about it, and she was more than willing to share. She explained again how she was teased because she only had one uniform that she would wear the entire week, and that the girls would throw stuff on her clothes and her hair, only to make fun of her when she came in the next day wearing the same stained shirt.

She even explained how the teachers would always turn a blind eye to the bullying and only told her to stop complaining. Then, she explained how she ended up here. One day, as I was walking to class, the girls started following me and pulled on my skirt. I yelled at them to stop, and I tried to get away, but my foot slipped, and I fell down the long stairs, and I hit my head a lot.

When I stopped, I couldn't move and my whole body hurt. And then I got tired and just went to sleep. Then, it was dark for a very long time. But I got a new mommy and daddy, and they're very nice, and they have money, and everyone is so nice here. I was in awe as I listened to Sally's story. I tried my best to hold back the sadness and shock in my eyes, and just told her that I was sorry that it happened to her.

and explained that she was safe now. I even told her to let me know if she's ever hurt or bullied here because I refused to let any of that slide. She cheered up pretty quickly after that, and I dismissed her to go play while I finished up. Still, I didn't quite understand what I heard.

Yeah, it sounded like she was bullied, but after a fall like she described, you would think she would have substantial and possibly permanent injuries. Or maybe even have died. And that's when it hit me. I went back to my computer and looked up that school that she'd mentioned. That school did exist. It was an all-girls school for ages 3 to 18, but it wasn't even in the US.

Part of me wants to say that I think it was in Ireland, but I might be wrong. But the crazy part about all of that? It had been closed for years, way before she was even born. How would she have known about that school? After our little moment that day, Sally didn't bring up her old life again. She grew into a very happy and playful girl, much like Katie. And she wanted to befriend everyone that came through the door.

I wanted to ask her parents about her story to see if she ever talked to them about it, but since it didn't seem to affect her anymore, I didn't feel it was relevant. I didn't want her to possibly relive something if she didn't have to, and since it wasn't interfering with her life or school, I thought it was best to leave it alone. After looking into it more, I've just determined that poor Sally may have still had memories of a past life,

and maybe I helped that part of her move on, so that she could have a happier and better second chance at life. I don't think that my son is the same kid he once was. I mean, sure, he is the same person or body, but I don't think his mind or personality is the same. I know it sounds strange, but that's why I'm writing this, to further explain what I mean.

My son's name is Cameron Michael, first and middle. He was born May 4th, 2007. He had brown straight hair, taking after his mom as mine was blonde, and he always liked it on the longer side. We always let him decide what he wanted to do with his hair, never forcing him to grow it out or cut it. We just kept it managed, so either way, it wasn't in his face, but that was it.

He was even beginning to like having half of his head shaved and keeping the other half long. He also enjoyed anything Marvel or insect related. He wasn't afraid to catch grasshoppers, crickets, pill bugs, or even spiders, although we wouldn't let him hold many spiders. I remember we even got him a bug catching kit for his birthday the year prior, and he was ecstatic. He was also very outgoing.

Anytime we ran into another kid at the park or at the mall, you name it, he was quick to approach them. He would introduce himself, and he would then ask them who their favorite superhero was. As for his name, he always wanted to be called Cameron. He didn't even like the idea of being called Cam for short. Just a few important things that I can think of that changed after this incident.

Back in May of 2016, we celebrated his birthday, and his big present that year was a bike. He didn't really have one prior because we were living in an apartment, but we had recently moved into a rental home. He was really close to his cousin Brett, and he loved riding his bike when he was at his house, so we agreed to get him one this year. As expected, he was always wanting to ride it.

When he got home from school, we had to practically barter with him to get his homework done before he went out to ride. My wife and I would typically walk alongside him to the park so we could ride around the path or the open parking lot without much traffic. It was a Sunday evening, and Cameron wanted to go ride his bike before it got late since he had school the next day.

It wasn't dark yet, so we didn't have to worry about lights, but he did have reflective lights on the bike, as well as his helmet. It was just going to be me and him as my wife was staying behind to clean up the kitchen. We left the house and started heading right towards the park. We pretty much lived behind it, so I was planning on walking down there with him, circling around, and then coming back home.

Everything was fine until we started walking back home. There was a community board posted at the entrance, and sometimes they have events and sometimes people like to leave their own dramatic notes, so I was glossing over it. Cameron was circling the parking lot, and I told him to give me a moment, and he continued to ride around as he's always done before.

It was really no different than any other time, so I wasn't exactly worried about keeping my eye on him as long as I could hear him. But, to my horror, I also started hearing a car seemingly rev up really loud, getting closer, and then suddenly brakes squealing. I turned around, and I was faced with the worst thing to ever happen to me.

Cameron was lying on the ground a few feet in front of this car, with his bike underneath it, all mangled up. I ran to my son, expecting the worst. The rest of that night was a blur, and it was like I was standing still, but everyone around me was moving at hyper speed. Yes, the person that hit him was arrested for reckless driving, and Cameron did turn out alright.

He had several broken bones, but surprisingly, he only had a concussion and no other head or cranial damage. I'm still very thankful that we bought that helmet. However, after some time, I wasn't convinced that everything was alright due to the drastic changes in him that I witnessed. It was a little slow to get back to his normal playful and curious self, but I did start noticing things changing.

One of the first was that he was not interested in Marvel or superheroes whatsoever. His birthday was Iron Man themed, but he seemed completely disinterested in it. His interests altogether had changed. Now, he was obsessed with trains and locomotives, which was fine, but it was also the amount of knowledge that he seemed to have about them.

He got a book on them, and he was showing me the pictures and explaining the different parts on it, and how it all worked. I asked him how he knew all this, like joking around. He just looked at me deadpan and said, "I used to work on them," and continued talking. He was nine years old. How could he have possibly ever worked on a train?

Other than the train thing, there were other personality changes such as the shows that he watched, or even activities and hobbies that he had. He started playing chess, and he was good at it from the start. Hell, he actually taught me how to play properly because I didn't know. He also cut his hair short, so it grew out evenly and parted it to the side, something he had never done before.

He seemed fascinated in electronics though, even things as simple as a desktop computer. He had seen it and even used it infrequently, but he always asked about how it worked, as if he had never actually seen it before. And one of the strangest things of all to me was the name part. He said he hated being called Cameron.

And when asked, he said that he preferred to be called Cam or even Michael, but he then asked to be called Frankie. Again, I was confused because that was nowhere close to any of his names. I couldn't even recall any games or shows or movies that we watched that had someone with that name. So I again asked about the name, and he said, Oh, that was my old name.

My wife was home with us when this all happened, and she was just as confused. We tried to ask him more about the name, the train thing, all of it, and he just broke down. He said that he doesn't remember everything, but he thinks something happened when he got hit. He said that he doesn't think he's in the right body, and he didn't know how to live with it.

Then he just cried and we did everything we could to calm him down and try to cheer him up. We tried not to bring it up again in front of him because we didn't want to upset him, but we tried to look into this a little more. We started with the therapist to ask questions for ourself. We had no intentions of putting him through that just because he had changed. Part of us thought that maybe he was just a growing boy,

His personality could be changing. We were really stuck between that and could this be related to the accident? Could this have damaged something that went unseen? Could it just be him getting older and trying to find himself? But then my wife brought up the idea of past lives, and that she had started reading stories about them, and she thinks it may be related to Cameron's experience."

We started looking into it more, and we tried to be open-minded, so I think that we both agree, without speaking too much about it, that this was likely the scenario, and we decided to live with this in mind going forward. Life went on as normal from then on. Slight changes in who he was, but we lived with it and called him Frankie at his request. We even told the rest of the family to do so, so that they didn't upset him.

So, fast forward to 2021, we were all watching Unsolved Mysteries, and there was an episode about reincarnation, and Frankie lost it. He started talking about how that must be what happened to him, that he must have been reborn. My wife and I both just kind of went, wow, that's crazy and definitely possible, and tried to get on with our night.

Again, he was still a kid, and we didn't want to put that thought in his mind. He should be able to enjoy his life, and not have some kind of crisis that he died and was born again. Things have calmed down a bit since that happened. Again, we tried to make it as normal as we possibly could.

My wife and I have flirted with the idea of looking into someone who matched what we know so far of this Frankie person, but we don't even really know where to start. I just really hope it hasn't and doesn't impede on my son's life. I just want him to be happy with who he is, no matter who that happens to be.

Hello. I would like to share an experience that my daughter actually had as a seven-year-old. I've been researching and watching a lot about past lives, thanks to her as well, and I'm learning a lot about it, too. This all started about five or six years ago. My daughter, Brooke, was home from school for a snow day, and I was quite frankly feeling pretty crummy.

I'd been laying on the couch, watching TV, trying not to appear miserable on the outside, and Brooke was in her room playing. I could hear her TV and her talking as if she was playing with her toys. As I laid there just trying to relax, I started hearing some unusual sound effects, and phrases coming from her that I had never really heard before. She was making sounds like an airplane.

as well as acting as if she was talking to someone. It wasn't alarming, but it still caught my attention, and being curious, I got up to check on her and see what she was doing. I approached the open door and watched as she was sitting at her desk, holding a piece of paper that she had drawn some kind of W shape on and cut out. She had asked to use the scissors earlier.

As she held onto the paper, rocking it side to side, she also moved her hands back and forth as if she was pulling levers and pushing buttons. She also had on my husband's old broken headset. She's very creative and likes to play with things like that, so when he went to throw it away, she asked if she could have it.

As she sat there wearing the headset, moving her arms around, and was speaking the whole time using phrases and jargon that I had never heard before. Roger, this is Mustang 12, engines humming smoothly, altitude 15,000 feet. I stood there dumbfounded, not having any clue where she would have picked any of this up.

I had figured out that she was pretending to fly an airplane, but as to how she knew those terms was lost on me. Neither me nor my husband have watched anything about planes. I couldn't even think of anyone that she may have been around that could have watched or talked about planes either. She always talked like a normal seven-year-old would. She had a slight lisp at the time, but it wasn't really noticeable unless she got really excited about what she was talking about.

but when I watched her, her voice was steady, monotone, and not a single slip in her speech. I had never seen this before, and I had no explanation for it. I stayed where I was, listening to her as she described landing the plane, and when it was stopped, she put her steering wheel down, took her headset off, and sighed.

I didn't mean to startle her, but as she did that, I softly called out for her, making her jump. I cheerfully said, "'What are you playing, Brooke?' "'I was flying, Mommy. I was up in the sky in a big plane, just like I used to.' Obviously confused, I asked more questions. "'What do you mean, like you used to?' She had never been on a plane, and, in fact, I had only been on one before she was even born.'

My husband had been, due to his job, but she had only ever gone with me once to drop him off, not even in the airport, when I used to fly planes. My favorite was a P-51 Mustang, and I was really, really good at it. She then went to her desk and started pointing at her wheel and random parts on her desk. She was naming off what I assume were different switches and gauges,

I don't remember everything she said, but I wish I would have asked her about them again and written them all down. I just know that I stood there over her desk as she spoke in confidence about her plane, trying to grasp what I was listening to. After she finished her explanation, I asked her how she knew all of this, and that's what started me down this rabbit hole. She said, ''I just know it. I learned it from school that grown-ups go to.''

