zianuray: (Default)
I mentioned a reading I got from someone who basically used the cards as a way for the client to focus -- the "if I didn't answer your questions by the end, let me know" and he hit all three points?

One of the questions was "WHY is it so hard for me to lose weight?"  Not just psychologically, but physically.

And this tied in with something that happened later on:

In the reading, he saw that I had been the wife of a Rabbi in Germany before and during WWII.  We had still been early middle-age when it started, and when we were sent to the camps, one of the higher-ranking guards found me attractive for some reason.  Granted, I wasn't bad looking, but in this circumstance?  I was determined to fight him all the way, for my honor and my husband's.  

I was denied food, even the slop the rest of the prisoners got, until I would give in.  A couple of other guards basically took their lives in their hands for pity and gave me scraps when they could, and once a warm cap.  These men I have met again, in this life, and we recognized each other.

So basically, I stubbornly starved myself to death.

And that seems to be why my body holds on so well to the fat -- my unconscious mind remembers that!  Now, according to the literature on the subject, since I realize this and know it's not likely to happen again, the weight should start just melting off, right?  Right???  HURRY UP!!!!!!
zianuray: (Default)
I thought I had posted this, but went through the archives and can't find it, so here we go (again?):

This is a sort-of compilation of bits I remember, dreams I've had, and info from past-life readings that have been done for me.



Some time ago, in the early parts of the times movie-ized for "Braveheart," I was the wife of a man sworn to a local chieftain in the Highlands. Came time for him to go to battle, and I -- childless at the time -- followed with other wives to do what we could to take care of mundane things like camp duties. (Yeah, there were not-wives too, but as long as they worked as hard as we did, they were tolerated.) And yes, if the camp was invaded while the men were out, we fought. We fought DIRTY. Only way to go if you want to live.

And while we weren't desperately in love, we were comfortable together and content.

It happened that my husband had earned a "boon" from his commander, and he asked that should he be killed, the commander would care for me. I hadn't known about this until after his death, which fairly upset me though it wasn't exactly shattering. The way it was phrased, all the commander was obligated for was to either give me a place on his lands (most likely the place we had held before) or work in his household, or see that another man who would treat me well wedded me when I was ready for that.

Instead the commander took me into his own household as a guest rather than a servant, and when he determined a proper time had passed he took me to wife. He was gentle with me and treated me well, and I grew fond of him and was with his child, which pleased me. I knew miscarriages were common and waited to tell my husband until I was past the most dangerous part.

I loved the outdoors and would walk for hours when I could get away from the usual duties, and one of the men was designated to go with me when the commander couldn't. Also the wife of another man, a woman I called friend, would go to bear me company nearly every time. One day I told her I had not bled for two months. We continued to walk, and I had a favorite place, a bluff overlooking a not-quite-big-enough-to-be-a-river, and that's where we went. At the top of the hill, we stopped to rest on a rock, and as we were getting up, the guard excused himself to seek a tree (didn't have far to look, I might mention!). As soon as he'd turned away, she slammed both hands into the small of my back, knocking me over the edge. I bounced off a few protruding rocks and roots and was dead before I hit bottom. She screamed "NO! Don't!" and threw herself on the ground as though she had tried to grab me. The guard carried my body back to the house and, as he expected, was executed for "failing to protect me from myself" though it was actually that she-snake who did me in.

She told my commander that I'd confided that I actually hated and feared him and refused to bear his child, and that I had jumped to my death to avoid his future attentions.

The guard had been accustomed to remain just out of earshot so could not refute this.

A few weeks later, the she-snake's husband challenged my widower for command and killed him. It seems that my "suicide" had shaken him enough to throw off his reflexes and cause him to second-guess himself.

I'm pretty sure this has something to do with why I don't like heights this time around.
zianuray: (Default)
I've had similar dreams for more than a month now.

