Do you believe in reincarnation? I've always been sorta wishy-washy about it because I just wasn't sure if some of the things I was seeing in my "dreams" were only dreams or visions from a past I lived before. I have early memories of "remembering" little clips and fragments of another time, places I've been, yet never been in this life and seeing "me" as a totally different person all together.
I can remember when I was a child, I asked my mom if she remembered the time the boy "rang" the neck of a chicken while I was sweeping a cabin out in a blue and white checkered gingham dress, I'd even threatened his life if he got chicken blood in the house, since I'd spent most of the morning cleaning up. I, of course, was met with a blank stare and later told I never owned a gingham dress and that I must have been dreaming. So, I learned quickly that odd little questions like that would only land me a fast ticket to the looney bin, so I tried not to mention too many "visions" to anyone that would have full authority to admit me into Eastern State Sanitarium. Still, for the record, the full vision was this...
I was wearing a blue and white checkered gingham dress that came down to my odd slipper type shoes. My hair was long and black because I can see it as I look down at the broom sweeping the bare, plank floor below me. This cabin was small, yet, had more than one room and a loft above. The planked floor ran the length of the cabin and straight out onto the porch as if the house was just plopped down onto a large wooden base and the small porch area was the same flooring as the inside of the cabin, it just continued out the door. There was a large, rectangle table in the center of the room where I'm sweeping, which I know to be the main room. I have a wooden chair propping open the front door because I'm sweeping the dirt out onto the porch and off. Looking at the door, I see a yard that is mostly dirt, but there are places of grass, but you can tell it has definitely been worn down.
In the dirt, a barefooted little boy with bowl-cut hair is standing there with a chicken in his hands and he is, literally, holding the chicken by the neck and swinging the bird in circles waiting for it's head to pop off. I'm assuming the meal that night was going to be poultry. This little boy is handsome (much like my son) with deep brown hair and large brown eyes that are shining with happiness because, I have no idea why I know this, but this is the first chicken this little boy had prepared for a meal. His pants were a rough brown fabric that he'd rolled up to just below the knees and his shirt was a creamy beige, long sleeved shirt that he'd rolled the sleeves up to mid-arm, also, he was wearing brownish looking suspenders that looked as though they were made into the waistband of the pants.
As I'm sweeping the floor, I look out to him and I yell "Don't get blood in the house!" because I felt that he was ringing the chicken's neck too close to the front door and I'm not sure if you know this or why I know this, but a chicken will run around with it's head cut off until it bleeds to death and I was concerned the bird would make a hasty trip into my, recently cleaned, cabin.
That is the entire vision and I've had it since as early back as I can remember. I tried to play it off as a visit to my Great Aunt Myrtle's farm up in the mountains of Kentucky when I would go with my Mamow to visit her sister, yet, that theory was shot down as well. So, it wasn't a memory of this life, so, was it a memory of another? I do know it happened to me because I have strong feelings for this little boy. It isn't like watching a dream play out that is just what you see is what you get. I felt love for this little boy. The memory of looking out at him and the smile on his face filled me with love because I knew he was feeling pride for being "old enough" to be asked to kill our dinner for the table.
I can remember the room smelling of sunshine, like fresh laundry being hung outside - that type of sunshine fresh. The other three chairs in the room matched the one propping the front door open, but in order to have the floor clear to sweep, the chairs were hung upon large pegs that jutted out from the wall about 3 or 4 foot up from the floor. There is a lamp in the center of the table, an oil lamp I would imagine because there are no wires or cords running from it and a huge, creek rock stone, unlit fireplace was to the left of the table.
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I've had several dreams from the past. A lot of them stemmed while I was a man or something. I've always been at war. I've had dreams where I was in Vietnam smoking a cigarette in a jungle with a few guys. A Civil War dream with a dark wooden, two-story house with a broken down entrance and I was trying to find my family inside the home, I walked back outside and there was a man, with a red beard and was wearing a Union uniform and asked me if I wanted a bullet while he held a gun to my face. There's been a swamp dream while I rafted through mossy trees. I dreamed of the Titanic and being put on a boat and crying because I knew my husband wasn't going to make it.
I've had a dark, foreboding swamp dream, always wanted to travel to New Orleans, but a little cautious as well since the dreams were always full of dread. The Titanic dream, I was a man with two small sons that I placed on a lifeboat before I died in the sinking. Weird how we have linking dreams. They say you come back to those you shared a life with before. I don't doubt it.
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