Originally published at The Searcher Journal. You can comment here or there.

Just this past weekend, while on my way out of a party for a friend of mine, I was stopped by a lovely young woman.

“I know you,” she said.

“From where?” I was curious as I had noticed her a little while earlier and couldn’t shake the feeling that she seemed a little familiar.

“Probably from another lifetime,” she said, not the slightest bit unsure of herself.

“I’d accept that,” I said with a smile, wishing that I wasn’t already running a little late for the next place I had to be. Giving her my contact information I said, “Please be sure to find me again. I’d like that.”

And off I went to next stop for the night.

But that moment has stuck with me.

Those moments always stick with me.

And there have been a good number of them over the years.

I do most definitely believe in reincarnation of one flavor or another. I’ve had enough personal experiences to make that belief unshakable. As is the case with most metaphysical things, though, I don’t ever expect anyone else to buy into the idea. So it’s always something a little special when someone broaches the subject right off the top. Even more special when there’s a chance our paths have crossed before.

This sort of thing really came into focus for me when I hit college. Very quickly, as I met many new people, some resonated with me more than others. As we discovered more about each other, we found not only a number of common interests but some very unusual commonalities as well. Key among those strange overlaps were memories of things neither of us had done in this lifetime.

My first reaction is usually to write it off as overactive imagination–gleaned bits of insight from regular interaction percolating through the subconscious and presenting imagination dressed as memory. That got more difficult as the details got more specific. Even more so when we’d get together and compare notes we’d written before we knew each other and find the same striking similarities of vision.

The Universe does not waste anything. Everything changes, is taken apart, reformed, reused. Science tells us that matter and energy are at least somewhat interchangeable, that there is a conservation of mass, that matter (in the broadest sense) cannot be created or destroyed.

If we hold that to be true, than our physical bodies alone are made of bits that have been used before. All of our base material was once part of something–or someone–else. We are star stuff.

And if our physical bodies can lay claim to such a vast and impressive pedigree, why not the non-physical parts of us as well?

There is currently no reliable way to measure those ethereal bits that may or may not make us who we are–that whole that is greater than the sum of its parts. But for those of us who have been touched by insight into the cycles we all go through, lifetime after lifetime, the value of that quantity becomes clear.

Without a doubt, I can say we all go around and eventually come back again. Our paths cross the same people again and again, each time letting us play different parts for one another. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to realize those deep connections and work through to something greater. Sometimes its only long after the fact that we realize how far back a love or friendship can be traced.

I don’t know if the girl from the party will ever cross my path again in this lifetime, but I’d like it to happen. Not because she was attractive or because I think its a novel way to make new friends, but because exploring those possible connections brings all involved closer to being more complete.

Have you ever felt that kind of deja vu when meeting someone for the first time? Have you ever compared notes with a friend and discovered you share a secret history?

And this is a placeholder for me to refer back to when I'm sure.

Hopefully, this will resolve a number of things and jumpstart a long dormant idea.

Wish I could say more, but if I do I won't be able to verify independent information later.

This could be very, very big.

This really isn't what I had planned on writing about tonight, but it came up as I put fingers to keyboard, so this is where we're going. I'm afraid it may be a bit of a confusing ride, but I'll try to make as much sense as possible.

Let me start off by saying that I do firmly believe in past lives and reincarnation. However, my personal experience of it has been a bit different from what I've heard other people describe. It's probably linked to my own path and whatnot.

The basics are:

• Most of us have lived before
• There is usually some period of "down time" between lives
• In that down time, we make choices about what we're going to do next
• We have no one to blame for anything that happens to us except ourselves
• If we learn the lessons we're supposed to, things will get better and we'll stop making the same mistakes
• Old habits (good and bad) can carry over from life to life
• Highly emotional events from a past life can have an impact on our current life
• Very often, we run into the same people again, and again, and again...
• There is no transmigration of the soul (i.e. you will not come back as a cat or a bug in your next life, no matter how good or bad you live this one)

Mainstream Western culture looks down on the idea of reincarnation quite a bit. It's cute and OK when it's used as a hook in a movie. It's entertaining when you can laugh at some new age "freak" or pagan spouting off about how they remember the glories of ancient Egypt or whatever. But to actually believe in it... well, that's just plain silly.