I'm in the same body, basically, but with some major mods--it's lean and fit. My hair is still long and brown, but in the dreams it's cornrowed (to keep it out of way?) but no beads or ribbons, just rubberbands at the ends. I'm not wearing glasses. (Contacts? Lasik?) I AM wearing combat boots, ladderlaced for some reason, jeans that FIT--they don't sag or bag or pinch, and have enough give that I can sit lotus w/o adjusting, and a sportbra. I can tell that I have a key pinned into a front pocket and i think it must be a whistle in the other.

And I'm RUNNING.

This is kinda out of character at the momnet, being currently of the fat and lazy persuasion.

Thing is, I used to LIKE it. Not for like marathons or anything, and I've never been FAST...but I liked it.

And in the dreams I can feel my hair flying out behind my head and feel it tapping against shoulderblades or side of neck. I think I'm about 50. I can feel my heart beating strong and fast. I can feel that my muscles are loving the freedom to stretch and pull and propel me through the trees. I can hear an animal running alongside for a few paces, then veering off. I have no fear, just exilaration. I can see where I'm going, must be a clear night. I feel the takeoff and the landing without breaking stride when I jump a log or a rut.

Gods, it feels so right, so good.

Guess who's starting workouts. We don't have a place for a treadmill or weight bench, but I live in a small town and it is still relatively safe even at night. I can walk -- and later run -- in the mornings before I leave for work. I can improvise weights.

NOW--keep me honest, y'all.

I am currently, at 5'3", way past chubby. 330#. That's, like, just WAY too much for being healthy, though my blood sugar, BP, etc are all good and I can walk across the room, up the stairs, and down the street w/o dying of O2 starvation. (My knees, OTOH....)

Small steps first -- walk the length of the block each morning. No excuses. I can pace in the basement if i need to.
zianuray: (Default)
I remember....being called "Tildy" and working on a small estate somewhere in Europe--feels like Germany/Austria, though I've never been there. Possibly the 1300s.

Tildy's story, as far as I can figure it out:

When I was about 9, the low-ranking lord who owned/held the estate rode by one day and spoke to me while I was in the kitchen garden; a few days later when the manager brought a cart for the manor's share of whatever we'd been raising (veggies mostly, and a couple of chickens that time) I was sent with the produce.

Scared? Of course I was scared! My parents hadn't even TOLD me I was going to be leaving! Maybe with 6 kids it just slipped their minds?

Well, at the manor, the cart was pulled around to the kitchen entrance and the hens taken to the coop, the produce taken to the cook for disposition....and a maid came and took me to a fairly big room with a bed, a chest, a couple of hooks on the wall, a candlestand, a small three-legged stool, an actual RUG...!!!! and told me to wait there.

Dirty little girl, hauled out of the henyard to go to the Manor...what was I SUPPOSED to do, fer gossakes? So I looked around, found a broom and an old cloth, and cleaned the room as far as I could reach. Eventually, as the day wore on and things were as tidy as I could make them, I got bored but was afraid to leave the room. What if the Lady whose room it was came and I was gone? I'd be in trouble for sure. I curled up on the floor as the sun went down and slept.

The housekeeper found me there the next morning. Oddly enough, I wasn't in trouble. I was somewhat hungry, and I was cold from sleeping on the floor without a blanket, and still dirty, but remember that was fairly normal for the time. Next thing I know, I have a chunk of sausage in a roll in one hand and a mug of --ale?--anyhow, whatever the usual was. Sure wasn't juice or milk. THEN I got a BATH. With SOAP--soft, squishy soap, same stuff got used for shampoo. Then my hair was greased (instead of conditioner) and combed and braided, and I got new clothes! I figured I was about to start work, but the clothes were better than the kitchen maids were wearing, as good as the house maids even. Then back to the housekeeper.

I was getting "lessons", she said. Lessons in how the house was run. I'd work in each area for a time -- at least a week -- but I would also go to her office each day to tell what I was learning and if I had questions as to why something was done in such a way, I was to ask. The maid that had taken me from the kitchen to Housekeeper's office was waiting when I left and took me upstairs to begin.

