Sorry everyone this is a bit long.

Jonx, this is a continuation of the “your last breath” thread. In that thread you dismissed my “whacky belief system” as something laughable and to be ridiculed. So, after some internal debate, I have decided to lay out parts of what have contributed to a belief based on experience, not hot air. This will be about as far out there as anyone gets on this forum, but this is who I am. This will be long and somewhat OT, but I will weave it back into the process of ex-ing out.

What I ask from you, as I bare some very intimate details of my life, is for you to set aside the Great Ridiculer, and listen to my story from your heart. It is coming from mine, and I am revealing to you and the public at large some deeply personal and painful events.

I am 53 years old now and I had my first past life experience at the age of 17. I spent a month in England in the summer of 1979. I knew what the word reincarnation meant. Barbara Streisand had just recorded that old song, “Where Or When.”

“The clothes you were wearing

Were the clothes you once wore

The smile you were smiling, you were smiling then

But I can’t remember where or when” etc

Anyway, when I first set my feet on English soil, I knew I had been there not once, but many lifetimes before. I had essentially a 30 day déjà vu. Everywhere I toured I felt as if I was walking on my own bones. Ever since that time, the fabric of my reality is littered and decorated with so many memories that the exploration and integration of this has comprised a large part of my life’s work. I bring this to the table because I want to lay the foundation that I didn’t dream up this “whacko belief system” last week and base it on thin air. I don’t ask you to follow this POV, just to accept that among the billions or perspectives on this planet, this one too is valid.

So, after the ashrams closed, I had to work at something. I was 30 years old and had a couple of years of art school behind me. I had been a housemother in the ashram and was a good cook. For lack of any better way to make a living, I entered the hell of commercial food service. Talk about your 3 D job! Try feeding 500-700 people a night juggling 3-5 menus, staff shortages, unreal prep lists pages long and impossible deadlines. I was really good and I got really burned out. It did serve to ground me in the world – make that grind me.

Throughout all this time I have always maintained an interest in mysticism and metaphysics. In March of 2000, a friend initiated me into the Order of Melchizedek. Melchizedek is a celestial being that appeared in the Old Testament where he initiated Abraham (and again somewhere else). If you look him up on the web you will see various groups claiming to be the Official Order blah blah of Melchizedek. I have nothing to do with any of that. I am on a solitary journey.

One night in May of 2000 I was meditating and listening to my DNA Activation Music, when I felt a finger graze my chakras and touch my third eye. “Who’s there?” I asked. “Melchizedek. Turn off the music and listen to me!” He grabbed me by my shirt, pulling me to attention. “You have done a really good job of seeing God in some things and some people, now it is time for you to see God in everything and everyone.” He then took me into a guided meditation.

In two weeks after this my whole life was turned upside down. I was fired from my Food Service Director’s job for no reason just weeks after I had been given a raise and a good review.  Melchizedek kept telling me, “You’re never going to cook again. You’re going to make a living as a light worker.” Asheville is littered with starving New Age people and I wasn’t about to be one more. I argued with him and cussed him out. After a while I accepted the change and went through 6 months of initiations. This led me to work for a couple of years doing energy healing work, specializing in past life therapy. I had some good success stories. I couldn’t make a living though.

Throughout the next several years I worked through some very heavy karmic stuff mainly with my twin soul. In the process of doing so, I mapped out much of my incarnational history on this planet, where I came from and why I came here. Now I come to the part about rawat and being tied to him with “my last breath.’ In my exploration of my incarnational history, I uncovered a betrayal from my twin, where I was sold into sexual slavery. Here is the story.

About 1000 years ago, I was a young girl in India, on my way to my wedding. I was excited to meet my groom and was dressed in beautiful silks. On my way there I was kidnapped and my life was stolen from me. The man that abducted me was the same man that in our current time is known as Shri Hans Maharaj. I will call him Hans for this story. His son was the man now known as Prem Rawat, and I will call him Prem. These rajas were wealthy and each had “as many wives as days of the month.” Hans brutally raped and tortured me again and again. He would play this game with me as well. Being an accomplished dark magician, he cast a spell over me, imbuing Prem with the appearance of a golden Krishna. I was enchanted with Prem. Hans would let the leash he held me on play out, so that I could spend precious nights with my “Lord,” escaping the torture of my captor. I would no sooner relax and begin to feel safe (my bruises fading), when Hans would yank me back into his clutches again. This back and forth drama was repeatedly played out. My only hope was to have a very short life. But those ties still held after death. Let me weave this story into my current life.

I grew up in a stable functional, loving, quirky, left wing, intellectual, Unitarian home. My father never cheated on my mom and there was no pornography in the house. I didn’t have any evil uncles lurking in the corners. I spent years trying to figure out where certain behaviors came from. I never was able to uncover anything that explained it until I remembered that life with Hans and Prem.

When I was about 13 I began to act out sexual fantasies with my Barbie and Ken dolls with my girl friends. I think that is pretty normal. What wasn’t normal, was my acting out brutal rape, torture and degradation scenes. I am talking graphic stuff here that no 13 year old would know about unless she had been molested. Yet, again I have searched my family life carefully and found no evidence of abuse.

So as a teenager, when I became sexually active, I acted out a lot of this degrading behavior. There is NO pattern of this in my family, so where did it come from? I remember weeping bitterly at 16 knowing that no man would ever really love me for who I am. I would only be an object for their lust. Shortly after that, this was 1968, I dreamt a vivid visionary erotic dream where a golden Krishna was my lover. I went to bed with a lot of men looking for him, only to later recognize him as rawat. I was sucked in the first time I saw his picture and the first instant I saw him.

I am, of course familiar with false memories. I know that I can never prove this empirically. I can tell you that recovering these memories put in place pieces of the puzzle of my identity and my history like nothing else has done. This was also so shocking to my whole system that I was physically sick for 6 weeks as I tried to sort through and integrate all that. It was as fresh and raw as if it had happened yesterday.

So, for me, this ex-ing out process has been a journey of cutting bonds that go back many lifetimes. This has been an exploration of self discovery leading to some very unexpected places. Some of these places are still quite raw and vulnerable. I don’t ask you to believe as I do. I do ask that what ever response you give, be respectful and restrained. I have laid myself wide open here – not just to you, but to everyone. I am doing this because I think it is the right thing to do. I am not trying to “prove” that my POV is more valid than anyone else’s. What I want to do is widen the dialog away from the juvenile “Is so,” “Is not,” to a deeper soul sharing of experiences.

It is my contention that the myths and stories we hold deep in our hearts are far more important than the cold hard facts of our lives. The facts are the curbs on our road, but the myths and stories shape how we move through our lives. The facts may be the bare bones, of our lives, but the stories are the flesh, the color, and the smell of our lives.  

I am hoping that through what I am doing a certain intimacy can be created. I would like to see this dialog evolve where we all feel safe to share the deeper parts of our soul for the purposes of healing, self exploration, and knowledge (little k). I loved what Mike Finch said about cults being full of unexplored ideas. I want to explore deeply what shapes us. What brought us into this cult of rawat and what brought us out again. I know this is going to stir up a lot of comments. I just ask all of you to be a little gentle with me as what I have laid on the table is still fragile and sore.

Karen