I was very good at it, but the bad guys broke my plane and I couldn't stop it. But I want to fly planes again. It was a lot of fun. Granted, that was paraphrased a bit, but that was basically what she explained. I'd heard of kids talking about a potential past life before, but never really thought more into it. Not expecting that to ever be something that I would experience. You know, the whole, well, that would never happen to me.

but I began to ask Brooke more questions about what she was talking about and how long she had remembered this. She said that she's remembered it for a long time, but couldn't really pinpoint it. She was still a child, though. I then asked her if she remembered anything else other than airplanes. She sat on her bed, squeezing her eyes closed and smiling, and then she said the name. Martha. I remember Martha. She was very pretty like you, Mommy."

And I loved her. I'm sad that I can't see her anymore. She looked a little sad when she said this. Even though she was smiling, but she said it with such conviction. How could I not believe her? We also don't have anyone in our family that I could think of named Martha. I even asked my husband and my mom if they knew of anyone, and they couldn't recall anyone either. Still feeling a bit surprised by this new information...

I brought her into the kitchen to have lunch. The rest of the day continued on as normal, but I couldn't wait to tell my husband when he got home. When he did, and I explained everything to him, I could tell by the look on his face that he was a bit skeptical about it. He tried to reason it just like I did. She must have heard about planes or something and repeated it, but I explained to him how detailed she was.

There was no way she could have heard this somewhere and memorized it to that extent. She gets her favorite Spongebob quotes wrong sometimes, and she's obsessed with that show. My husband started coming around to the idea and was even more convinced when he heard her talking about it in front of him. She even mentioned how her name used to be Peter, and that she wanted to marry Martha when she came back from her last trip, but that that's when the accident happened.

She would bring it up on other occasions after that day, too. While we were outside playing in the snow, she crawled along the ground and shouted out other quotes that sounded like military terms. My husband had a hard time reasoning that one away. Both of our grandfathers and my grandmother were military when they were younger. That was how my grandparents had met, but they've all since passed, so she wouldn't have heard it from them.

I had been casually looking into past life stuff at this point, but when she came up to me one day and asked me if I knew Martha or how to find her, I felt the urge to look more into this. She seemed so sincere, and she was so sad when she said that she wanted to make sure Martha was happy after she was gone. I considered looking into a therapist who specialized in past life regressions for children,

but I couldn't find anyone in our area that would have been convenient, and I didn't want to put her through something that could potentially put her through trauma or give her PTSD, if she remembered something worse than flying a plane that crashed. What I did do was check out historical information at my local library in hopes to find closure for the person my daughter used to be.

While my daughter was in school, I went to the library and started looking for anything I could about a pilot, possibly some kind of military pilot by the name of Peter. I was on the right path, but the info I was finding was limited. But then the librarian gave me a good suggestion. She mentioned a local historian that collected a lot of old war memorabilia and hosted many events about them.

She suggested that I ask him about it, and gave me his contact info, so I did just that. I contacted the man and explained what little info I had, but just kind of explained that I was looking to expand a family tree. To my surprise, he was actually able to find something in a newspaper similar to an obituary, but more of a mass one for those enlisted that may have passed or were missing.

There was a Peter listed as having passed away after a plane accident. The man then helped me find more info on this Peter, and we found another article with the picture of Peter, and, you guessed it, his lovely Martha. They were at some kind of ball or dance. The names were printed under the photo. That solidified it in me. Everything Brooke had told me had to be true.

We didn't know this Peter or Martha, but somehow Brooke did. This man made a copy of the picture for me and I took it home with me. When Brooke came home from school, I showed her the picture and asked her if she knew who it was, folding over the bottom so she couldn't see the names. She let out a huge gasp and explained that it was her and Martha at some kind of serviceman's ball. I forget what she called it off the top of my head.

She hugged me and thanked me for finding it, but when I asked her if she wanted to keep the picture, she said no. She said that she had really just wanted to see her one more time. I didn't ask her about her past life and memories after that. If she brought it up, then we would talk about it. But otherwise, I left it alone. And I think that's exactly what was supposed to happen.

Over time, I noticed that she didn't talk about it as much, nor did she play the airplane game like she used to. I thought about this at one point and asked her about it, and she seemed completely confused. I mentioned Peter, and she laughed at me, saying, ''No, Mommy, I'm Brooke.'' ''So, I'm pretty sure what I did helped Peter realize that he had passed.''

And, since I believed his story and acknowledged it, he was able to move on. It was an incredible experience, but I'm also thankful that it didn't stick around for her, in fear of it causing distress for her as she got older. Writing this out for you, though, has made me really consider putting together a short book, or a journal, maybe, of all the experiences that we had from this extraordinary phenomenon, just to have something to look back on.

and maybe show Brooke when she's older. If I do, I'll be sure to share it with you too. Thank you for reading. Thank you for all the awesome stories. It's relaxing to listen to while I drive. Hearing the past life stories on your channel made me want to share mine. For context, I've been fascinated with politics since I was in middle school. I'm a moderate right, I'm an artist, public speaker, and sometimes dabble in writing.

This will be important later. When I was 10, I had a dream that I was somebody else. Instead of a little girl, I was a young man. Everything was in black and white, and I walked up the steps at a library. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear and dread. Everybody hated me, but I knew that whoever the man was that I was supposed to be was a good person. It was in a city in the Midwest.

All I remember was that vision, but it always stuck with me. When I told my mom, she told me that it was probably a glimpse into my past life. I left it at that until years later when I was telling a friend about it. She, a medium, told me that it was without a doubt a look at my past life, and that it was at that age that people see visions of past lives. She offered to do a past life reading, and I accepted.

During the reading, she revealed that in my past life, I was a man named Tom, but went by Tommy. I grew up in a rural area as a happy kid, but moved to the city to pursue a career in politics as an adult. I want to say it was either Cincinnati or Chicago in the 1950s. I was walking up those steps to the library, as it was the release of my controversial book.

I was a liberal Republican, which was unacceptable back then. She told me that I was working on an idea for a policy and that I had to bend some rules to make it happen. Already a controversial figure, this made me appear unethical. I had more haters than followers, sadly. She told me that whatever I was working on, the idea was to bring people together, but it only made everybody hate me more.

One fateful day, after a speech or event, there was a group of people who proceeded to crowd me. They tied me to a tree, and they beat the life out of me. I died. I was 27. And, at the time that I got this reading, I was 27. Interesting still, I had a supervisor at work who I had a deep connection with. It turned out that she was my assistant in this past life.

The whole experience was surreal for me, as I learned that past lives often influence our skills and interests in our present lives. This was actually something that happened to me, and I still struggle to understand it. As a younger child, maybe seven or eight, I think, I lived in a small house with an older brother that I'll call Jeff.

He was probably four or five years older than me, and we lived with my dad and my pregnant mother. I didn't get along with my brother, or rather he didn't get along with me. It was just the two of us, so of course I wanted to play and hang out with him, but it was like he hated me. I don't know why or if I did something, but if so, I don't remember ever doing anything.

It started as Jeff just not wanting to have anything to do with me. I would ask if he wanted to play cars or something, and he would say no. When one of us complained about being bored, my parents would tell us to go play together, and he would get mad at me for it. He would tell me things like he hated me, and he didn't want to play with me, so...

I would end up playing something alone, while he sat on his bed and stared at the ceiling or watched TV. We had an old small TV in our room that got probably four channels. Sometimes while we were alone, like in our room or out back playing, he would hit me or push me down. He would call me names, say I was useless, and all for no apparent reasons.

We could just be taking turns going across the monkey bars in our playset, and he would snap. And if I told my parents, he would then punish me when we went to bed, so... I had a lot of accidental falls and trips, and my parents were none the wiser. So, that's where this incident takes place. Jeff was becoming more and more aggressive towards me. Anytime that he could, he would.

He would even try to hurt me with anything that he could find, like stabbing my arm with a pencil or making me step on thumbtacks. One night, after dinner, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, and Jeff knocked on the door and kept demanding that I get out. So I finished quickly, and as I left the bathroom...

I said something to him about being patient, and as I walked past him, he pushed me, causing me to fall down the stairs. However, my mom was just walking by and actually saw him do this, so he did get into a lot of trouble with it. I was more scared that he got in trouble than happy, because I could feel the anger in him, and I knew that I wasn't going to be able to sleep that night.

So, we went to bed as normal. We had bunk beds and he was on the top. I remember that I tried to stay awake as long as possible, worried that he would hurt me, but the sleep won and I ended up drifting off. But then I woke up when I felt pressure on my chest. It was Jeff sitting on top of me, and he looked furious. That's when I noticed that I couldn't breathe.

I felt like I couldn't inhale at all and was trying to tell Jeff to get off. He just kept saying these horrible things to me, like he wished he was still an only kid, that I was the worst brother, that my parents didn't love me and that I should just die. I remember being terrified for my life. I could feel something around my throat, and it was starting to hurt. I was kicking and swinging my arms,

Doing everything I could to get him off of me, but to no avail. The last thing I remember was the room going black, and then I could hear my mom screaming and crying my name. I could hear my dad yelling, What did you do?! And then everything went muffled again, and I believe I went unconscious. That was the last memory that I had of Jeff. I've tried very hard to remember anything after that, but I can't.

And I start feeling sick when I do try. Because now, things are completely different. I now live with my mom and dad who look completely different. My first mom had short, curly black hair, and she was also really short compared to the massive man that my dad was. He was also bald and had a really deep voice.

My new mom is almost taller than my dad and she has medium length brown straight hair. My new dad was thin and definitely shorter than my old dad. He also had longer blonde hair that he normally kept braided and he was always so soft spoken. The other weird thing is, I'm now an only child. I remember waking up one day and following a normal routine of making my own breakfast and watching cartoons

until my parents got up and took me to school. But then, I started getting these visions or recollections of Jeff, and it seemed so real. I know that it was. I remember the pain that I endured, I remember the scent of my mother's perfume, I remember the feeling of the scar on my father's hand. When I started remembering this, I became scared that maybe I did survive and was given to another family.

I was afraid to bring it up because I didn't want to know what happened. I did miss my old parents, but I thought maybe they got in trouble too, so I always kept this to myself. I have gotten the two memories mixed up though, because I'll mention something that happened in my first life, and my new parents will look confused and mention how that never happened, or that they don't remember anything like that.

So now, I find it difficult to bring up past memories unless the memory actually involves my new parents. So I at least know that it was this life. There was one time though that I had to ask. It was the weekend and my parents took me to a local amusement park to celebrate.

I completed the school year with all passing grades, which wasn't hard for me as I always excelled at school, but it was nice to have it recognized. I was accepted into an after school club that focused on a different country each year. This year would be France. The kids would also have a chance to go to the country with one parent or guardian the following year.

My parents were both very proud of me, and it was the most fun I've ever remembered having. I played games with them, all of us being competitive, we rode on a few rides together, and we had a wonderful dinner. I felt incredibly loved that it was overwhelming, and I had slipped out something about thanking them for changing my life.

