Chapter 1

MY SEARCH BEGINS

"The heart knoweth, the soul never forgetteth". Edgar Cayce, Reading 5351-1
In the late 1950s, when I was a teenager, my brother went to a hospital fair and spent five cents on a used book. That nickel changed my life. The book was 'The Search for Bridey Murphy' by Morey Bernstein. Mr. Bernstein hypnotized a friend and asked her to reexperience episodes from her childhood. Then he asked her to experience her prenatal state. And then he asked her to go beyond. His friend, Ruth, began speaking of herself in another lifetime in Cork, Ireland. The book my brother bought for five cents was the story of Bernstein and Ruth's search for knowledge of lives before the one we experience "now" - reincarnation.

In its heyday, The Search for Bridey Murphy was a best seller and stirred up controversy and conversation. I was overwhelmed by excitement as I turned its tattered pages. The story added a whole new level to life. If the premise was correct, life was now a series of adventures rather than a single episode. Newspapers and magazines sent reporters to Ireland to try to check out the story. But I thought that the press had missed the point. For me, the question was not "Is every single detail accurate?" I accepted the book's truth. Its basic principles felt right, touched some hidden core in my being. Maybe I just wanted it to be right. No matter. I wanted to know, "Can this experiment be duplicated?" And, more important, "Can I do it?" I knew I would have to try. So, in my high school years, the adventure began. Because Bernstein had used hypnosis to bring Ruth back to past lives, I said to myself, "Well, I will simply have to learn hypnosis." I realized that hypnosis was just the first step - the tool that would enable me to get to the important thing, the regression experiment.

With the drive that fills explorers, I devoured information about hypnosis. I took courses, attended lectures, and listened to tapes. Most information available then was about stage hypnosis techniques, though I found some serious material, like a course for doctors, dentists, and psychologists that taught me more useful therapeutic hypnotic procedures.

At 15, I was doing hypnosis. By the time I was 16, I felt I knew enough to start experiments in hypnotic regression. At a time when most of my friends were buying their first cars, I bought my first tape recording system. (At this point I was following Bernstein - a ood model, by the way. I needed the tape recorder to record every session, as he did.) With this equipment and with interested volunteers, I was ready to begin.
My friend, Calvin, volunteered to be my first subject. Earlier, Cal and I had practiced stage hypnosis exercises and I could tell when he was in a deep trance. On this particular evening, he and I entered the dimly lit room we had chosen for the session. Other friends sat around us in a half circle. A hushed silence fell as we began our first experiment. After inducing a trance, I repeated the techniques used in The Search for Bridey Murphy. I asked Cal to write his name, first in the present and then again as we went back a year at a time to the very first time he wrote his name.
We watched in amazement; Cal wrote his name differently with each year. With the last, or youngest, signature, he described his grandfather placing a hand on his, guiding the pencil and showing him how to write his name. The success of this experiment encouraged me to venture further into the past. Cal was receptive and ready to work, and I will report the results of our work later in this chapter.

Meanwhile, I continued working with friends, guiding other hypnosis sessions. I was learning to use this tool - hypnosis that would help me achieve my goal, to duplicate the Bridey Murphy experiments. My biggest needs were for guidance and practice. There were no books or courses on methods of past life exploration. My high school psychology teacher encouraged me to learn hypnosis and even allowed me to guide a group hypnosis session in our class. The students who participated enjoyed themselves, so their evaluation sheets said. But I was often puzzled or discouraged. For instance, once in a trance a friend described one of his earliest present-life memories: his aunt dropped him from the top of a bureau. Later, when I asked his mother, she denied the incident had taken place. I jumped to the conclusion that my friend was "making up" the episode. I questioned the validity of what I was doing, and nearly gave up regression work altogether.

Now, of course, I am glad I didn't, especially because years later, when I was visiting my friend's older sister, the full story emerged. As I was telling the story of her brother's regression, she blurted out that she had been the one who had dropped her little brother and had covered up the incident as best she could. This was my first big lesson that not everything in a regression session is exactly "accurate." I have learned to allow every subject tell his or her story without interrupting the flow of information. There is plenty of time after the session for analysis and judgment if accuracy is an issue.

The First Past Life Regression Up to now, I had experimented with hypnosis as a way of helping people recall experiences from their present lives. It was time to see if we could go deeper into the past. Although I was young, I wanted to work slowly and carefully and to make a sincere, in depth study. Somehow I knew, or had a premonition, that this was something far more than a single experiment. This was something that would become part of my life work. Many of my friends wanted to "go first" on this journey, my first attempt to help someone experience past life recall. I chose Cal because I liked his receptivity and felt our earlier success augured well for this experiment.

