June 12, 2002

• Sex, violence, violent sex….

  I’ve
  made enough references to reincarnation to have brought a few
  questions.  I fended them off briefly for lack of motivation to get
  into all that.  I had some glimpses of the life I describe here in dreams when I was a child.  In the 1990s, it came up during some hypnotic regression work I was doing to explore my relationship with Greyfox.  Eventually, following that period when I was exploring past lives hypnotically, my past-life recall became spontaneous and conscious.  I remember these things.  I couldn’t
  make this stuff up.

  It was probably about the middle of the eighteenth century.  I was called Kitty. As a young woman 14 or 15 years old, I
  lived in a seaport city in England with my mother. My father was a sea
  captain, partner in a shipping business in the West Indies. When my
  mother died, I took passage on a ship to join my father in the New
  World.

  From the scenes I recalled, costumes, architecture, and culture, I think the city
  was Kingston, Jamaica. When I arrived there, I found the shipping office and met
  my father’s partner. I was welcomed, and told that my father had been
  missing for some time and presumed lost at sea with his ship and crew .

  The partner and his wife took me in and treated me as part of the
  family. I often went down to the port and sought news of my father. On
  one occasion, in a shop that sold junk and used ships’ furnishings, I
  found a ship’s logbook with my father’s name on the cover. There were
  missing pages, and the remaining pages were blank. My father’s partner
  and others believed this to be evidence that the ship had been taken by
  pirates, not sunk in a storm. That was the only clue I ever had to my father’s
  fate.

  My new guardian had a son a little older than I. His name was Danny.
  I loved him at first sight, which is no surprise, considering that the
  two of us had been together in many lives before that one. I never
  wanted to be apart from him. When I learned that it had been decided he
  was to sail in the crew of one of his father’s ships, to learn the
  ropes and prepare to take over the business, I disguised myself as a
  boy and obtained a berth as cabin boy on that ship.

  I carried off the masquerade for a week or two, recognized only by
  Danny. He was angry that I had committed such a foolhardy act, and
  avoided my company. There was prudence in this, because the belief that
  a woman aboard brought bad luck was strongly held among seamen. Women
  were dealt with harshly whenever one was bold enough to stow away on a
  ship. Exceptions were made occasionally for groups of women as
  passengers, and for the wives of ships’ masters and mates, but a single
  woman found on a ship could expect to go overboard. If I had ever known
  this in that lifetime, I disregarded it.

  When my menstrual period came, my masquerade was over. One day I
  passed near a crewman on a ladder and my scent gave me away. I was
  dragged onto the deck, bound with ropes, and a discussion of how to
  dispose of me was begun. Danny tried to come first to my defense, and
  then to my rescue. He was overpowered and tied to a mast, where I
  watched him struggling and heard his pleas and threats to the crew.
  Eventually after a discussion of how to deal with him, those who wanted
  to dispose of Danny as they would get rid of me were overruled by the
  loyal captain‘s vow to look after his boss‘s son. To quiet Danny, they
  poured rum down his throat.

  I was stripped and tied face-down over a rail. As the crew took
  turns raping me, Danny’s voice became slurred and then quiet as he lost
  consciousness. After a while, I was no longer in my body, but was
  watching the scene from somewhere up in the rigging. When the men were
  finished with my apparently lifeless body, they tossed it overboard. I
  watched it go with a feeling something like, “wait, I’m not done with
  that.”

  Danny was kept drunk for most of the rest of the voyage, and I
  stayed with him. I have no sense of time for the remainder of his life,
  but my spirit was with him throughout. He behaved like the haunted man
  he was. He drank continually and wandered from one seaport saloon to
  another. One night, he saw one of the men who had raped and killed me.
  When the man left the bar, Danny followed him, caught him in a narrow,
  dark street, and gutted him with a knife.

  He must have been in an alcoholic blackout, because in the morning
  he saw the blood on his hands and clothing and didn’t understand what
  had happened. Alarmed into caution, he got rid of the evidence and
  tried to curtail his drinking. That effort failed, and eventually he
  found and killed another of the sailors. After that murder, he began
  actively hunting the men responsible for my death. Beginning with a
  mission, he ended in a mad obsession. He decompensated just as modern
  researchers have seen other serial killers do.  I remember at
  least five murders, with Danny becoming increasingly careless and
  sloppy about concealing evidence. The latter killings were random
  targets of opportunity, drunken re-enactments to relieve bloodlust.

  I don’t recall Danny’s end. Nor do I recall when or how it was that
  I left him.  Maybe he just grossed me out.  I don’t suppose
  he had the presence of mind to have me exorcised, but some African
  adept might have sensed my presence and released my soul.  Logic
  suggests that either the authorities, vigilante-style concerned
  citizens, his family or a resourceful intended victim eventually killed
  him, or he drank himself to death, fell off a pier or something. My
  soulmate Greyfox,
  the man who had been Danny, has never expressed an interest in
  undertaking an in-depth exploration of that life, and I would not ask
  him to undergo the regression sessions just to satisfy my
  curiosity.  He is aware of and comfortable with his inner madman.
  

  • 9:09 pm
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