They were confused and asked what I meant by that, and I tried to play it off as just miswording something, but they didn't buy it and they asked me to explain. I then asked them if I had another brother, and they denied it, looking genuinely confused. I then mentioned what I remembered about Jeff, about feeling like he was hurting me, without being specific, like I needed to protect them.

They looked concerned, and I just remember my mom gave me a huge hug and told me that it must have been a very vivid dream that I'd had. Maybe when I was really sick, but she assured me that nothing like that had ever happened. They assured me that I had always been an only child, and that they knew no one by the name of Jeff. I wanted to make myself believe that.

That everything I remembered, years of that life, it was all just an incredibly vivid dream. But after hearing more about my illness, it really made me think that maybe I was reborn. I didn't and still don't remember anything in this life about being ill, and nothing before it. My parents showed me pictures of being in the hospital. Apparently I had caught strep throat, and it ended up turning into pneumonia.

They learned from this that I had an autoimmune disease, and the pneumonia caused me to go into a coma. The doctors warned my parents that they should be prepared for the worst, and that I was probably too young to fight it. Miraculously, I started showing improvements, and I did beat it. I have no memory of getting sick, ever being in a hospital, or even getting out of it, and anything before getting sick.

Since then, I've pretty much decided in my mind that I died that night. I think that my brother killed me, and I think that the boy that this body belonged to died, and for some reason that I still don't understand, I was given this body as a second chance. I don't like to dwell on it too much, because it starts making me depressed. I loved my brother, but no matter what I did, he hated me.

He hated me to the point that he wanted me dead. And the fact that I got a second chance while another boy probably lost his life, it makes me feel like I'm not grateful enough for what I have. I still haven't talked to my parents about all of this, as I do fear the outcome. Would they believe me? Would they make fun of me or deny that it was even possible? Or would they disown me, thinking that I'm not their real son?

My parents are still very loving and supportive to this day, so I don't think that they would, but it is a fear that I have. I think that, for now, I'll just keep it to you and your audience and be thankful for what I do have. And also, thank you for allowing me to share this with somebody. Back when my son, Riley, was around 7 or 8, my wife and I noticed something peculiar about him.

He had a passion for drawing and coloring. He was actually very creative. He liked to draw the normal kid stuff, like pictures of us, our dog, and our two cats and other animals. But what really caught our attention was that he kept drawing the same house over and over again. At first, we thought he had simply discovered a subject he liked, and enjoyed drawing it.

He'd drawn houses before, but they were pretty simple, the kind that you would normally see a kid draw. But this specific house was drawn differently than normal, and was a lot more detailed. I could tell it was the same house because of those details and the colors that he used. Over time, he would add in more features of this same house and would draw it from different angles as well.

He added the square shingles on the roof, the shutters on the window, the flowerbed in the yard. Everything was there and precise. Now, there was nothing wrong with these drawings, and none of it ever looked alarming or out of the ordinary, so we never questioned it, or called it out other than saying that he was doing a great job. But we did become curious when he started drawing the house from the top.

Like a blueprint. Granted, he was only eight, so the lines weren't straight and there were no words or labels, but it was very clearly a blueprint. Granted, he was only eight, so the lines weren't straight and there were no words or labels, but it was very clearly a blueprint. That's when we started asking about what he was drawing.

He kept saying that it was his house, which we thought was odd because it obviously looked nothing like our house. I tried asking more questions about what he meant, but his answers were typically short and vague. Again, it wasn't hurting anything, so I just let it go. During a school break, I stayed home with him a lot as I was a contractor and was in between jobs at the time.

After lunch, he wanted to go play in his room and excused himself. I'd been lounging around the living room when I noticed it had been a few hours since I even saw or heard from him, so I thought I would go check in. He had the door open, and as I rounded the corner, I saw him with his Legos spread out on the floor, organized by color and piece, and some loose-leaf printer paper next to him with the drawings of the house again.

I could tell by his mumblings and long sighs that he was getting frustrated, so I knocked on the doorframe to let him know that I was there. He looked up at me with an almost sad or frustrated eyes. I asked him what he was building, and again he said "my house". I asked him what he meant by that, and he explained that it was his old house. Again, this is the only house he knows when it comes to places he's lived.

He's been to my parents' and my in-laws' home before, but we've lived at this house since he was born. I think this frustration got the best of him, because he finally explained more. "No, my house from a long time ago. I can't remember things about it. It's important, but I can't think about it as much anymore." It didn't really clear anything up, but I just assumed that he meant his drawings.

He was still young, so his sentences weren't perfect, but I feel like he got the point across. I just told him that he was doing great and to keep it up, and I was confident that he would make it perfect, just the way that he wanted. But Riley just shook his head, his expression still serious. "'No, Dad, you don't get it. It's not made up. It's my old house. I built it. I lived there.'

His sentence slowly tapering off as the look on his face dropped to a frown. I was taken aback. Yes, he was a very creative kid, and I'd say even imaginative, but he's never been this passionate about it when me or his mom approached him while playing. I didn't know what to think about this. We hadn't watched anything about an old house, or building them for that matter, so where could this be coming from?

It was hard for me to wrap my head around what could be troubling my young son, but I was still curious to learn more. I asked him what he could remember about this old house. Riley took a deep breath. I could tell his eyes were filled with sadness, and he said, I remember making the house with my own hands. Looking down at his hands with his palms out, he continued, I was happy about it. I did a good job.

I lived there with my girlfriend and there was a baby, but one day there was a cracking sound and the floor broke upstairs. It crushed us and I couldn't save us. I was very scared. Now I remember it again and I don't want to forget it because I need to figure out how I messed it up so that it doesn't happen at our new home. I don't want to die again. I don't want you to die."

My heart broke as I listened to him recall what I could only describe as a past life. I started trying to think of literally anything he could have watched or seen, or maybe something he heard his mom and I talk about, but I couldn't recall anything. I don't even remember hearing about a house collapsing on the news or on the radio. And when I asked him if this was a dream,

He told me no, because he saw these thoughts all the time when he was awake, not asleep. At that moment, and even though it was the voice of my little boy, those weren't his words. I could tell. My initial skepticism was overruled by the overwhelming sense of compassion and wonder. I wanted to figure this out to not only make sure this never troubled my son again,

but to make sure if this was legitimate that the person he was could move on and be at peace after telling my wife about what i experienced she was skeptical at first too but after hearing it come directly from riley she seemed a bit more convinced that something was definitely off here over the following weeks riley continued to share more details about his memories

He described the layout of the house, the creaky floorboards, and even the scent of the baked goods that his wife would always make. He even described the flowers that his wife had planted outside the house, white tulips. But he would always bring it back around, saying that he needed to make sure this place was stronger, making sure history didn't repeat itself.

I thought the best thing to do would be first to assure Riley that our current house was safe. I did everything I could to get diagrams, blueprints, and structural layouts of our home. I contacted our realtor, I tried government records, and I even brought in an appraiser. With all the info I got, I was able to piece a lot of it together, and I showed it to Riley. He seemed to understand everything on paper better than I could,

He explained where the stress points were in our place, and walked through it, trying to determine where the internal beams or walls were. But when we finished the walkthrough, he said that it made him feel much better, and it helped him understand what he did wrong. He said he was no longer scared of our new home. I just remember the huge hug that he gave me, thanking me for helping him that day, and...

I remember it being such an unusual hug. Again, it was my son, but the strength in this hug and the tears in his eyes made me think something there was not him. As time went on from there, he drew the house less and less, and rarely talked about it, until one day he just never mentioned it again. Riley is now about to start high school, and he said he doesn't remember any of this.

Part of me is relieved because I only want him to remember a happy childhood, but I kind of also wanted to hear more about the house. I'm still curious about it myself, and I would love to find it. Or at least some records on it, since it might not be standing anymore. But the first problem is, I don't even know if it was in the same state we live in now.

I guess that will just always be an unanswered part of this story. In the end, it has definitely opened my mind to the world of past lives and possibly reincarnations. This extraordinary experience has taught me that there is certainly more to this world than just life and death. When I was a little girl, about five years old,

I began to remember being someone else in a former life. I don't remember the details very well, but my mother says that I told her quite a few details, and that she remembers what I said very clearly because it was so odd. Apparently, I told her I lived in a big bedroom with lots of friends, and that we all dressed in the same tan shirts and pants.

and that we all slept wearing our underpants instead of pajamas. And I called our home "The Base". She was bewildered and asked me when this happened, and I told her that it was when I was a man. Now, I was a very girly little girl who loved to wear dresses and play with dolls, so my mother didn't know what to think about these statements.

I also told her that I had a gun of my own, and that all my friends did as well. In reality, I had never seen a gun in my life. My family did not own a TV, but one day my mother brought me with her to visit a friend who had her TV turned on. Gomer Pyle USMC was on the TV. My mother said that I was overjoyed.

I pointed out the tan uniforms as being my own, the barracks as my big bedroom, and I explained to her that the mess hall was where we had lunch. Although I had never heard that term. I then explained to her that the decorations on the uniform indicated rank. I knew that private meant the lowest rank and so on. My mother was dumbfounded. She kept asking me how I knew so much about the Marines.

I just kept telling her I was there. It was just like that. We had no military service members in our family, so I could not have seen pictures or heard stories about life on a marine base. So how did I, a five-year-old girl, know about all of this? I have no logical explanation. I just knew for a fact that I had been there.

Hello everyone. I want to talk about some things from my past life that have impacted my current life. My mom and I are spiritual, and she contacted the spirit of my best friend yesterday when I was having a mental breakdown. He's from my past life as a Vietnam soldier. I got to know him since I was a young child, and we were best friends. I can vaguely remember that his name was Damien or something.

I basically grew up with him, and his family treated me as I was one of them. Very nice family at that time. But once the Vietnam War started, things took a turn. During our deployment, I was very paranoid of being ambushed by the Vietnamese, so I slept with a gun in my hands. Due to all the mental issues going on at that time in the dark environment, I accidentally shot my best friend.

because I heard someone walking towards me in an odd way. I was devastated, and I turned bat crap insane after that. I was no longer suitable for duty, so they sent me home. I was full of regret, shame, grief. People around me were treating me harshly because we veterans, quote-unquote, failed to win the war, and the family members of my best friend even placed a curse on me out of anger and resentment.

The curse that I would never be happy and fulfilled again. This curse has haunted me into the current life that I've been reincarnated into. I always asked myself why I feel like I'm not worth it, or why the things in my life happened the way they did. Now I feel like the pieces of the puzzle are fitting together. The purpose of my current life is to lift the curse and become mentally strong again.

I can finally have peace with myself now, which I wasn't able to achieve with psychotherapy before. Moral of the story: unresolved mental issues and curses can haunt you into your next life. Be sure to cope with them, and be open-minded or disciplined to meditation. This way you gain insight about previous lives, and you can prevent yourself from making the same mistakes this time.

I'm a mom of three kids, ages 14, 9, and 5. As many may be aware, 2020 opened up some schooling possibilities, and I think both my kids and I loved it. I was already working remotely, but now my kids were home with me, and we always made the most of it. We all got set up at our dining room table, and I even brought my laptop in there to work with them.