My preparation in learning hypnosis and regression techniques was about to pay off - or fail. Cal and I agreed on the date, time and place for our first past life session. I felt both eager and apprehensive. The day ticked by slowly. Evening came and we gathered at Cal's. Earlier that summer a group of us had built a room in the large barn attached to Cal's house. This room, separated from the activity of the home, gave us an ideal place to work. Cal lay on the sofa as the group of friends and observers sat in a half circle. I dimmed the lights and turned on the tape recorder. Here is an excerpt from that first, hour long session.

CALVIN August 19, 1962 Ashby, Massachusetts You are in a past lifetime.(1) Everything is so completely clear. Your mouth is nice and moist. Now I want you to tell me about the scene you can see...

" I'm standing in front of a house. I'm - it's a wooden house and it's got some kind of a grass roof - something like that. And there is two big trees in front of the house. I'm leaning against one of them. I got a beard and - ah - a grey beard. And there's a dog - a dog standing beside me. I don't know, never seen the dog, but he's good dog. And um- Cal then began to describe a life he lived as John O'Hara in 1762 near Berkshire County, England. After the session we were hushed into a long silence. We had all witnessed something profound and exciting. When we did start talking, we asked Cal if he remembered anything of the session. He did. In fact, he was able to add details of the lifetime he had just reexperienced. I was very surprised by this fact, as other subjects I had read about had no conscious recall after the session. Cal appeared fine - reenergized, even - after the experience.

Our success encouraged us to schedule another session a week later. I knew that something important had happened that summer evening in 1962. I realized that my life's work had taken its first big step forward. But I had no conception whatsoever of the phenomenal events that were to come of it. For the next three years Cal and I continued to work together(2). In his second session, while returning him to the present, I specifically gave him the suggestion, "You will retain in your conscious mind only that which is important and beneficial for you to retain at this time." I was trying to guide Cal not to have memory after awakening if it was not good for him. Nonetheless, Cal did continue to recall much information; I have since found recall after the regresssion to be a normal and natural occurrence for many people. I also discovered that it was possible to have Cal explore more than one lifetime during each session. He could easily review and relive two, three, and four lives in a single session.

The Word Spreads

I lived in a small town. It didn't take long for word to spread. Soon I was flooded with volunteers eager to experience what Cal had. The friends who sat in on Cal's sessions saw that it was safe and interesting, so they wanted to try - and they told their friends. Even I wanted to experience regression, but there was no one prepared to guide me. Cal and I listened to his recorded sessions, I to perfect my techniques and he to fill in the gaps in his conscious memory from subconscious recall. We soon realized that there were curious things about his past lives. Cal observed this first. One day he said, "Have you noticed that in every one of my past lives I died a violent death?"
I had typed out the material on the tapes, and went to study the transcripts. Sure enough, Cal was right. There was a form or a mold or a design - a kind of thread stitched through his lives - a pattern that might warn him to be careful of possible violent death in his present life. A few sessions are necessary for patterns like this to begin to show. Two years later, a man came along who was to teach me the vital importance of understanding past life patterns. This man, Tom, heard of my work and asked me to work with him. He did not say if he wanted to learn more about himself or if he was just curious, and I didn't ask. Whatever his reasons, Tom proved to be an excellent subject.

On Oct. 21, 1964, Tom and I worked together for the first time. During that session, Tom relived his life as Mokoutu, and talked of living on a smoking volcanic island, Ponjupo. With a smile of love, Mokoutu spoke of his mother, Moko. Then his story turned to pain and sadness as he remembered the drowning of his beautiful woman, Byutu. He often spoke in a language no one in our area had ever heard. He called houses "kieyoshuto" and described their structure of sticks and clay. He talked of his people's washing their clothes in the river, of the hard work in the garden, and of his dog.
Mokoutu and his friends took their "kelia" (boats) to the deep water to net whitefish and rockfish. They returned from these expeditions as quickly as possible, because the Monokis, their enemies on another island, might attack their homes in their absence. "Don't go to the islands!" Mokoutu shouted. "Go halfway between! Never all the way!" Mokoutu's father had died in war, when enemies came in war boats to destroy their homes, to steal, to trample their gardens, to kill his dog. Mokoutu and his people fought bravely and fiercely, killing some of the war men. The rest fled. "How old did you live to be?" I asked. "Lived to be old - forty - fifty."