Because of this generally negative attitude that most of us are inundated with growing up, we automatically write off anything that may be a genuine past life influence as "just a dream" or "some silly notion" or whatever. Needless to say, I think this severely slows down any learning about ourselves we've chosen to do in this lifetime. It leaves us having to rediscover a lot of what we have probably already done.

This becomes especially frustrating when it comes to how old bad habits or traumas spill over into our current lives. I can tell you that I've done some supremely stupid things in a couple of the past lives I remember. Without a doubt, some of those lessons have carried over. When I figured that out, some things suddenly made a lot more sense.

For example...

In my last life, which took place around England and ended just as WWII began, I was quite the cad. If I remember correctly, I was a chaplin in the Royal Navy on board a ship. My buddy Z was an engineer on that ship and we were friends. Somewhere along the way, his wife and I had a go at it, behind his back, of course. Things turned ugly when he found out. He and I both ended up dead. That's the short version.

So, in my most recent past life, I was a womanizing, backstabber and a fallen man of God who didn't have a problem at all shagging a friend's wife.

Can't get much further from who I am now.

That switch in polarity, though, makes sense.

We all need to experience things from both sides before we can truly understand them. We have to walk that mile in another's shoes to really see things from their point of view. That past life taught me a lot about consequences, about betrayal and (due to the setting of the whole thing) a bit about military life.

So what did all that past life pain and suffering get me this time around?

Well, I've got a much healthier respect for military tradition than I should based on my own current background. That's a good thing. I'm also quite averse to the idea of doing anything that would hurt a friend--especially where romantic relationships are involved. That's something I can attribute to being reminded of this time around (partially thanks to an incident in college that involved my buddy Z and a girl I had a thing for), but I've seen other people make the same mistake again and again and again without ever learning--so my feeling is that I got a jump start on that particular lesson from the time I spent in the 1940s.

The really strange thing about this past life stuff is that it tends to crop up in the most interesting places. In college, as I discovered my two best friends there were people I had known for many thousands of years, there was very little that came up in our occult research that actually surprised us. There were even more than a few instances that our own knowledge caught us off guard. Something would come up, we'd have an answer... and then we'd stop to think about it and say "Where the heck did I learn that?" It was like deja vu, but with actual knowledge.

Over the past few years, while living back in the town that I grew up in and working way too many hours for way too little pay, I stopped most of my exploration into my own past lives. There were only a couple of times it came up, usually in the context of something pagan related (like the Hudson Valley Pagan Network's day full of workshops).

It's been a while since I've stumbled upon any other past life ties.

Or at least a while since I've realized it.

For the first time in a long while, I may actually be meeting lots of people for the first time. I'm sure there's a couple of you out there that I've at least crossed paths with before, but by and large I'm pretty confident that in the 11,000 years that I've been floating around this plane of existence, I didn't know most of you.

This is a good thing.

It means that there is a lot of new stuff for me to learn here.

Even better, when I do run across someone I have known before, they're probably going to have something very important to teach me (or, I suppose, learn from me). If I'm really lucky, it may even lead to some new memories of another lifetime (because for the amount of time between the first one I remember and this one, the actual memories are pretty darn sparse--only four distinct lifetimes, counting my current one).

Do you remember past lives? (And I mean real past lives... ones that go back before your most recent birth... the other kind of "past life" is another story altogether.)

[The following was the product of a free writing/meditative exercise I did back in February of 1999.]

It starts in the dark. It always starts in the dark. Slowly, ever so slowly, there is a pinprick of light. Soon all is a misty milkyness. Shadows fade in and out of existence. Some coalesce into images. People, places, things I have done, things I will do. It all fades and flows, leaving only vague memories and indistinct feelings in its place.

Then, a door. On it a crest. Shield inset with a hexagram, a diamond and an emerald on opposite sides, left and right. Red and gold enamel highlights the three sections of the shield. The knob is cold to the touch, but it fits perfectly in my hand, it turns easily. The door swings silently on its hinges, opening to more darkness.

Here, though, there is a warm breeze. An inviting breeze that carries with it a pleasant scent, a familiar scent. Stepping through the opening, the darkness vanishes, turning instead to a green field with a large house in the distance. It is home, was home. Bright sunlight cuts through the crystal blue sky, warming me as I walk toward the house. I’m dressed warmly, too warmly. A heavy dress coat, richly thick shirt, wide tie and embroidered vest.