We got very creative with our activities as a family, and even our meals. I feel like I got to learn more about my kids in that time and became even closer to them, and I was thankful for that. The story is related to one of those moments. While we were all working at the table, my 9-year-old, Allie, became frustrated with her work, so I stopped to help her.

My five-year-old, Jaden, has a late birthday. It's in October, so he wouldn't start kindergarten until the following year. However, he loved being a part of this, and making him sit it out would just be mean, so I got a few workbooks for him online that he could work on with us, and he was satisfied with that. Every day he would come to the table with his cute little play computer, some books and crayons, and it was always adorable.

One of the pages in his workbook was a section for him to color in different people in different occupations, such as a doctor, a police officer, a fireman, etc. He was talking about everything he was coloring, but when he came across the fireman, he seemed to pause, staring at it, before he finally started coloring again. I just thought that he was trying to decide how to color it, or something like that.

I knew that he couldn't read it so well, so I knew that he wasn't reading the page, but it was pretty obviously a fireman. He had on the uniform, the front of the truck was behind him, and he was holding the long hose. Jaden also loved fire trucks. So when he started coloring, I made a comment about it, asking what color he was going to make the dog sitting next to the man. He told me that he was going to make it look like our current dog, Sparky,

and continued coloring. I smiled and let him do as he was doing as I did my own work. Shortly after, he then looked at me and asked, Do you remember when I was big? I looked at him, smiling, and said, You're a big boy now. He rolled his eyes and said, No, when I was big like you, a grown-up. A little confused, I told him,

"Well, you aren't a grown up yet, hun, but you will be. Just don't grow up too fast on me." He held out his arms on the table like he was exasperated and explained, "No, I used to be big, but then my bedroom was on fire and I got really hot and the fireman helped me get out, but it was too hard to breathe and I got too tired. It wasn't his fault, but that's why I want to be a fireman. I want to help people too."

My first thought was, "What the heck did my kid watch recently?" My oldest, Spencer, was looking back and forth between me and Jaden, obviously just as confused as I was. I asked Jaden why he would say all that, and he had the most serious look that a five-year-old could have, and said that he didn't know but he could remember it. Spencer waved his arms in the air and said, "Ooh, he was reincarnated," then started laughing.

I gave him the mom look. If you're a parent, you know what I'm talking about. Once he lowered his arms, Jaden asked what that meant, but I told him it wasn't important and to continue working, which he did. I was confused by this conversation. I guess reincarnation was a possible explanation, but I was a skeptic, to be honest. I told my husband about it when he returned home, and when we put Jaden to bed that night, we asked him about it again.

Jaden explained the exact same thing. He explained how he was an adult, how he'd gone to bed and woke up feeling really hot. He said that he couldn't touch the doorknob because it hurt him. He then told me what the fireman looked like and sadly explained how he got too tired by the time he was out, so he went to sleep, but that he couldn't remember anything after that.

My husband asked him out loud where he had heard that from and he said, "From my head. I remember it." We just left that alone and went to bed, talking about it in our own room. At first we both kind of thought that it was creepy, but also assumed that he must have seen it somewhere. There was no other explanation for this, nothing at least that made sense.

I don't know if it was because we showed interest in his stories or what, but Jaden started talking about the past life more. He was brushing his teeth and started playing with his hair, and I asked what he was doing. He said that his hair used to be really dark, like Iron Man's, and he asked me why he didn't have a beard like he used to. All of my kids have reddish-orange hair, never dark hair.

Neither did my husband and I, so I told him that he didn't have dark hair, and that he would get a beard when he got older. Again, becoming annoyed by me, he turned to me hands out and slowly said, "'When I was a grown-up, I just apologized and told him I was having trouble understanding.'"

He told me that it was okay, and he gave the best explanation that a five-year-old could, about, you guessed it, a reincarnation. He mentioned how he felt tired after the fire, and that all he could see was dark. He said that he waited there until he heard someone calling his name, and then got mad because he couldn't remember his name, and then someone told him his new name was Jaden.

The next thing he remembered after that was a bright light and being really cold. Then, he said that he was here. It was such a strange thing to listen to considering how consistent he was with his story. The details all remained the same. Jaden mentioned his other life on multiple occasions, and it was probably consistent throughout the rest of the year. But then, one night while everyone was asleep, I heard a soft, Mommy?

Bane whispered to me. I rolled over and opened my eyes to see Jaden just standing there over me, holding his little light-up dinosaur. I asked him if he was okay, because it was unusual for him to come to our room. My other two were very attached, but Jaden had always been pretty independent. As soon as we got him his own big kid bed, he stayed in his room every night with no issues. He looked at me smiling and simply said, I remember now.

My name? It was Arthur, but I'm happy here as Jaden. Thank you for being my mom. He then patted me on the head and walked back out of the room. I got up to go check on him being half awake. I had no idea what he was going on about. I got to his room to see him lay back down in his bed, tell me goodnight, and then he fell asleep. The next morning, I asked him about it while we ate breakfast and-

He basically had no recollection of this. Spencer suggested that maybe he was sleepwalking, but his choice of words was what stood out to me. However, no matter how many times I asked Jaden about it or mentioned the other person in the fire, he looked at me confused. He said that his name was Jaden, and that it always had been. So, I guess that's over.

His memory or vision lasted a little under a year and after remembering his name, it was done. Since then, it has not been brought up again by him, but the rest of us remember what he said and described. But now I find myself conflicted on what exactly it was that my kid experienced. My mother has always been such a giving person.

My parents tried to have kids and after years of no luck, they went to the doctor to learn that due to cysts, she would probably never conceive. So instead, they adopted me at the age of two and fostered many children in between. This also led my mother to start her own daycare so she could be helpful to others in need, as well as be around as many children as she wanted.

She was always so kind and supportive to everyone, and all the kids that we watched. It was no wonder that everyone liked her. She ran the daycare out of our home for most of the time that I lived there too, which meant that I helped a lot. But I didn't mind. It was like having little brothers and sisters anytime to play with. My dad even built another large room to the back of our house as the main play area for the daycare.

He even built a new door to the backyard with a covered porch that led to the yard with all the outdoor toys and games. The daycare was doing great, and since I grew up around so many kids, I found no reason to stop helping out. And in fact, I started officially working there with my mom. That's where this story took place.

At this point I was 23 and had been working there full time for a few years now while I went to school for children's psychology. I ran errands for my mom, like picking up groceries, and I helped with scheduling and making meals and snacks for the kids. We also planned special activities for the kids at least once a week. It was close to Mother's Day, so we had picked up some extra supplies for the kids to make gifts for their moms.

We had materials to make cards, treat bags, and even paper flower bouquets. I loved walking around and helping them out, so we got them all in spots with like 4 or 5 kids at each table to split them up a bit. Now for the kids. We had about 16 kids there that day, because I remember one table empty, so we just put all the supplies on it.

We had quite a few regulars, but would have newcomers join every so often too, which is when I met Blake. Blake was about seven, I believe. He could fully talk and hold a normal conversation with you. He loved sharks, and he could tell you just about anything about any shark that you named. I will add, though, that he had a cochlear implant in his left ear, as it will be relevant later.

but you would never expect that he had hearing difficulties as this boy could hear me from across the loud room. Blake had been coming to our daycare for about a month or so, so I was still trying to get to know him at the time. I sat at the table he was at, and I asked him and the other kids what they wanted to make, and they all wanted to start with a card. I laid out the markers, glue, stickers, and scissors, and I let them get started,

and as I asked them about themselves and things their mom liked to help give ideas on what to make. Blake said that his mom loved tulips, but he didn't know how to draw them, so I showed him an easy way to do it. He said that he wanted to buy real tulips for her, because she was the best mom that he'd ever had. At the time, it sounded like a weird statement, but there could have been many reasons for having multiple mothers, right? So I didn't dwell on it.

Then, one of the kids wanted to cut their card out in the shape of a heart, so I agreed and passed her the scissors. I noticed Blake staring at one of the other kids using the scissors, so I asked him if he wanted to cut out his card too, and he said yes. So, once the other one was done, I went to hand him the scissors, and he reluctantly grabbed them and just stared at them.

I started to ask what was wrong when he dropped them on the table in front of me and asked me to do it. I tried reassuring him that he could do it because they were safety scissors and he was given permission to use them because an adult was around, but I thanked him for being considerate or safe. He seemed a bit uncomfortable with the scissors near him, kind of like a kid would act when they saw an animal or something they were afraid of.

So, I asked him if there was something wrong, and he explained further. He said he didn't like scissors because that was how he lost his ear. I was confused at first because of course he had both ears, but I knew about his implant. So really, he just lost his hearing or never had it. So I tried explaining to him that he had both of his ears, and he was referring to not being able to hear out of it.

He confirmed this by nodding and continued to tell me something a bit more disturbing. I may not remember the exact phrasing, but this is what he told me: "In my old life, I hurt a lot of girls. I made them cry and I made them bleed, but one girl got away because I didn't tie the string right. I'm not good at tying my shoes either. I tried to catch her, and she grabbed some scissors and pushed them into my ear.

It hurt really bad, and it made me bleed, and I couldn't hear anymore. Then she put the scissors in my heart, and I died. So, I just sat there in shock of what I had just heard, and he must have seen the terror on my face because he followed that up with something like...

But it's okay, I don't want to hurt anyone now. I talked to God and he gave me another chance. But I lost my ear for good because of how bad I was. I'm a lot nicer now." And then he continued to stare at me and wait for me to cut out his card. After I looked at the other kids and noticed that they had paid no attention to his story and were still focused on their own projects, I just shook it off and cut it out.

I watched him from there, as he carefully picked the colors for his card and talked about his mom. He was his normal self. He never brought that up again or anything related to it. I had never heard him talk about anything so gruesome, so it really caught me off guard. Later on that day, I had a moment and I talked to my mom about it. She thought it was pretty alarming too, so she agreed to ask Blake's parents about it,

thinking maybe he watched or saw something that he shouldn't have. They said they had never heard anything like that, and they also don't allow him to watch anything violent, so they had no clue where he could have gotten it from. They were surprised by what he said because they had never said anything to him, but did admit that when speaking about his implant before, he would claim that they were wrong as to why he had to wear it.

but never clarified or explained anything further. I don't know why I was the chosen one to hear that story, but it was truly creepy hearing it from a little kid like Blake. I've been trying to find some kind of story on a kidnapper or killer that was stabbed in the ear, but no luck yet. At the same time, I'm kind of scared to find something. Also, he's never mentioned anything since that day about his past life.

and I'm not sure if I want him to or not. This is going to start weird, but it'll make more sense later, but I've been obsessed with horses for as long as I can remember. But it wasn't in that cliche "every girl wants a pony" kind of way. This was different. I loved horses in general. Like, they were my favorite animal, and everything I had was about horses.

Horse bedding, clothing, themed bedroom, when I was old enough to choose my own, etc. But it wasn't just something like they were my favorite animal. I knew so much about them that it didn't make sense from my young age. An example, before I could really even read, I couldn't stop talking, and I told my parents that my favorite animal slash horse was an Andalusian.