I had learned from Cal and others that death is often as important to a person's memory and development as life. I guided him to the time just before his death. "Men standing," he said. "Old women weeping. Crying. Men sad. Presents - gifts - for me to take." He saw the young men leave, while the old men remained to "take a smoke." The old men stayed with him and told the story of the village. "Time," he said. Time for what? "To go." That was his simple description of his death. "Time to go." As I questioned him about his death state he described a "blue darkness" and then "swift movement." After a moment, he said spontaneously, "Leap! Move quickly!" I now guided him back to his childhood as Mokoutu and then to a life "before."

This concept of lives "before" or "your next life" are probably not always chronologically accurate. But the sequence of lifetimes is confusing. For example, is your "first" life your present life or does it start the first time you enter flesh? This life "before" was in Belgium, where in his childhood he was with his mother, picking grapes. His father worked in a cotton factory. He talked about how he was too small to work in the "Allen Tavern." "Too small - too small to work in tavern. Steins - floor - broke and I got mad. Men drag me - stab." Tom's face contorted with intense pain and his body jerked.

As a guide I feel my duty is to protect my subject, so I guided him forward to detach him from his pain. "It's something of the past," I said. "What happened after?" He said that he died and after death was "clear." I did not know what he meant, but he continued, "Clearness - waiting very clear - sky was very clear." Upon returning to the present and waking, he had little recollection of the session.

Tom's Other Lives

This two year period gave me confidence. I knew that the Bridey Murphy experiment could be duplicated and that I could do it. I continued my work. Tom was a Marine, and we could not schedule another session immediately, but on Feb. 7, 1965, we met again. Apart from the vivid description of his death state and his speaking a foreign language, our first session had been quite ordinary. Now, in Tom's second session, his past life patterns started to emerge.

In this session he reexperienced two lives. The first was in 1912 in Norway and was not remarkable. There was no discussion of his death or the cause of death. The second, an earlier life chronologically, took place in France. Tom, now "Peter Foulke," described the beautiful countryside as he traveled through many towns and forests. He said that "Bradfire" forest was one of the nicest places he ever saw: "Large forest with straight trees - very straight. Dark. Walk through the forest during the day and it's almost like night."
"Did you ever go to any big cities?" I asked. "Stick with small towns and small people. People are friendly. Work here and there." And later: "Towns are nice. People are gay and happy and friendly." "What did you benefit from this life?" I asked. "I seen places, beautiful country." Peter Foulke wandered through 18th Century France as 20th Century Tom wandered through his life in the Marines.
Then I asked, "How old were you when you died? Do you see a scene now when you left this life?" Not old - forties - about forty. How did you die? Died in bed. Of old age? No, heart trouble, drinking. And what happened after you died? Do you want to tell me about this? Going away from building. What form are you in? Go away from the building - going north - just leaving. In what form? Well, white - silver form. It's pretty good. Going away - getting away from everything. This happened. Leaving people that hated. Just leave. What's the purpose of death? Why do we die? Purpose? We just die. Things don't go away. We die and we - can go on. Why should the body die and the soul live? Well, the body is just the soul's shield. It takes all the blows and everything caused by the human hate, despise. The body dies - it has to. Is there anything else? Move on. Which way? Toward better things - you move to improvement - trying to look for happiness - not so much just achievement. You have to move. If you stayed in one place, you wouldn't be progressive. Move on and you see and live more full - better.

Learning From Our Sessions

At the time of these sessions, I could only observe and learn. I faithfully transcribed the tapes and read and reread the material. I was learning to grasp the valuable clues hidden in each and every regression experience. For instance, at the time I did not understand the implications of the material about alcohol Tom was presenting. In two lives, his deaths, one from the tavern stabbing and one from heart disease, involved alcohol. At the time of our sessions, Tom was a heavy drinker. He died suddenly in 1979, killed instantly in an alcohol-related car accident. Had I been more aware of the patterns that can occur from lifetime to lifetime, I might have seen the obvious correlation of his present life and his past lives in regard to alcohol use.

I have come to believe that past life regression has therapeutic value if it helps us to understand our present lives and to make the changes necessary to clear away the wreckage of past lives. Perhaps I could have helped Tom bring about the changes he needed to make to avoid a repetition of his destructive alcohol use. But perhaps not. I had so very much to learn about the patterns and lessons of lifetimes.

After-Session Events

Reading about a regression experience is completely different from being there in person. The body movements of a subject being regressed are sometimes unusual and almost always different from those made in the conscious state. Subjects wring their hands, smile and laugh, cry and sob. Often after the session, the memory door is still open and the subject will continue to talk in great detail about the events he or she has experienced. For instance, during a regression a woman thought she was a servant in a house; afterwards, as she continued to "live" the experience, she realized she was the wife of the man she served.