About six months later, I found out what was going on. Sir was in Housekeeper's office when I went in for my "discussion" and I was told to remain when I tried to excuse myself and wait in the hall...we had the usual talk (with me very nervous and stiff) and Sir asked Housekeeper, "Think she's ready?" "Yes, she's sure to know something's up. Will you tell her, Sir, or shall I?"

Well yes, I did know something was going on...but no real clue what it was. Until then I'd been treated basically as a maid-of-all-work (as far as I could tell, what did I know?), but I knew I had a better sleeping room and slightly better clothing than most of the maids. The room I'd been put in my first day was for my use, in fact.

So Sir told me I was "going to school." The next day the priest for the estate started trying to teach me to read, then to write. When I was "adequate" at that, I started on sums from the Housekeeper's accounts. I was given a set of problems such as how much flour and eggs it would take to feed so many people, how much straw for the floors...and Housekeeper's lessons changed a bit also--now it was "Why do we do this? What herbs would be good for that?"

Soon after my first moonblood, I was told why I was being given these lessons and why I'd been brought to the manor in the first place. I was to be married to the Lord's son. I didn't remember ever seeing him, he'd been fostered out and then away at school...by this time I was probably 12, and had been at the manor 3 summers. I'd gone with the manager several times to collect the rents (produce, wood, wool...whatever was grown or gathered on the estate) and seen my parents these times. They seemed happy to know I was well. They seemed happier that their rents were less since I'd been taken to the Manor. Couldn't grudge them, they still had 4 children (one--littlest--had died of a fever in the first year I was gone).

So, eventually, about 2 years after that and 5 summers after I left my family, the Lord's heir took me to wife. He was 17 to my 14, and still away most of the time, but when he was home he was unfailingly courteous and I was fairly intimidated by the difference in our stations. (Marry for love? Right. In the minstrel tales.) We did well together, and eventually I got over the timidity. We had sons and daughters, the estate was small but prosperous, we missed out on any wars that might have been going on, and basically died of old age as had his father.

***

Parts of this I dreamed, parts I remembered at various times in certain situations, parts someone else told me about and it fit. Do I believe I was Tildy? *shrug* Dunno. Maybe. It's a good story, though, either way.
zianuray: (Default)
I've had readings done several times, usually by strangers, once by an acquaintance (someone I'd met a time or two, we recognized each other "on the street" but hadn't _talked_).

The most recent one was the least believable.

My mother had nothing to do with my red bicycle, I don't know why she'd be showing it to anyone as a connection with me.

My grandmother would not have used the phrasing "of an ample lap." That's just so NOT her.

MAYbe they have, since passing over, found out that my chosen path is not a horror afer all....

Mother had cats the last few years, even housecats (living on a working farm, you can't avoid cats!), so why would she be averse to _my_ little b/w domestic shorthairs who were "ankling" her according to this person?

(Though I am glad to hear that The Varmint and Bandita de Corazon are getting along well.)

EEhhhh, whatever.

What got to me about the first three readings I ever got was that as far as I know, the readers were not known to each other, all readings were on an impulse (i.e., not planned, no appointment), and not even in the same county, but ++there was overlapping information and what did not overlap did not contradict anything the others had said.++

Also, most of what was said the first three times I had either figured out on my own and this just reinforced it, or it brought back bits of dreams and fit them together.

Coincidence? People skilled at cold-reading a mark? Possible. I took care to keep a poker-face as well as I could, but I'm sure there were clues that I didn't know about to control. I also tried to not give verbal clues/cues.

The one that most impressed me had me shuffle a deck of tarot cards while thinking of the questions, then NOT ASK. He read "my aura" and and "Akashic Recors" or some such, according to him, when I mentioned at the end that he had hardly even LOOKED at the cards. Also had his eyes closed a good percentage of the time. "If, at the end of the reading, I didn't cover something, let me know and I'll try for it" he said.
He covered the three points I'd had, and filled in a few other things as well.

Sometime I want to work with a reader from behind a screen, or in a separate room with an intercom locked on one-way.

Your thoughts?

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