Removing the coat, I discover a book in the pocket. It bears the same seal as the door. Looking closer, I see worn letters, curving around the bottom of the hexagram, too worn to read but grouped in five words. Leather binding, but pocket sized, filled with hand written notes, it’s not my handwriting.

Taking off my hat, I enter the back door of the large house. It is dark and cool inside. The scent of freshly oiled wood wafts from the staircase banister. I feel the smooth slickness as my hand drifts along the dark surface. At the second floor landing, I turn left and go to my study there.

Someone is waiting for me there. He has been for a time. I’ve been running late, I had to pick up the book from someone else. They had brought it from a foreign land at our request. We are all part of the same family, not of the same blood, but of the same spirit. My colleague, my friend, who has been waiting impatiently for me, asks me what took so long. I tell him about the lateness of my contact, how the boat he arrived on had been delayed during a storm.

He reaches into his jacket and withdraws an old, faded bag. Still clearly visible is the bead work and embroidery, marking it as a very important bag for whoever had owned it previously. Setting it down on the large oak desk, he unties the braided cords at its top and carefully rolls down the edges. Reaching in, there is a slight chime as his ring makes contact with the bag’s metal contents.

The craftsmanship of the small statue is amazing. It stands only five inches tall, but it seems as if each hair on its head has been carefully carved into place. The foolish, contented grin on its face radiates a feeling of simple pleasure and childlike joy. This harmless image is balanced by the weapon the figure holds in its hand. An intricate sword with a jeweled handle curves along with the shape of the body, looking as if it could jump at any moment and slice anything as easily as air. Carved on are clothes unlike any I have ever seen, vaguely oriental in styling, but not quite. The nationality of the figure is a thing of mystery as well, the eyes and shape of the face show only the slightest hints of oriental nature, but they could just as easily be European or African.

He turns the statue upside down, prying at the base with a small knife. A thin wafer of metal comes loose, revealing a compartment beneath the statue. An ancient piece of parchment sits there, folded. It has only been unfolded three times, one of those was before it was written upon. Now that we have the book, though, it can be put to use.

I open the book to a point near the end. My friend unfolds the parchment, it is written in the same hand as the book I carry. Flipping through pages, I find the place where this missing one fits. It had been removed and hidden to keep the secrets of its scribe when he was in danger. Now, complete for the first time in generations, the key to the entire puzzle is in place.

As we marvel at our discovery, and our good fortune, the bell above the front door rings and is answered by the housekeeper. We both listen to the murmur of conversation as she tells the visitor that we have already gathered in the upstairs study. The creak of leather boots and stairs let us know well in advance that we are about to be joined by out third.

Glancing quickly, one would think our third was a man. Looking any longer, one would quickly see the shape beneath the long coat was too shapely to be anything but the most foppish man. As was the practice of our order, at least one of the three had to be a woman. When we knew we would soon be in possession of all we needed, we quickly sent for one we knew we could trust. A woman we both loved and trusted. And one we had both worked with before on many occasions.

She removed her coat, and set it on the chair near the door. From a bag at her side, she produced a finely decorated satchel, similar in beading and embroidery to the bag that had held the statue. From it, she withdrew the other two components we had gathered over the previous months, a polished disk with the hexagram inscribed on the opposite side and the knife that bore a striking resemblance to the sword the statue carried. Apologizing for her lateness, she set the two artifacts on the desk near the statue.

Now that we were all gathered together, all that was left was to wait for the appointed time. The time when the energy would be at its peak and the veil would be thinnest when we tried to pierce it. We changed into our ritual garb and brought the artifacts down to the basement workroom where we had performed rites and rituals before. As was usual, I gave the housekeeper the rest of the day off, as much for her own protection as for ours.

Soon, the time was upon us and the ritual began. I read from the book, back to front and inscribed the necessary symbols on the altar using the knife. My friend stood at the ready, his own blade in hand, reciting his well memorized protections. Our third sat facing me and the altar, gazing deeply into the polished side of the disk.

