Daily Reprieve

I don’t know whether I believe in past lives or not.  But I have a piece of a memory that is painful, but is not apart of this lifetime.  Is there a way to do a Fourth / Fifth Step on a past life? 

This is what the movie opened up for me last night.  This is the “memory.”  I am leaving a large structure, castle or mansion like.  There is fire around me and panic within.  I am in trouble for something, I don’t know what.  I feel a sickish guilt as I look to a side room and see her.  She is behind a bed, her eyes squinting in the pain of my departure.  I stop and look at those eyes.  Flames flickering the glow of hell around her.  If I don’t move, I will stay here and die.  I leave her.  I am afraid. 

When I get outside, there is snow and barren deciduous trees.  I run.  I am breathing hard.  If I can just get to the mountain in front of me, I can escape.  I remember the cold air painfully filling my lungs and my heart will not quit pounding out alarm.  I am grabbing brush to pull me upward and onward.  I can remember the black or dark robe like material I was wearing getting caught and slowing me down.  There ahead, I find the small opening of a cave.  I feel its safety, and I look back.  I hear voices, animals, maybe dogs?  I retreat into the darkness.  The memory ends.  But not the intense pain.  I hate myself for leaving her, for wanting to live.  I could not sacrifice myself for love.  And I lost her.

The main character in this movie went to hell to be with his love.  That is what I should have done.  The guilt is tremedous.  How can this not be real?  Their home in hell looks like a burned out mansion. 

When I look into my slave’s eyes, do I see her again?  When we were first together, I kept her blindfolded.  There is power in the eyes.  They say so much, no matter how submissive.  Now, I look at her and get this overwhelming desire to paint her portrait.  To capture her beauty as I see it.  Especially when I look too long into her eyes.  But I cannot paint at that skill level.  I do abstracts, surreal type work.  I see in her a beauty that transcends this lifetime, and I am almost certain that we have known each other before.  Maybe I was an artist back then.  Maybe that is why I was reborn to my artistic Mother. 

And this may be another reason why I hate goodbye.  And retreat to caves.  And fear loving again.

Was I a coward?

This entry was posted on October 9, 2008 at 11:19 am and is filed under Uncategorized with tags Addiction, Alcoholism, Journal, Life, Personal, Recovery, Spirituality. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.