This was before I really understood what breed or pedigree meant. I just remember, and so do my parents, that for birthdays and Christmas, I would ask them for an Andalusian. Nobody had a clue how I knew about this specific Spanish breed, especially because we lived in the middle of a popular and bustling city, far from any farms and rustic barns. All I knew at that point was urban living.

When they asked me why that one specifically, I told them about how I used to own one. They of course would question this, thinking maybe I misstated something, but I would always correct them saying things like, No, this was before. Then, there were the times that I would be playing with my toy horses, and I would just stop and sigh. When they would ask me what was wrong, I would sadly say, I miss riding my horse Jules.

They would look at me puzzled, and tell me that I never owned a real horse, let alone ridden one. So when they would ask more questions, I would respond with something like, No, not now. This was before, when I was a grown-up, like you. Again, they just thought it was me with a wild imagination. Then there was this time that we went on a road trip.

We were driving through western Kansas, with farmland all around us, and while most kids would be bored, it almost felt like I knew the place. Like seeing the open fields and old rustic looking barns almost made me feel homesick. While we drove through, I spotted a ranch with horses grazing in the sun, and a beautiful barn nearby. The horses, of course, immediately had my attention,

and I remember leaning forward between the front seats where my parents were and excitedly telling them, "Look at those beautiful horses! I used to have a house like that and a big barn full of horses. I loved reading stories to them and brushing their manes." My parents once again questioned me and said that we had never lived anywhere other than our current home and that we never owned horses.

I remember not knowing how to explain it better to them, and being frustrated by it and saying something along the lines of, "No, before, when I was a grown up, I had my own house and a barn full of horses, but then my house was on fire and I couldn't get out because the door was too hot, so I just died there."

I was very sad, but now I'm here and I'm okay. But I still miss my horse Jules. Again, my parents never mentioned or showed anything about fires when I was around that age. I just remembered it. In my dreams, I could remember how hot the flames were and how terrified I was. They had no explanation as to how I would know about something so vivid and intense.

and you can bet that that freaked them out a bit too. But one of the more bizarre things happened when we went to a county fair that really cemented it for my parents, that there may have been something more to my story. They had one of those horse riding attractions. Now, I understand that this would be the first time I'd physically touched a real horse in this life, yet when I saw them and ran up to them,

It felt natural to pet and examine them, as if I were a seasoned vet. I meticulously looked over each of them, and then even gave specific characteristics, giving away what breed they were. The man in charge of the horses even asked my parents if we owned horses because of my reaction, and he was equally surprised when they told him that we didn't.

It didn't take me long to choose a horse, and as the man walked over to help me onto it, I was able to jump up and swing my leg over, getting into position like I had done it every day of my life. When I took the reins and the horse started walking, every moment felt natural, like I was picking up where I'd left off from another time, another life. And I remember that as the ride came to an end, I cried.

My parents took me home, and that's when they actually seemed to have a heart-to-heart with me. They asked me to explain everything, and I did. I gave as much detail as I could about my home, my horses, people I could remember, everything. They still seemed bewildered, but I could tell they wanted to believe. After about a week or so, they surprised me with riding lessons, and even though I knew and remembered how to ride...

I knew this would probably be the closest I would come to horses in our city, so I jumped on the opportunity. Can't blame them for trying. Those memories never faded. As I've gotten older, I've looked into past lives and reincarnation, and I'm quite certain that's what I'm experiencing. But unlike other kids that slowly lose their memories, I never did. I've always had a strong connection to horses, and it's actually shaped my life.

I went to university to be a veterinarian and specialized in horses, and I moved to the country. But despite the science and logic that surrounded my job, I always kept this mystical feeling and wondered that there may have been something more, something unexplainable that linked me to those beautiful creatures. I wanted to dig deeper and really find out more about my past life.

I wanted to know who I used to be, as some type of closure maybe, to tell myself that I'm okay and that I'm getting a second chance. But I didn't have the slightest clue of where to start. I didn't even know what state I may have lived in, what date or year, and tracking down a house fire without any additional information would be damn near impossible. So, until then, I will live this life, taking care of others' horses,

My daughter is weird.

I'm not even going to sugarcoat it. She does normal kid things and plays weird made up games and has nonsensical jokes. I love her to death and the things she comes up with, but sometimes it's hard to know when she's serious or still playing around. One morning, she woke me up and said someone was tapping on her window and she looked scared.

I thought she was joking around at first, until I started focusing and realizing how serious she looked. So I got up to go look, and she had a stupid wind-up toy that flaps its arms like it's flying, sitting next to the window making it tap it. The grin on her face when she saw me turn around with it in my hand was enough to make me laugh too.

This is just to show you how playful she can be, and why this really alarmed me. So, she started to come up with imaginary friends. I say imaginary because it's your normal stuff. I see her playing in her room, and she talks like someone else is in the room with her. Our rooms are right across from each other, so while I was in my room putting laundry away and getting ready for bed,

I heard her play into the conversation. It got weird. One of her dolls died, I guess, and she grabbed another one saying something about getting it to live again. So, as I'm listening, she's explaining to her friend that she lets her dolls relive since she got to do the same. She then said that her old name was Rebecca,

and that she didn't like her old mommy, but she forgave her. I thought this was weird. Maybe it was a weird game, but I walked into her room and asked her who she was talking to. She said it was her friend, Lily, and I tried playing dumb and said, ''Oh, I thought you said Rebecca.'' She just kind of looked down shyly and said, ''No.''

so I dropped it for then, thinking it was just a make-believe thing. A few days later, I picked her up early from school for a doctor's appointment. Afterwards, I had a few errands to run myself, and since she was so patient and helpful, we decided to stop for ice cream, since she had already had lunch at school. As we were leaving the parking lot and I was helping her buckle in, she hugged my neck and said thank you.

It just warms me when she gives me random hugs like that. So, I got her all situated and got into the car myself. As I'm driving home, she said something that confused me at first. She said, You're my favorite mommy. Without thinking much about it, I responded with, Oh yeah? Well, I think I'm your only mommy. That's when she said,

No, but first mommy wasn't very nice, but I know it wasn't her fault. At this point, I looked up at her in the mirror, and she was looking right at me, and she looked sad. So, I tried pushing a bit more on this, thinking it was some kind of weird game still. I asked her, what mommy is this, and why wasn't she nice? She honestly looked scared to tell me.

Like she was going to get in trouble. So I told her that it was okay and that she could tell me anything and I wouldn't get mad. Part of me was glad that I asked and part of me regretted it. She would get mad at me for things that you let me do, like play with my friend Lily. So I asked her what she meant by that. She would call me names and yell at me and punish me. Now, my daughter goes to a public school.

This scared me.

As my first thought was, is there something going on at the school that I need to know about? So that night, I tried to see if there were any marks or bruises on her just to be sure, and there weren't any, but I decided I would talk to the school the next day just to double check. So I brought her to the school, she's just as excited to get in as she always is, and she doesn't steer clear from anyone there either.

I did get to speak to the teacher, who said that she doesn't have any issues with her. She's not shy, and she's kind to all the other kids, which makes sense. I told the teacher that she had just said something that caught my attention, and that I wanted to double check. I didn't need her calling someone on me or anything, so I let it go for the time being. Sometime that week...

She was playing in the living room while I was making dinner, and she was playing and talking to Lily again. And then she mentioned her first mommy again, so I started listening more. She said, I couldn't hold my breath that long, so I got a new mommy. Something set me off with that one. So I went in there again and asked her about it. I again tried prying who she meant by this first mommy,

and I told her that she can trust me, that I won't tell or she won't get in trouble. She started whispering to the air and then looked at me and said, Lily said I should tell you, so I will. She explained to me that when she would play with her imaginary friend, she would be called names and would be locked in a closet, and that it was very dark and she would be hungry. She also told me something that broke my heart. She said one time that she was caught talking to her friend-

and her first mommy shoved her in the bath to clean her, and that she couldn't hold her breath that long, but she forgave her because she knew that she was sick too, and now she's got a new name and a new mommy that lets her play with her friends. I just started crying, and I hugged her tight. I told her that she would never be punished for that by me, and she told me not to cry because she was happy now. So...

After that, we had dinner, and when she went to bed, I was up because I couldn't sleep. I started going through the shows we watch, and the games, and things that she had on her tablet, to see if there was something that could be related to this. Just to see if she was copying something she heard or that she read. However, I found nothing at all, so the only other thing I could do was look up the name Rebecca.

I did change this for the family's privacy, for a little girl that may have died. To my horror, I found one, where the mother drowned the daughter thinking that she was a witch, which explains why she went crazy over her talking to herself or her imaginary friends. This also happened before she was even born. I'm not a religious person, but that night, I prayed.

I asked if Rebecca could hear this, that my daughter has now accepted what happened and forgave her mother and that she could move on. It's been a few years now, and she barely mentions Rebecca's life. I don't know how to explain it or how to handle it at times, but she usually just brings up the good things that she remembers. We typically leave it alone, though. However, Lily is still around, so...

Now I'm no longer thinking that it's just an imaginary friend, and I'm going to wait to look into that one. I am the father of two wonderful and smart boys that are three years apart. Brayden was the oldest, Damien the youngest. Brayden being our first, we had to learn a lot of things as a first-time parent. And while there were some rough moments, we got through it. And he's a very happy and healthy boy.

We wanted another kid close to Brayden's age, so we tried for a second without any complications. Brayden was also born healthy, and my wife had no other complications. Life seemed to be as normal as one would expect for a small family, and I was thankful for what we had. So, one summer, we were trying to make plans for a family vacation, but we wanted to do something different, and maybe something that would save us some money.

So we decided to go camping. My parents had some old tents, one that would be big enough for the four of us. The boys were six and nine at the time. We could get together some food that would go well in a cooler, cook over a fire, and even go fishing. Brayden had been fishing with me before, but Damien hadn't, so I thought it would be a fun experience for us all.

One day, we were all having dinner and my wife mentioned something about the campgrounds we'd been looking at at some point. Damien stopped eating. We didn't notice until he was nearly whimpering and holding back tears. We stopped and my wife asked what was wrong, thinking maybe he bit his tongue or something. We were eating spaghetti, which is one of his favorites, so we knew that it wasn't the meal. He then started crying and saying that he doesn't like camping and didn't want to go.

We were confused because he had never gone camping. Neither of our boys had. So how could he not like it? How could he even know what camping was? We did our best to calm him down and tried to explain what we meant. We just said we were going to be spending the night in the woods. In a tent. I even took him to the garage and showed him the tent. I did my best to hold it up so he could see it and see where we would be sleeping.

It made him smile and he seemed to like the idea, so it calmed him down. We thought maybe it was just a new thing and maybe he wasn't good with change, or with things he wasn't familiar with. We were maybe just a few days away from going on our trip now and with all of us in the living room, I mentioned something about camping again. And once again, Damien had a breakdown. He grabbed onto my wife's leg and pleaded with her not to take him.

"No, I don't want to go back to the camps. I'm sorry, I don't like the camps. I don't want to go." Just non-stop pleading with fear in his eyes. I had never seen this from him before. My wife hugged him and tried to calm him down again, and we reminded him of what we were talking about the week or two prior. Once we got him calmed down, I wanted to know where this was coming from. Why was he so terrified?

