Uncanny 'Past Life' Memories. Have We Met Before?

Liz:

"I heard his voice at another table in the restaurant and instantly got chills. Turning around slowly, so as to not appear overly interested, I saw him sitting with friends. Our eyes met. I knew I'd never actually seen him before, but it was profoundly clear that we recognized each other. Before I could get up, he came over and took my hand. 'Haven't we met before? You look so familiar? Who are you?' We somehow found a quiet corner and explored in detail how we must have met somewhere and just forgotten. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn't put the pieces together. We could not find a single situation, experience, or common place that we'd ever been at the same time. We talked of the possibility that maybe we'd seen each other on someone else's Facebook page, or inadvertently vacationed at the same spot. Anything. But nothing came up. Yet, we couldn't stop staring at each other. I knew the crinkles around his eyes by heart and the way his mouth was a little crooked when he laughed. He kept staring at my hands, touching my ring finger as if it were not supposed to be bare. When we hugged, I recognized his smell, and the comfort of his arms around me. We knew we were experiencing the same miracle, but it scared us both. It was just too weird."

Charlie:

"The party was getting boring. Too many people altered beyond recognition. I wasn't having a good time anymore and needed to go somewhere where I could breathe fresh air and sort out my thoughts. I told my friends I was going home, but, once in my car, I remembered I'd left my jacket and went back in to get it. As I was leaving, three of my close buddies came in the door, surrounding a woman I'd never met. She looked a little familiar but I couldn't place her."

"Hey, Charlie, don't leave yet. I brought someone I want you to meet. She's my sister's best friend from my home town. It's a long ways from Peoria, and it's her last night here." She was half hiding behind him, obviously embarrassed by Chet's pushing. I reached out my hand to help her feel more comfortable.

"Hey, welcome to L.A. It's a lot noisier here, and we're not as predatory as you've heard."

She smiled appreciatively at me, and then said "Hi" in this gentle, beautiful voice that literally floored me. I had this crazy thought that I should just leave for Vegas and get married within the next six hours. If I closed my eyes, I would have sworn we'd never been apart. "Is this your first time in L.A," I asked, hoping to buy some time to just stay my nerves. "She answered, seemingly just as shaken, "Yes. I've never been on the West Coast. Have you always lived here?"

"All my life. I've travelled a little, but never lived anywhere else."

I had to do something to interrupt the swirling in my head. "Hey. I'll introduce you to some of the other people here. We've all known each other forever. They're good people."

I tried in vain to get her interested in my other friends. They were wonderfully inclusive, but she kept looking back at me, like she was wondering why we weren't just talking to each other. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and just asked her if she'd take a walk with me. She said, in that remarkable voice, "Yes. I want to spend some time with you just by ourselves. You okay with that?"

That was four years ago. We've never been apart since. We read that great book together that Jonathan Bach wrote so many years ago, "Bridge Across Forever." We were like them, we knew. I know it sounds crazy, but if it was possible that people could have lived prior lives, it must have been us."

Many years ago I attended a well-publicized psychological retreat in Northern California. There were noted speakers coming from all over the world and an attendance of nearly a thousand professionals. A colleague of mine, whom I value and respect, asked me to come and meet a woman who was well-known in the entire country as a phenomenally talented medium. Surrounded by a troupe of loyal devotees, she was holding court with profound grace and stature.

My good friend came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned to face me, I was awestruck by how much she looked like my long-gone favorite grandmother. I was under ten when she died, but we spent countless hours together, and I absolutely felt I was back in her presence. She immediately acknowledged my startled look, and asked me what I was feeling. I began to tear up and she reached out for my hand. We simply just stayed that way for a few moments, not speaking.

She was the first to break the silence. "Do you live in the L.A. area?" I told her I did, but I somehow knew she already was aware of it. She continued, not taking her eyes off of mine. "Bring your mother with you to my workshop in Hollywood next week." I had not mentioned that my mother lived with me.

When the time came, my mother and I sat far back in the auditorium. Using my most rational thought process, I had made the decision not to tell her of the resemblance between this remarkable woman and my mother's mother. We sat fascinated for the next two hours, watching this quite remarkable confident and grandiose woman perform "psychic readings" for those who asked to come onto the stage.

I asked my mother what she was experiencing. She had tears in her eyes and her hand over her mouth. "She could have been my mother's twin," she whispered. I squeezed her hand.

When the fascinating performance was over, the audience adjoined to a long, rectangle room for after-show coffee and treats. The woman entered from at door at the back and was immediately surrounded by many sycophants, all clamoring for her undivided attention. There were at least a hundred or more guests between her and us.

In the next moment, she looked up and saw my mother. She instantly parted the people as if they were the Red Sea and made her way directly to her. She took her hands warmly in hers and said in an unusual voice I will never forget; different from the one I'd heard when I met her at the conference. "It is so good to see you again. Welcome back into my life."