Subject shares Past life experienced at my Centre.
I am a tall man wearing a hat and
smoking. I am looking at the building across the street. I entered the building. I feel I am in some office.
It looks like a book store or ware house or maybe a publishing unit but very
old.
I am typing on an old typing
machine. I am a writer. There is a book. It has a brown cover and something is
written in Golden colour on it. It is the first book written by me at the age
of 38. The book gained popularity and people started recognizing and associating
me with this book in my town.
I am being sentenced to capital
punishment, death by gutting. I am on my knees and my head is in a machine. My
head is about 10 feet away from me. I was not sorry or afraid at the time of
death. It seems my book had offended the king and I was sentenced to death. I
was proud that I did what I believed in and I died while being a free spirit. I
died for freedom.
The only thing that hurt me was
that the people gathered around while I was being executed had not read my book.
They judged me without the knowledge what I said or what message I wanted to
put across through my book. The fact that I was being judged by ignorant people
saddened me. I was sad that my aim and task to enlighten society about the
importance of freedom through my writing had not been accomplished.
My body was buried somewhere and
no one knew about it. At the time of
death, I had severe pain in my head, neck and knees. My head was feeling very
heavy. I moved up into the light after release of the pain and rested there.