I asked Amien why he was so afraid of camping as he had never gone before. I asked if someone told him something, but I wasn't expecting his response. He explained that he had gotten hurt in the camps before, and he didn't want to get hurt again. We were still just as puzzled. He had never been camping, so how could he have gotten hurt? So I asked him again about it, to explain when he went camping and what he told me later.

It gave me the chills. I was a different kid. I couldn't wear my favorite blue dress. The mean man called them "lager" and pushed me in with my old mommy. I was hungry and I cried a lot. I got really sick and I died. I don't want to die again. I don't want to go to the lager. I was stunned. What on earth was my young son talking about? Dying? Lager? I didn't understand any of it at first.

I comforted him again, and we explained that camping was nothing like what he was describing. I told him it was a vacation outside. I explained that we would have plenty of food. He would be safe, and that we would all be together. He would never be alone. It seemed to comfort him again, and from then on, we just avoided using the term "camping." We just referred to it as "vacationing" or "going into the woods." Or even "tenting." Anything but that word.

I just assumed that maybe he saw something somewhere on TV and that he would soon forget about it. Maybe even after we went camping. But then my wife brought up a crazy revelation. She had looked up the word Damien was using. Lager. L-A-G-E-R. I just thought it was a beer. Which was still weird that my young son would use the word because neither of us drank beer. But she said that it had a different meaning. Lager was a shortened version of the word camp.

In German. Those kind of camps. My son was talking about something he should know nothing about. So why was he talking about dying in one? I finally started to figure it out with my wife nearly spelling it out for me. It seemed our son was having memories or flashbacks. Memories of being in a German camp and dying in it. I haven't mentioned this yet, but Damien held his arm in a particular way whenever he was nervous.

He would hold his inner arm with his right hand, like he was covering it with his palm. He had a birthmark there, so we just thought he was trying to cover it up. Maybe he was self-conscious about it, but it appeared to have a bigger meaning to him. So we sat Damien down the night before our trip, just the three of us, and we talked to him about it. I asked him to tell me about everything he remembered, and to my surprise, he remembered a lot.

He mentioned how he was there for a while. He mentioned being sick again, how many people were there, and how his mom sang to him on his last day alive. He even touched his left arm in the same place and mentioned that his number used to be there. It was truly unbelievable.

You know, you learn about that stuff in school over time, but to hear things from my little boy, things that he shouldn't know anything about, was incredible and heartbreaking. All we could do was explain to him that what he remembers about camps was nothing like actually camping. We told him about all the fun things we would do out there and that it would be together, the four of us.

Really, just sitting him down and talking him through it seemed to help him understand and trust us more that it was about fun, not what he was remembering. When we actually did go camping, Damien loved it. He loved the tent. He even loved the idea of the sleeping bags. He loved the campfire and making s'mores, even though the fire did make him nervous at first. And he loved fishing.

He seemed to really have a great time and thanked us when we were leaving, with tears in his eyes. From then on, we were careful with our wording, but also didn't bring up his memories unless he wanted to talk about them. At one point, he said that he couldn't remember his name, but that he thought it started with an L. Over time, he's talked about it less and less, and nowadays he rarely mentions it. I feel like going camping did give him the opportunity to move on.

And maybe one day, he will no longer be tormented by those awful memories at all. This all started when my son was around 7. I remember one night we stopped somewhere to pick up dinner, and I let him choose where and what he wanted. When we got home and got situated to eat, he thanked me for letting him choose, and then asked me if I remembered when I was a kid and getting to choose what was for dinner.

I said yes, and mentioned that I usually chose what I wanted for my birthday dinner, much like he got to choose last year. Then he asked me if I remembered when he was a grown up and let his kid choose for dinner. I just chuckled, and said, "You haven't been a grown up yet, buddy, but you can definitely do the same when you are." He shook his head and told me I was wrong, though. He mentioned that he was a grown up and that he let his son choose dinner.

I didn't know how to respond, so I just stared at him for a minute. At that point, he said his name was Timothy and that his son's name was Jake, and that he lived a long time ago. I was speechless. I thought maybe he was just pretending and had this crazy story that he'd planned out, so I just dropped it from there and ate my dinner. We had more situations like this over time. I will say me and his mother split up, but we are on good terms.

She is still in school to become a nurse, so I have full custody over him. She took him for about a week over summer vacation, and she had some questions when they returned. While he went to play, we were talking, and she asked me if I had watched ghost shows or something with him in the room. I told her that there weren't any in particular that I could remember, and that I tried to avoid watching anything that could be potentially scary in front of him.

She began telling me that something was brought up about what happens when you die, and he mentioned that not everyone becomes a ghost, and sometimes you get to be a new person. She then mentioned the names Timothy and Jake again. I was surprised, so I told her about the night that he mentioned it to me as well. We both thought it was odd, but we had no explanation for it, so we agreed to just heavily monitor what he watched or listened to.

to see if we could figure out where he may have gotten this from. From then on, as I'm watching all the shows that he would watch, they had no names similar to those and nothing about ghosts or reincarnation in them. I will say at one point, I had moved into an apartment and I didn't have cable or internet installed yet. Until then, my son just watched movies that we had or whatever was on the local channels. At least I had an antenna.

While I was making breakfast for us, he asked to watch TV, so I told him that I would be right in to help him. As I wrap up what I'm doing, I walk into the living room to see he's already got it on, and he's watching some old western style show. It was a Sunday, so I know there wasn't much on in ways of cartoons, but this is what he stopped on, not to mention he was fixated on it.

Legs crossed, chin resting on his hands, just watching. I went and asked him, "'Nothing good on?' And he said, without looking over at me, "'I love this show.' I was confused, because we've never watched this before. I certainly haven't, because I don't like those kinds of shows. So I called that out and said, "'You've never watched this before?' To which he responded, "'I used to watch this all the time when I was Timothy.'

I didn't know how to respond, so again, I just stood there and watched him. When I finally came back to reality, I decided to test him and ask him what the show was about. He told me the name of the show and explained it as best as a 7 year old can about what was happening. The characters names, all of it. I was surprised. I had no explanation as to why he would know all of this.

But since he found this and since I have installed cable and internet, this is what he watches on Sundays. I was worried about him watching it with some of the typical violence, but he didn't seem phased by it and he never acted it out or even wanted toy guns. So his mom and I agreed to just let him watch it. One of the last occurrences that we came across was when we went to the park. He was going to his mom's for the weekend and I usually drop him off there.

but she was running late, so we decided to go to the park while we waited. I pushed him on the swing some, helped him across the monkey bars, the usual. At one point, his mother called saying that she was on her way, so we started walking back to my car. I was still on the phone, and I didn't notice at first that he had stopped holding my hand. I stopped and looked back to see him staring into the entrance of a cemetery.

It was a small one, and older with not many headstones in it from what I could tell. I told his mom I would meet her at her place, hung up and went to my son and asked what was wrong. He said, I know this place. Again, he's not been to any funerals, nor has he known anyone who's died, but we also didn't know anyone in the cemetery as it was by my new place. So I asked, what makes you think that? And he flat out said,

I was buried here. What the hell? So, he started walking in, and I honestly wanted to stop him, but I also wanted to know what he was going to do, so I just followed him. He led me to an old headstone towards the back, and I froze. Sure enough, the headstone said, Timothy. Beloved son, father, brother. How? How would he have known any of this?

As terrified as I was though, I had to know. So I asked him, "How did Timothy die, buddy?" I shot myself. I picked him up, and as I carried him out of that cemetery, he began crying. I didn't know what to say or do, so I think I just said something like, "You're okay now," and I just hugged him tight. I was at a loss of words, but on the way to his mom's, we stopped for ice cream, and he started cheering up.

I told his mom about it too, letting her know what had happened and she flipped out of course. It took some convincing but I think I finally got her to trust me that I didn't let him watch anything about suicide. Also, after this, he stopped mentioning his past life. I don't know if that was like Timothy accepting what had happened and passing on but it still confounds me. Out of curiosity,

I did try to find a Timothy that lived within that time, and found someone with a son named Jake, and that's where I stopped. I didn't want to find out any more information, and I'm leaving it at that. I hope my son has completely forgotten about it too, and is not being haunted by this anymore, because hearing it from a child his age, that was gut-wrenching. I worked in a children's hospital in my town.

and took blood samples from neonatal intensive care, older kids all the way from birth to 17. Most kids didn't like to give blood by using a tiny needle, and always preferred a finger stick. Yet the reality was that they hurt more. One day I entered the room of a super cute boy that I think was 3. His parents had both stayed the night, and they moved aside at a distance to allow me to work.

Kids need a parental transference so they behave, and this way he would listen to me better. But immediately in my heart, I knew that he was a man, not a boy of three, and an army man. I can't explain any of this. I said hello and told him why I was there, and he stuck out his arm like a little man. I said, ''You are a man, not a little boy, huh?''

His parents exchanged glances and I said, "Like an army man." And he said, "I was an army man." I saw them look at one another again and then back at our exchange. I quickly used a butterfly needle, which is the smallest I could without humiliating the blood. That's ruining it by breaking up the cells in too small of a needle. I thanked him and asked him what army he was in. "Well, the American army, of course," he said proudly.

"'His dad spoke now after they'd witnessed our strange interaction with one another. "'He's been telling us all about being in the army since he began talking,' he confided. "'So many patient interactions have made me understand that people do reincarnate. "'Like my own memory. "'I know what things are. "'Or songs that played in the 1920s forward. "'The image of the 20s seems to be always with me somehow.'

I think of people we love, who feel so familiar and think, there's really a richer past than we can ever know. This is about my younger sister, who had many visions about her past life. My parents always called her weird or claimed that she just had a vivid imagination, so she only ever talks to me about them now.

One of the first times she mentioned this to me was when we were playing House or Super Heroes. We always made up names for these games, but she always chose the same name: Charlotte. I didn't think much of it at first, but I usually swapped between the same two or three names unless I learned a new name that I liked, but she always chose Charlotte.

One day, we decided to have a picnic in our backyard, so we gathered stuff to make peanut butter sandwiches and some chips and then headed out. One thing I will mention is that when it came to PB&J, it could never be grape jelly. I was okay with it, but my sister would not eat it. My parents always said or thought that she just didn't like grapes, so we always got something else.

Anyways, when we sat down to finally eat, she asked me, "So, do you remember many different lives?" I was confused by this question, so she tried to explain more. She mentioned, since I used multiple names, she was curious if I remembered the past lives of multiple people. I told her no, that I just liked the names.

but she went on to explain that she used to be named Charlotte. She explained that she used to live somewhere hotter and near a beach, and that she was allergic to grapes, which is why she avoided them now. I thought, in a way, it made sense, but she wouldn't eat them so we would have no idea if she's allergic to them now. Later that night, during dinner, I asked my parents if we knew someone named Charlotte,

They thought about it for a while, but then said no and asked me why. My sister was looking at me curiously, and I explained to them that she used to be a charlotte. I remember my mom mentioning that was a good imagination, while my dad chuckled but said nothing else about it. From then on, my sister continued telling me more stories of her past life.

but it was later that year we went on vacation in Texas, where it became more real. We were going to a friend of my mom's house when we got turned around in a cul-de-sac. My sister pointed out one of the houses excitedly and said, "'That was my old house. Well, it used to be my parents, but I inherited it when they died. My dad was driving and looked up at us in the back seat, while my mom looked back in confusion. She said, "'

"What are you talking about?" My sister went on to explain that she knew that was the one because of the front deck. It had an awning and was screened in with an old swinging seat hanging from the roof. She said she used to sit there and drink coffee while she read, especially whenever it was raining. My dad said nothing while my mom just stared at my sister and then turned back around to face forward.

