PAST LIVES REVISITED- AND HEALED! by Antares
First published in the New Straits Times, July 9, 1996
MANY TIMES I’ve experimented with breathing exercises -only to find that, like Bill
Clinton, I had trouble inhaling.
Years ago when I was practising pranayama, a yogic breath control technique, I
had to give up after a few weeks because my nostrils kept getting blocked.
Recently I came across a powerful Spherical Breathing Technique to activate the
Light Body (taught by Drunvalo Melchizedek in his ‘Flower of Life’ Seminars): once
again I was frustrated by the difficulty I had trying to breathe rhythmically. How was I
ever going to master the didgeridoo - not to mention quickening my Merkaba vehicle
of Ascension (by which means one may achieve full mobility through all the
And not too long ago a holistic healer friend had given me a deep massage, after
which she had diagnosed a congestion in my diaphragm area possibly linked to a past
So you can understand why I was very keen to see if Pritamo could help. She was
staying at a mutual friend’s apartment, having just arrived from her native Italy via
Pune, India - where she had trained for years at the Osho International Academy of
Pritamo showed me a computer-generated leaflet listing the various therapies she
was practising, and my attention was instantly drawn to a section headed:
“HYPNOSIS FOR SELF-HEALING - a soft technique that induces deep relaxation, so
that you can access your own unconscious.” Among the benefits of this particular
therapy, Pritamo mentioned “exploring and healing past lives to improve this present
Ha! This was precisely what I had been seeking for some time. Being the “new
healer in town” Pritamo was only too willing to barter a 90-minute session for a fair
report to anyone interested. Not that I minded paying the RM90 (US$25) fee, which I
thought totally reasonable.
The next morning I showed up, prepared for anything. Pritamo said we would begin
with a 45-minute Chakra Breathing exercise to open up and relax my cellular and
etheric bodies. The vigorous process would also serve to clear my memory circuits of
last week’s or last year’s debris.
She put on a cassette and a quiet, authoritative voice requested that I focus
attention on my Root Chakra while hyperventilating through the mouth. Don’t be
inhibited, Pritamo advised, and make as much noise as you like. Just keep your feet
comfortably apart and grounded, freeing the rest of your body to move with the energy
The dervish-like rhythms and calm, friendly voice guided me through each Chakra,
as Pritamo accompanied me in the exercise. At the end of 45 minutes we had
completed three Chakra Breathing cycles. I felt totally relaxed, even euphoric, open to
and trusting of whatever would happen next.
After a short rest Pritamo settled me comfortably on a mattress, and proceeded to
ease me into even deeper relaxation with her voice. In effect she guided me through a
visualization wherein I “saw” myself lying peacefully in a pleasant meadow. Soon, she
suggested, a beautiful, ethereal Guide will appear and beckon me to follow her on
a journey down the corridors of incarnate time...
THROUGH A GOLDEN ARCHWAY we strolled, my Angelic Guide and I, along a paved path
that stretched on indefinitely ahead. I could hear Pritamo’s gentle, accented voice,
saying: “Keep walking until something appears, then pause and let the image form
more clearly. Trust that it will have a special message for you, to help you accept and
release whatever feelings arise.” Or something to that effect.
Without any effort the first image shifted into focus: I was looking at a very old
and frustrated English gentleman, bent over in his rocking chair, experiencing the last
moments of his life. A dull, heavy sensation hung over his chest: was it bronchial
congestion? Or sheer heavyheartedness, the fatigue of a soul worn out by struggle? I
could feel his profound bitterness and pain, his terrible sense of despair and futility;
above all, his sense of utter failure and isolation.
Details flitted in and out of my mind’s purview: he had been a swashbuckling,
dashing Colonial Officer in British Malaya, a veritable Tuan in every respect. He had
lived like a king and felt like a mythical hero. But then something had gone very wrong,
and he found himself recalled to England in his prime: end of illustrious career, end of
glorious freedom and unfettered adventure. He was treated with coldblooded, efficient
formality and forced to retire with a handsome pension. He could write his memoirs -
and he did, but it left him dissatisfied and hollow. He had been so close to some
incredible breakthrough... so very close to cracking the Mystery of the Ages and
returning home in triumph, exalted and divine. His domestic life was a tragic farce.