Sometimes the memory door closes but the subject continues to behave for a little while as if still in the regressed state. This was the case with a young man who experienced a past life as a leper. Others considered him - and he considered himself - unclean; he was disgusted with his body, which the disease caused to rot away before his eyes. After the session, he immediately got up and went over to the sink, where he washed his hands over and over. I watched and asked, "What are you doing?" Only then did he realize he was doing something unusual. There was still the need to wash his hands after being considered unclean. He was quite unaware of his action. He was astonished when I told him he had been washing his hands for almost 10 minutes. The repellent nature of leprosy and the subject's reaction brings up the question of dealing with "disagreeable" episodes in past lives. If the session brings forward a violent or traumatic episode, or a whole life, the subject tends not to recall it consciously when brought out of hypnosis. His or her subconscious protector takes over. In these cases I doubt if it is necessary or beneficial to share the content of the session with the subject, and I rarely do so, except when a subject makes a serious request, and then only after a month or two has passed. Odd as this sounds, no subject has demanded to hear the tape if I explained it was a tragic or difficult lifetime. Perhaps some inner voice or guidance reassures them that the experience of the regression in itself is enough.

The subject who experienced himself as a leper followed that life's experience into and through death and achieved peace and understanding. He had little need for conscious recall in this life. It seems to be true that reexperiencing past lives, no matter how traumatic or violent, can have positive effects.

Another time, I guided a woman into a past life as an American Indian. She came to me, she said, because her life had always been sad. She had a good job and enough money and a loving husband and child, yet she always felt sad.
The recall opened dramatically. Her small band was attacked by another tribe while the men were away. The older women, the old men, and all the children were slaughtered. A few of the desirable younger women and maidens were taken as slaves. The subject watched her two children being killed. She was taken captive and barely survived the trek to her new home and a warrior husband. The subject was able to tell this much; the remainder of the hour session was filled with floods of tears. She cried for 40 minutes. Not knowing what else to do, I simply let her cry. As her anguish subsided, I gave positive suggestions about forgiveness and about closing the door to the past. Then I brought her back to the present.

When I saw the woman and her husband months after the session I hardly recognized her. It was as if a giant weight of resentment had been lifted. She talked differently; she laughed; she walked more lightly. I believe she made a major breakthrough in changing her pattern of habitual sadness. She said she felt wonderful about the session, and had no need or desire to hear the tape; I saw no reason to give her a copy or to play it for her.

Except for floods of tears, I have had no real problems in regression work. Not everyone has instant success either. This is a new field, a new science, a new study. There are no guarantees whatsoever. My early years were experimental; there were no manuals or courses. But I strove always for high standards of ethics and professionalism. As past life regression becomes more accepted as therapy, there will be the need for more schools and the sharing of knowledge.

There is great need for therapeutic responsibility; when dealing with any trauma there are risks. In these early years I had only the vaguest idea of the challenge I was accepting. This is human reality, with all the shadows and all the joy. Past life regression is looking into the most secret, complicated inner workings and the profound simplicity of the soul. There is far more to humanity than behavior and statistics. The psyche is the human soul.

Psychology, as I see it, is the study or the science of the soul. Past life exploration is to me in-depth soul study, the real essence and the real meaning of tomorrow's psychology. The psychology of the past - and unfortunately, of the present - has sometimes concentrated on behavior to the exclusion of other things. I believe this produces a narrow and stunted view of the soul. There is more to people than mere behavior. Working with past lives shows me how much more there is to a person's psyche than old-school psychologists will admit. The behaviorist view of an earlier generation of psychologists seems to me too distant and cold compared with the enriching humanism of the past lives approach. Through the continuous thread of lifetimes, with their patterns and lessons, I am beginning to view humanity in a clear new light. Deep within each of us is a timeless sensitive soul seeking to unfold and open into the light. This unfolding I call the human adventure.

Notes to Chapter 1
(1)"Now I want you to tell me..." is an outdated method of questioning a subject. I would not use such a directive approach today; modern hypnosis uses indirect, open ended questioning. For examples of the newer method, see the guided group experience in Chapter 19.

(2) We had five sessions together. They were witnessed and recorded in Massachusetts. The dates were Aug. 19, 1962; Aug. 26, 1962; April 4, 1963; August 24, 1964; and Sept. 30, 1965.

*Bernstein, Morey The Search for Bridey Murphy. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1956.