I remember it was awkward for a few seconds when my sister said, "I had a bad reaction to the juice I was drinking and I couldn't breathe." This caused my mom to snap and say something like, "Enough!" She started asking us what we watched to learn all that and even asked my dad what he was watching with us. We all said nothing and my sister went quiet. From then on, she never mentioned anything to my parents about her past life.

but I still asked her about it. I was absolutely curious about all this, and at that age, I didn't know what reincarnation was. She explained to me a bit more about what she looked like. Long golden brown hair with green eyes, light freckles, and fair skin. She said she was never married. She had a grey cat named Milo, and she was sad that she died and didn't know what happened to him when she was gone.

She told me different stories over time about her past life, and I had no reason to not believe her. As we got older, we didn't talk about it on a normal basis, but it did come up on occasions. We're now in our 30s, and we got together for lunch one time and something occurred that caused us to talk about it. She went into more detail about that time, how Charlotte had died.

She said the juice she had contained grape juice, and it caused her to go into anaphylactic shock, and then she died from it. This is why she avoids grapes. I asked if she ever had an allergy test to see if she was still allergic to them, and she said she thought about it, but she said she remembered her death so vividly that she didn't want to risk it. We were curious about how close she was with all this information,

So we actually tried looking for charlottes that had passed away in Texas, and for house records. Surprisingly, we did find that house, and I actually found a way to contact the current owners to ask about the history of it. I told them I had grown up in the area and was trying to remember the name of an old friend that lived there. To my surprise, they were glad to help, and from the real estate they bought the house from...

We were able to track down the records, and found a Charlotte that lived there and her parents that owned it before her. We found pictures of her, and she matched the description that my sister gave. It was crazy to actually put physical proof to what she told us all these years. We haven't said anything to our parents since they don't seem to believe any of it. We're still trying to figure out if we can find out her cause of death, but the house, and her description and time that she lived,

was proof enough for us. I don't know where this story fits, so I do apologize for not including a topic, but I know that you've done stories similar to this in the past, so I thought that you may like it. I don't think it's technically a glitch or anything like that, but it's something similar to some of those stories. Either way, I know you'll find a way to fit it somewhere.

One point of note is that this story was told back to me, so sorry if my details are all over or a bit sparse. This story is about me from whenever I was three and four. There were several occurrences that happened, but I'm only going to write about the ones that really stood out to me and make for the best stories. One of these was told to me by my grandmother, and the other by my mother.

The first of these two stories happened when I was three. Both of my parents had to work to make ends meet, so they always dropped me off at my grandmother's house in the morning, and I would spend most of the day with her. I loved going to my grandma's house most mornings, but according to them, on this particular day, I was in an absolutely awful mood.

Like, to the point that I was mean and aggressive the whole time that I was getting up and getting ready. My mom tried to talk to me and ask me why I was so mad, and I just kept trying to say something, but every time I would, I would start bawling and she couldn't understand me. It got to the point where she was trying to hug me and tell me that it was going to be okay, but I kept pushing her and telling her that I didn't want a hug.

She relented, and just finished getting me ready. And when she got me to my grandma's house, she warned her that I was in a bad mood, but my grandma said that it was obvious because of how I was just scowling. My grandma said that the whole morning, I was just sitting there on the couch and watching the news, and that I was holding back crying for the longest time.

After a while of this, my grandma came over and sat with me on the couch and asked me why I was so upset. Apparently when she asked me, I was more willing to talk about it, and I told her that I knew about being born. She said that it didn't make sense, and she asked what I knew about being born, and I told her that I knew about before I was born and that being born hurts.

She tried to press me a bit more on this, and I just kept saying that being born hurt, and that I was scared. She assumed that this was just some weird little kid thing, and after a while, I didn't seem to want to talk about it. Later that day, I had apparently calmed down because I approached her, and I asked her if she knew about being born. She asked what I meant.

And I asked her if she knew about how much it hurt to be born again. It was the "again" part that confused her, but she mentioned that she didn't know what it was like to be born because adults don't remember that far back. I looked her straight in the face and told her that I remembered it. And I then started telling her about how it was warm before I was born, that I was sleepy all the time, and then one day it all hurt, and I was born.

Apparently I kind of freaked her out when I told her this, because this wasn't normal for a three year old to talk about. But she just kind of nodded along and asked me to tell her more. I just kept telling her the same thing about how much it hurt, and as I was explaining it, I kept starting to cry. But I would stop myself. She told my mom about this, and my mom had no idea where I got the idea from.

So, they just had to pretty much accept that I was a little weirdo talking about weird things. And that was that. I had apparently mentioned this once or twice more, but it wasn't until I was four that things got really weird. One day, I was home with my parents, and I had told my mom that I wanted to talk to her. She came into my bedroom and said that I looked really sad, and she asked me if I was okay.

I told her that I wasn't okay, and she asked me what was wrong, and I then apparently just hit her with a, "'My life before was really sad.'" She laughed and told me that I didn't have a life before, that I've always been her son, and I came back with, "'No, I mean my life before I was your son. My life before I died.'"

She was a bit shocked by this, again thinking that no four-year-old should be making these comments, but she wanted to see what I had to say. So, she asked me about my life before. I told her that before I was born, before I was her son, I was an old man named John. I said that when I was John, I had hurt a lot of people.

and that before I died, all I could do was cry because nobody loved me. I told her that I had a daughter that didn't love me, and that my wife didn't love me either, but that she had died first. So I was all alone when I stopped being John. I described John as being this angry and depressed old man that did nothing but sit and watch the TV, and that he was always angry at the world.

and every night before he went to bed, he would ask God to fix it all, but he never did. I gave her a lot of detail about this seemingly fictional old man, to the point that she started to think about whether I had watched something or was told about him. She asked me where I had heard about John, and I told her that I didn't hear about him, that I was him. I said that before I was me, I was John.

and that when I was John, I was always so sad. She told me that she got a bit curious about what I would say, so she asked me what happened to John, and I told her that my last day as John was painful. I told her that I woke up, and I went to get my coffee, and when I got to the kitchen, I felt a pain in my stomach and fell down. When I fell down, I couldn't get back up.

and I just laid on the floor thinking about how nobody would ever save me. I told her that while I was laying on the floor, I kept telling myself that I needed to get up, but I never did, and after a while, I started getting really tired. Then, after I got tired, I fell asleep, and I didn't wake up.

At this point she wasn't sure what to say because her four year old son had just told her this long detailed story about an old man that was miserable at the end of his life and apparently died on his kitchen floor. She gave me a big hug and told me that it was okay, that I wasn't John anymore. I told her that I knew I wasn't John because I was born again as me and that I wouldn't do the same thing as John because I had learned my lesson.

And that was pretty much the end of it. When I was that age, I apparently had these really vivid memories of before I was born, when I was born, and apparently remembered parts of my past life that I had. I don't remember any of this now. It was way too long ago, obviously, but my mom and grandma remember how emotional I was during all of this.

and how I told them details that no young child should or would know. And they firmly believed that I was telling them about some sort of previous life that I'd lived. My parents are big believers in the supernatural, so they've always believed me. Even though I was seemingly just a kid rambling, I don't know what to think of it. But after hearing all the stories about the crazy things that happened in our reality...

I have to say that I'm more of a believer than not, and part of me wishes that I could remember all of those old memories. If for nothing else, I would like to just know what it was that I saw in my mind as a little kid. I had recurring dreams when I was five years old. I even wonder if it was a dream because it's like I actually lived it. It took me years to try and understand it.

I was a young Asian woman who lived on a boat. I had to take a smaller boat to get my father to the mainland to see a doctor because he was very sick and coughing. He was so weak. He was laying down in the boat, and I knew that he would probably die that night. I lived my life on the water, and operating a boat was second nature to me. I remember being torn that I couldn't get the boat there fast enough.

and thought that I could be free when and if he did pass. I remember feeling shameful for that thought. I was so young, maybe 17 or 18. The waters were dark and calm, and a big full moon was in view, and a gentle warm breeze combed my hair. I was in angst of my father dying, and yet giddy at the impending freedom, a mix of emotions for sure at the sudden turn of events.

It was so real. I remember the sights and sounds, the emotions, the conflict within myself. How can a five-year-old child conjure up that repeatedly in a dream? Next, I had dreams of an American soldier who gave me a beautiful scarf, and we were to be married later. I was born in 1957, well after all the world wars.

I keep wondering how I could have known details about such mature, complex emotions and circumstances as a young woman in the 30s or 40s. The dreams were too vivid, too detailed, and I know that I once lived this. My father died before we got to the shore, and I cried. Alright, I've been having this memory for a long time now.

I started remembering only small parts since I was seven, and kept remembering bits and pieces throughout my life. I'm gonna go out and say it, this memory that I have is of the other side. There I was in a void. I could not see anything, I did not have a sense of cold or heat or emotions like anger because I did not have a body.

I was there floating at the great speed, toying and playing around, since I realized that I was an orb of light. I was floating there, happy, I guess in every direction, just messing around like a child. The other glimpse of my memory is that of me waiting in a line like a queue, like in an airport, waiting for check-in. And it was a white, I guess everything was white and there were other orbs like me.

The other memory I have is of choosing my life. I don't know what led me to want to experience life, but I really did not want to miss out since everybody was doing it, and it was kind of like FOMO. So, anyway. The choosing phase there were beings with me, male and female energy, male to my right and female to my left. I was presented with thousands of different planets, worlds to live in,

Like, literally, there were so many I could choose from. And it was like it was presented on a screen. In those, I saw futuristic cities, like metropolis types. And the feeling that I get from that world was that it was a very advanced civilization. And on the other screen, I saw these reptilian humanoid beings in a cave. Or rather, he just got out of the cave to view the landscape.

It was night, and it was a dark blue rocky area/world. It was overwhelming to choose just one life, and I did sense that there was a pressure to hurry up, so I was kind of recommended by the beings, guides, entities, to go to the planet Earth. So then I was to decide which of the family and years I wanted to incarnate to, and what life I was going to have.

There were maybe three or four options to choose from. Anyways, I was kind of interested or rather considering to choose options, but I was again recommended to choose one family over others. Or rather, I guess, I wanted to at least incarnate in the country/city that was most advanced. I saw glimpses of what that life would be like, and I saw that I would get to experience life in other countries.

I saw what my body would look like. So, anyway, the advantages of this life would be to get to experience life in other countries, and this life would be much more relaxed in comparison to other options. But there was going to be suffering internally. Life after 20s, I guess, was going to be a struggle. And I saw that I would get to live until my 80s or 90s. I only saw, like, moments or glimpses of the life that I am living now.

