I Remember: Four Lives That Walk With Me

Some memories do not come from this lifetime.

They rise from the silence between heartbeats, from the electric current that hums beneath the skin, from the places where dream and reality blur. These are not visions I sought. They found me—after long silence, after illness, after therapy, and after choosing to live.

The first flicker came as a dream, one that repeated quietly through the years: I was floating above a sun-baked market, alone, bodiless, watching curtains blow and animal stalls sit empty in the wind. There was no sound, no people—just the impression that I was both there and not there. It lingered. It haunted. It never faded. But it wasn’t until much later that I realized: it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. And it wasn’t the only one.

Over the last ten years of what had been 20+ years, I’ve undergone deep energy work—shamanic therapy—to heal from severe PTSD. This path wasn’t intellectual; it wasn’t pharmaceutical. It was spiritual. And in the sacred container of that work, something began to shift. My practitioner and I both sensed it: doors were opening. Timelines were loosening. Something ancient, wounded, and wise began to stir.

And then the memories came.

Each life rose up not with fanfare, but with certainty—unfolding in images, phrases, sudden emotion, and undeniable knowing. They didn’t emerge to entertain. Each detail was tested using spiritual kinesiology, also known as muscle testing. The memories returned because they had work to do—because I had work to do. 

Each life carried a lesson, a wound, a strength, a mirror. And together, they formed the architecture of my soul’s return.

The Four Lives

1. The Desert Soul

A repetitive dream since youth. I was floating above a desert market, alone, watching a wind-blown silence. I could see a cot inside a tent—my cot—but no one around. I now understand this may be a transition-state memory: a moment between flesh and spirit, or possibly a priest-keeper watching the collapse of something sacred. This was the first sign that part of me never left.

2. Enid the Essene

A healer. A mystic. A woman who walked the Christ path before it had a name. I saw her—myself,  in the coliseum, not screaming, not afraid, but praying for those who sentenced her. She was eaten by beasts. Her life was taken because her light could not be bent. The Roman world could not tolerate that kind of peace.

3. The Witch Who Wasn’t

A 13th-century herbalist. A Christian woman who lived alone in the woods, tending to animals and helping neighbors in secret. She used plants, prayer, and touch to heal. That was enough to condemn her. They called her a witch and burned her. But she never turned from her God. Her “witchcraft” was simply love in action.

4. Sophie of the White Planet

A parallel future life. Sophie lived on a planet enslaved by AI. She fought in battle at age 12—everyone did. Mortally wounded, her father—heartbroken—made the only choice he could: he saved her through hive tech. She became half-AI, half-human. She lost her soul connection, became a weapon, and lived in pieces. In this life, I remember her as my shadow and my echo. She still seeks wholeness.

Why Now?

Because the stasis is over.

Because I refused the path offered to me by this world—the vaccine, the silence, the compromise—and chose instead to walk into my body, my mission, and my memory.

These lives show up in my dreams, my chart, my health, and my prayers. They explain the fears I’ve carried and the strength I’ve reclaimed. They explain why I remember things I was never taught, and why I have always felt older than my years. They connect to the land I serve, the viruses I’ve fought, the writing I’m called to do, and the people I’ve found again.

They are not fiction. They are soul facts.

Why Share?

Because remembering is an act of revolution.

I do not share these stories for fame or followers. I share them for the one who reads this and says: I have memories, too. I thought I was the only one.

You are not. We are many. And our remembering is a threat to everything that sought to keep us asleep.

This is the first post in a series. In the coming days, I will share each life in full. Not as history, but as soul medicine. If you feel resonance, you may be holding a thread of it too.

These are the lives that walk with me.

And now… I walk with them.