Friends and family had drifted further and further away - till at this final hour he felt
completely bereft of warmth or hope or even the faintest memory of happiness. True,
he had been a stalwart member of a Masonic Lodge - a lot of good that did him now.
Nothing had value or meaning, nothing whatsoever, not even the prospect of oblivion.
My chest was heaving with the effort of dying. My angel gently put her hand in
mine and led me further down the corridor of ghostly memories.
“Where are you now?” I heard Pritamo as from a great distance. “What do you
“I’m a little girl of three or four. European, I think. Alone in a room, holding a toy.
No one knows my thoughts. I am dying of a disease, I don’t know what. Asthma?
Tuberculosis? There’s a light in my heart region. I feel totally calm and self-contained.
Not sad, no self-pity. I know things other people don’t. I know I shall soon be free
again, there’s great power and wisdom in my spirit self...”
My angelic guide and I move on, leaving the little girl with her dreamy thoughts
and her very brief span on earth.
I see a white-haired, portly gentleman at the kitchen table, puffing on his pipe.
Retired merchant, Italian, living somewhere in Greece. He has outlived his wife, and
two of his five children. The others are living far abroad. He isn’t sad or afraid of death,
which he knows is approaching very soon. He’s had a good.life, good friends, good
meals, and satisfactory family bonds. But somehow he feels cheated, disillusioned,
abandoned by God. His private life as a mystic and scholar is known only to his
colleagues in a secret fraternity. He has seen the group splinter into bitter factions,
torn asunder by petty ambitions and betrayals. All the lofty principles of the ancient
creed, the solemn oaths of loyal and faithful service to humanity... what a load of crap!
Is there hope for human beings on this earth? Probably not, but what the hell, que
sera, sera and so on. Still, it’s very hurtful that life can play such dirty tricks on us
benighted souls. What is left? Not much. A favourite pipe, dusty shelves of once so-
precious books in a concealed library no one will inherit. Hello, Big G... where the hell
are YOU?. He sighs and feels a black hole where his heart once was.
MY HEART! I can feel Pritamo’s energy soothing my etheric body as my chest
convulses into a tight knot. Heart attack? Can’t breathe. A sour taste... no, a bilious,
horrid, shattering sense of deep betrayal and broken dreams.
I’m seated on my throne, clutching my belly in acute agony. They have poisoned
me. How? It can’t be... impossible! My queen, could she...? NO! Death, take me swiftly
upon thy wings... I can see the carved pillars of my palace, barely a few years old, the
patterns on the polished tiles. Pharaoh of the New Aeon, you have failed in your
mission. What can save us now? Ha, I’m out of the crumpled fleshly body in my ka -
my etheric double - floating above the earth, where my vision penetrates the future...
please, 0 Great Ones, spare me this dreary sight! The darkness stretches before me
without end: age upon age of tragedy and horror, a ceaseless nightmare of evil piled on
evil. Massacres, famines, plagues, catastrophe... no light at the tunnel’s end! Spare me
this accursed foresight... WHY? WHY?? WHY???
My ka has swooned with the impact of the ugly truth revealed: no Golden Dawn
for humanity, not yet, not for a very, very, very long time. Hundreds, possibly
thousands of years from now, perhaps... but two golden, shining beings have come to
take me to a distant sanctuary, where my soul can heal. This place is not on planet
MY EYES SNAP OPEN in surprise. Pritamo waves her hands over my face, whispering
that I should keep my eyes closed for a while longer - as my angelic guide takes me
back along the corridor, past the events shown before, through the golden archway,
and back into the green, sunny meadow where my physical body lies.
“Count after me,” Pritamo murmurs, “Ten-a, nine-a, eight-a, seven-a, six-a...” By
the time I get to “one” she’s already up and out the door. “You take-a your time-a,” she
says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Thank you, Pritamo,” I say quietly, as we give each other a long, strong hug. The
healing is accomplished. But it may take some time to filter through the molecular
levels of my being.
Pritamo is a healer and therapist at the Osho Ashram in Pune, India
HOME @ INDEX @ ARCHIVE @ WORDFILE @ THE MOON @ GUESTBOOK