From the point of my orb's self, I was excited for this life. I would say naive. And I knew that this was not going to be easy, but it was the easiest from the other options. I also remember telling them that I wanted to remember, and that there were now three beings discussing this, and I couldn't perceive them or didn't know what they were saying. I didn't know if there were always three, or if it was just because I didn't notice the third one,

The male one to my right did not communicate much. It was, like, professional. Like he was just doing his job. But the female one to my left was loving and caring. I also sensed other orbs too. They were like me. Choosing, I guess. I should also mention that choosing part was happening in a darkness and void area. The next memory after this is of me floating over planet Earth.

and I felt like there was a pressure behind me to hurry up and through some device or pool or tube thing I entered or rather was sucked magnetically and instantly the first feeling I got was fear I was shot like a bullet to earth at great speed I said to myself to remember this memory I willed it that I want to remember and there as I was being bulleted to earth like zooming at the speed of light

From my perspective, I wanted to stop and explore the Earth as a floating orb, but I couldn't control the force. As I was approaching to the destination, I decided I was going to research everything about this planet and feel this freedom again. Then, there was white light, or rather a flash, signifying that I already entered the womb, and boom, darkness again.

but then it was so warm and occasionally I felt that I was being fed. It was strange to me since, as me, I didn't need anything such as food, water, or air. And then after that there was another memory of everything being blue. The other memory begins of me slowly shifting from third perspective of me perceiving my body to the first person perspective. I was excited.

I ran to the mirror to see as I looked, and I realized that it was not me, and that I was in a body. I was surprised that I could move my hands for the first time. So, there you go. This is my memory from the other side. So, I want to start off this story by mentioning that I have Dissociative Identity Disorder.

My name is Miz, and I'm the only one in my system who is experiencing something like this. Basically, I can remember living an entire life up to the point of being 22 years old that I never actually live. I have pretty severe memory loss and a strong feeling of disconnection from the life that I'm living now, which makes these fake memories feel a lot more vivid and real to me.

And I'm not sure if this implies anything, but all of my memories from my current life are in third person, while the memories from my past life are in first person. So, this entire situation can be explained by me having DID, since fake memories, or pseudo-memories, are somewhat common with it. But it's always felt like something more than that, and I figured you all would find it interesting either way.

Anyway, I'll just summarize all of these memories to the best of my ability. I grew up in a trailer park somewhere in the Midwest. My mother was an alcoholic, and my father was out of the picture. The town was very small and rural, the kind of town you drive past on a road trip and don't think twice about. I can picture it clearly in my mind. Badly maintained roads with no lines or sidewalks, ancient buildings with cracked bricks and dusty windows...

I can even remember the smell of motor oil and dirt. I lived in that town until I was 12, when my mother and I moved into a tiny apartment in a city a few hours away. I found a group of friends at school who stuck with me until I was in my twenties. The oldest was Mack, who was two or three years older than me. He always wore a red beanie and tucked his shirt into his jeans. He was pretty tall, with curly reddish brown hair and stubble.

I remember having a major crush on him for a few years and eventually losing interest when I was 20. Then there was Landon, who also went by Lauren sometimes. She was only a few months older than me, but she acted like I was five years younger than her. She had long, dirty blonde hair and often wore a turquoise flannel. She was pretty wild and liked to mess with us, but was super protective of me and her younger brother.

Her younger brother was named Conifer, and he was a year or two younger than I was. He was really timid and seemed uncomfortable a lot at the time, but I think he hung out with us because he wanted to fit in somewhere. I didn't mind having him around, but I did worry about him sometimes. He was pretty short and scrawny, like a strong gust of wind could take him out. His hair was short and pretty messy,

Basically, he looked like one of those small dogs that are permanently disheveled, and just kind of pathetic. I remember hanging out with this group a lot, mostly skateboarding around the bad side of town late at night, sneaking into abandoned buildings and doing drugs, basically getting into trouble wherever we could find it. There are two memories that feel the most important to me, so I'll explain those in detail.

The first started out pretty typically, with us drunk out of our minds and skating around town in the middle of the night. I was around 16. At one point a cop car started following us, and being stupid teenagers we kept going and trying to lose them. The wheel of my skateboard caught a rock, and I wiped out. I was arrested, but my friends just kept on skating and left me behind.

I remember the feeling of being handcuffed and the pain in my chest when I was slammed against the cold metal of the police car. I ended up only spending a night in jail, and was released with a warning. Obviously, I was pissed that my friends didn't have my back, but I knew they didn't really have a choice. I forgave them pretty quickly. Another time, we were hanging out at our usual spot, the roof of an abandoned apartment complex downtown.

I was probably around 19 or so. We were all pretty high, and we decided to play spin the bottle. At one point, it landed between me and Mac. I still had a pretty big crush on him at this point. And I know it sounds corny, but man, that was probably the best moment of my life. He pretended to be disgusted, wiping off his face in an exaggerated manner, and yelling about how gross it was. I tried to play it off in a similar manner, but I'm not sure how well I did.

These memories stop very abruptly, and I can't remember anything past the point where I turned 22. Currently, I am 22, though I am in a body that is not. I feel like I was taken from my real life and thrown into this one, and the memories stop when I was transported. I miss the people in my memories as if they were real, and writing this felt like recounting actual events to me.

I have this overwhelming feeling that I'm stuck in the wrong universe, and that I was put here by mistake. I've entertained the idea that this is kind of like a second chance for me, since I messed up a lot in my past life, and I do have more opportunities here. But honestly, I'm not really sure what to think. I could interpret it any way that I wanted, and it wouldn't make much of a difference.

I've read up on similar experiences, like the Reddit Lamp Guy, if you know, you know, and I do find a lot of comfort in knowing that I'm not the only one who's been through something like this. If anyone listening has a similar story, I encourage you to share it. Thanks for taking the time to read this out, Raven. I hope your day has been a good one, and thank you for allowing me to read it. Since being very young,

My brother Jamie would often do or say strange things. There are many instances, but these are the ones that I remember most clearly. He was, and remains, a very thoughtful and intelligent child, often deep in thought. I first noticed that you could be cooing and playing with him, and suddenly he would cloud over with a deadpan expression, and it would take minutes to get his attention again.

As he started stringing sentences together, he sat down with my mom and told her, ''Do you remember before, mommy?'' She said, ''Before when?'' To which he replied, ''Before, when I had a different mommy.'' My mom simply told him that she was his only mommy, and he didn't say anything anymore. He then spoke to me, and he told me he remembered that when I came out of mommy's tummy. I told him that he can't remember it,

Because he wasn't born yet. He got pretty irate with me, and said, "Not when I was born this time. Before." I asked what he meant. Before. When I wasn't your brother. When I was mommy's brother a long time ago. This left me pretty shook. As in 2004, over a decade before my brother was born, my uncle, my mom's brother, who was also named Jamie, passed away.

Due to the suddenness and trauma caused by his death, it is an extremely sore subject and is rarely ever discussed. So, there was absolutely no way he could have known about him. Then, one day, on the way home from the park, around three years old, Jamie asked me, ''You know when you die?'' I was taken aback by it, but I said, ''Do you mean what happens after?'' He said, ''

I've been thinking about it, because I think it's really dark forever, and you can't see anything. I explain to him in a child-friendly way the different beliefs that people have. Example, heaven, hell, nothing, ghosts, reincarnation. When I told him about reincarnation, he nodded. Yes, it sounds nice, but it takes so long. When I died the last time, I had to stay the same for ages before I was a baby again.

Honestly, I was so spooked. Jamie is now six. He still will speak about things he really shouldn't understand, but does. People often remark how knowledgeable he is about the world around him. Maybe that's just the way he is, or maybe it's because he's seen it all before. I suppose I'll never know. But all the comments he made, and even his mannerisms and behavior, we've all thought that perhaps Jamie...

Uncle Jamie. This was actually about a kid I used to babysit. He had a wild imagination. Between all these made-up games that he played, stories he would tell me and the likes. So, at first, it was hard to take this seriously. One time, I was watching him in the evening so I was making popcorn for us. They had a gas stove so it was always a trick to get it to light. While I was starting it,

He came running into the kitchen, so I told him to slow down and watch out so he didn't catch his hair on fire. He responded with, "'Oh, I know. Fire hurts. I died in one,' and had these huge eyes as he told me. I just kind of snickered, thinking he just said something incorrectly, then said something like, "'Then you know you shouldn't be close to the stove.' So he smiled and walked away."

A few days later, I was over there again and we were watching some kids shows. I don't remember what it was called, but they always did some kind of simple learning or science thing and they would always go through a safety part like don't run with scissors, always use the crosswalk, look both ways, things like that. This time it was about how to escape from a fire and to stop, drop, and roll.

They showed if you were in a building to keep low and to put a damp towel on your head, if possible, and then crawl to the exit. This boy pops up and says, "'Sometimes you can't.' I just said, "'What do you mean?' We didn't have towels downstairs, and it's hard to crawl upstairs. Once I finally figured out what to say, I asked him if his old house caught on fire, though I didn't recall his parents ever mentioning one."

So, he explained more. He said his old house did, but he couldn't get out. What are you supposed to say to that? I just asked, "Did someone have to save you then?" He looked annoyed, like I wasn't understanding, and I guess I wasn't. Then he said, "No, I died," and just stared at me. I just said okay and left it at that.

I asked his parents that evening about a house fire, and they said they've never been in one, and he certainly hadn't. I told them what he said, and they thought it was weird too, but assumed it was just something he watched, so I let it go, even though I still thought it was odd. They ended up going on vacation, so I didn't babysit for two weeks, but when I came back, he was right back at it.

We were playing something like superheroes and I ended up being killed by the bad guy. As I laid on the ground, he came up to me, rubbed my face and whispered "be alive again". So I got up and pretended to be a zombie, and he told me "No, you get a real life again, like me". I thought we were playing still, so I mentioned that he hadn't died yet. He then tried to explain to me again that he got a new real life after the fire.

I know it's useless arguing with a child, but I said, "Your mom and dad told me you guys didn't have a fire though." That's when he must have gotten tired of repeating himself, so he explained it as he walked back and forth. He said it was his old self in his old home with his old mom, dad, and big brother. He said he was in the basement, in his brother's room where he fell asleep, and he woke up feeling hot.

He said the last thing he remembered was yelling for his brother, and the stairs being too hot to climb. This whole time that he's telling me this, he doesn't seem sad, but more so relieved. Especially as he said, But it's okay. They were able to get out, and they had a party for me. Not gonna lie, that freaked me out. But just to check, I had asked him,

"'So, did this happen to you, or did you see this in a movie?' He got mad at me, like I didn't believe him, so I had to apologize, and I told him that I was happy that he was okay now. I tried asking if he remembered what his home or family looked like, but he said all he could remember was the yellow house. This time, I didn't tell his parents.'

He seemed so matter-of-fact and detailed for such a young child that I left it alone. But now, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in looking up house fires. Does anyone know how to tell someone who lost a child that they've moved on and they're happy again?