Past life regression (part 2): Behata, Caribbean 1800s

After exploring my past life as Sarah (previous post), I was ready to explore another past life. I was back in the long hallway of doors, still under hypnosis.

There was one door that was calling out to me - it was white with a gold doorknob. I turned the knob and opened the door. The air was thick with heat and humidity. I was in a tropical place in the Caribbean. I was a black child, likely the age of seven, and was running barefoot, wearing a knee-length green dress. I was playing a game with my siblings who were all older than me. We were racing through the lush vegetation and I won – I reached our house first.

We lived in a small hut not too far from the beach. There were several other huts that surrounded ours, filled with family, friends and love. This was a community of people who took care of each other. My mother called out to me – “Behata, wash your hands! And where are your brothers and your sister?” I had 3 older brothers and 1 older sister.

I got the sense that this was my most recent past life and took place in the late 1800s, continuing into the early 1900s.

My parents were so loving and caring. Although we didn’t have much, they always made sure that we had clothes to wear, food to eat and a safe place to live. I was a very happy child.

As I washed my hands, I overheard my parents talking. They were stressed about money. My father was having a hard time finding steady work. He spoke to a relative who lived in the US – there was a job opportunity for my father in Louisiana. He would be working as a farmer for a wealthy white family. My father wanted to take the job and he told my mother that we would all have to move to the US. I ran over to my parents and told them that I didn’t want to go. I had a pit in my stomach just thinking about leaving my home.

When we arrived in the US, my father rented a small apartment in a rundown apartment complex. There was hardly any grass or nature, it was just a series of brick apartment buildings that were not well taken care of. Everyone who lived here was poor, like us, but people here didn’t help each other like they did back home. Our neighbors mostly kept to themselves.

I hated going to school. My mother would make clothes for me and my siblings using whatever cloth we could afford to buy. I was bullied a lot in school, so I hardly talked – I didn’t want to attract any additional attention to myself. The shyness only got worse as I got older. My goal in school was to be invisible.

At that moment, I was transported nearly a decade into the future. By then, my father was so frail. The family he worked for took advantage of him. He worked day and night on that large farm – under the hot sun – and yet he never made enough money to move us out of that small apartment. By the time I turned 17, my father died. I graduated high school and felt a responsibility to start working so that I could take care of my family. Some of my siblings were struggling with addiction. It was very hard on my mother, especially now that my father was gone.

I asked my father’s former employer for help finding work. He was able to get me a job as a secretary, but it didn’t last long. I was the only black woman in the office and I was tall, thin and beautiful. I didn’t want to attract any attention from the men in the office. So I kept my head down (again, wanting to be invisible) and did my work. Despite being a reliable employee, people in the office didn’t trust me because of my silence. I was fired just a few months after I started.

I got another job, this time as a seamstress in a dress factory. It was hard work and the hours were long but I was surrounded by other black women and I finally felt like I was part of a community again. I met my husband there – his name was Carl and he was the janitor at the factory. He was a kind and honest man. Together, Carl and I took care of my family. We never had kids of our own. I was so thankful that God brought Carl into my life.

I was transported once again, this time decades into the future - I was in my 70s.

I worked in that dress factory as a seamstress for almost 50 years. I retired only when my body could no longer keep up with the work. Carl and I lived in a house – just the two of us. Our house was small but beautiful and it was in a good neighborhood. My mother and most of my siblings had passed by then. I was so proud of everything that Carl and I accomplished. Despite the obstacles we faced, we found success together and we built a life full of love and happiness. I was grateful for each day that I had with my husband.

Carl was an early riser. As I got out of bed to go downstairs to see him, I knew that this would be my last day on earth as Behata. I approached the staircase and took a step forward but I missed the step and fell down the entire flight of stairs, hitting my head. My soul came out of Behata’s body and I looked down – she was in an ambulance with Carl, being rushed to the hospital, but it was too late.

As I came out of my experience as Behata, I felt a strong sense of accomplishment. Behata had so much integrity and I was proud of her for taking care of her family for most of her life. Although she was the youngest child, she was born with a wisdom and maturity that was far beyond her years. But underneath that, she still had traces of shame for growing up as a poor black girl in the South. She carried these feelings with her when she died.

Behata’s life story resonated deeply with me. As a woman of color who also grew up poor, I felt similar feelings of shame and inferiority throughout my childhood and throughout my career in corporate America.

I also found it interesting that I experienced Behata’s life entirely in first person. Unlike my experience as Sarah, I was never an observer during my life as Behata.

I needed a few minutes to process this before I continued my journey. When I was ready, I was back in that hallway of doors.

Continued in next post.