The words fell from my lips more clearly than I had expected them to. Ours was the first group to reclaim the lost artifacts and be able to perform the ritual. It would not be the last, but we were treading into territory that had not been visited in three centuries or more, since the last collapse of the group. As I finished, the candles and lanterns that lit the room flickered silently, and we waited.

None of us knew what to expect, but we all felt the presence when it entered. It carried with it an air of royalty, a proud and honorable nobility that the world desperately needed. It was new, and yet not unfamiliar. Our Seer was the first to recognize it for what it was and she told us in no uncertain terms. It was one of the old ones of our order, one of the first to have helped keep the balance. We had called, we had opened the passage between one world and another, he had come.

Before long, all three of us could vaguely see where our visitor was in the room. We asked him questions and he answered honestly, sometimes cryptically. We were told that a time would come when the veils would be thinner than they had been in a thousand years, a time when the others like him would return and when we would return as well. For now, though, the balance was well in place, despite the chaos that seemed to run rampant in the streets. All was as it should be. We needed only to prepare for what would come later.

With that said, our visitor took his leave, going as quietly as he had come. As prescribed in the ritual, we closed and cleansed, sure to leave things as we had found them. Later, though, we were to find that something else had snuck past our defenses. Something Dark. It took to the streets before we could deal with it directly, and once there it found many a place to hide. Luckily, it was only a minor annoyance over the coming weeks, and one that was minimally destructive to others not as knowledgeable in such matters of Light and Darkness. As was our duty, we protected, we put right what we had done wrong, and we continued with our research.

2/6/99

We are very quickly heading toward the first full moon of summer (according to the little icon in my system tray, at least).

The lunar cycle and the seasonal cycle are things that, once upon a time, weren't all that important to me at all.

Then, I started paying attention. I learned a bunch of the lore and science behind why they were important to the development of civilization. I began to feel the ebb and flow of energy as the wheel turned. I connected with my own deep memories of long ago and far away.

It was around 9038 B.C. when I first dedicated myself to the path I'm on now. The location, if we've deduced it correctly was either in the British Isles or on the western coast of Europe near them. There was a tradition in the clan that dictated our role as keepers of knowledge and teachers. I was one of the lucky ones to be chosen to apprentice with the spiritual core of our clan.

I don't clearly remember when the ceremony was, but I'd imagine it would have culminated either during the vernal equinox or the summer solstice. The groundwork for my dedication had been laid over the course of two or three years, and there was still much I would need to learn before I could take a full position in the inner circle. But the dedication ceremony was the first, decisive step to that ultimate goal.

About 12 or so years ago, while reading one of the numerous books on magickal practice that I have, I came across a passage describing a dedication meditation that instantly struck me as very familiar. While I can be quite sure that the author wasn't one of my contemporaries (as there are only a few of us from that particular clan walking the earth in physical bodies these days), she definitely had tapped into something that was at least close enough to jog what may be my first past life memory.

Descending into a misty cave, perhaps already deep in a vision or on my way to where I would settle in for one, I met patron dieties. As was the tradition in the clan, it was understood that they were not entities per se, but rather understandable representations of the greater force that drives us all. As such, there are no names that were ever used. Names were reserved for "real" things or illustrative teachings.

In that oh-so-bright darkness, I accepted my charge: to serve that greater power, to gather, share and protect knowledge and to uphold the tradition I was born in to. From that point until my task was complete.

I can't imagine at that time that I could even begin to think how long I would be at work on my task. I do know that I was fully aware that it would last beyond that lifetime.

Emerging from that last trial, I was welcomed into the shadow of my new teacher: the main Searcher (chief knowledge gatherer) of the clan.

That apprenticeship was never finished.

The clan was torn apart by opposing forces and most of us died. Some not only died, but were scattered to such an extent that they are just now beginning to come back together in a sustainable form. It was quite the vicious attack.

But the wheel still turns, as do all the smaller wheels around it. Before long, things will once again line up and I will be able to finally make good on that promise made oh-so-long ago.

Until then, I am still kind of lost in this strange modern world. People like me are more than a bit out of place, it would seem (as I have met a few others over the years) and constantly struggle with the same "in the world but not of the world" feeling I have.

Some days, I wish the wheels would turn faster.

And other days... well, other days I'm just happy to stand in the sun and welcome a new season and the adventures it will surely bring.