Going deep with an Akashic reading and “finding out” about my past lives

Old me would have said this is hocus-pocus nonsense.  New me says that this is so far out that it could very well be just that.  But you know, I love to poke around at the far corners of human experience, and this was certainly just such an adventure.

What is an akashic reading?  Well, akashic records are like a library, a store-room of the information of our past lives.  I will have already lost some of you.  No matter, the rest will join me on a far-out telling of what it is like to have such a reading.

I was curious to have as virgin an experience as possible, so gave her a false name, fake email, fake birth date…and didn’t tell her anything at all upfront.  This is okay, she didn’t ask.  But the first few things she said were eerie in their relevance, so I fessed up and we then really took off.

First off, she said, “you have existed with many names, other names, do you have an alias, or several aliases?  I am getting that you work under many different names.  Do you write under a pseudonym?  Is that what you are?  A writer?”

“I do write, but it isn’t how I make a living I deadpanned.”

“It is very confusing to me,” she said, “I am getting these signals, as if you are more than one person.  As if you have more than one identity.” I just listened to her.  She was in a kind of trance and I could see her eyes were fluttering and rolling back in her head a bit and she was “looking” off to the side, not at me.  “Costumes,” she said, “I see you wearing costumes.  As if your clothes keep changing to reflect different personas.”  Beyond weird.

She was right on it.  She kept going deeper.

“They are telling me you have always been like this.  You are a chameleon.  You have changed to suit your environment.  You were born this way.  Very loosely connected to your body.  As if you live in the spirit world more than the physical world.”

Indeed, one of my dearest friends once upon a time noted that I had such a diverse group of friends…that they were all separate from each other and didn’t mix, because they were not at all alike each other, but that I moved effortlessly back and forth between them.  She nicknamed me a chameleon for that reason, and that became the first tattoo with which I decorated my body, because it was true.  The need to blend in is a common thread in the world of being trans.  My lifelong desire to just be “normal”.  Thankfully I have concluded that this is a lost cause, and am celebrating the horde within.

“What I am hearing from your guides is the word transformation.  I see you moving at a very fast pace.  Changing.  You are changing like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon.”  You can’t make this stuff up!

At this point in the reading, I fessed up.  I told her my real name, told her I was trans, that I was born this way.  She took it in stride.

“Oh well, that all makes sense then.”  Right.  Then we moved on to “trauma”.

We talked about my parents for a while, but we came to a point where she said, “the issues you have had from your parents are resolved.  Right?  These aren’t standing in your way anymore.  You have outgrown them.”

“Probably right,” I said.

“I know it,” she said and then stared at me for a while.

We talked awhile about our existence as spirits, outside of sex, and the reality that everyone possesses both male and female.  No news or surprises there coming from a medium. 

“What brought you here?” she asked.  “How did you find me?  Was it a referral?”

“No.  I just found you randomly.  I had no idea what an akashic reading was either, so it wasn’t that which I had searched for.”

“Interesting.  So what was it?”

“Curiosity.”

“But you are looking for something.  What is the question on your mind?  Do you want me to ask it of the spirit world?”

And what followed was a conversation which I won’t repeat about a common theme on this blog—troubles with male energy, coming to being trans as much for not accepting myself as male as for the desire to be held in the space of femininity, rather than feeling that I am innately female.

She would stare at me from time to time, say my name and usually get it wrong, and I would correct her, she would say it right, then get it wrong again, her eyes would flutter, and then she would be back.  The silences were as intense as her disconnected words, but this time she went in and then said, “oh,” and then came out with tears in her eyes and gave me what felt like a disclaimer.

She talked to me as if speaking to a child.  “These readings are not always sweetness and light.  Sometimes we carry things from one life to another.  An unresolved thread.  The things I see are not just beautiful, but can be very ugly, very distressing.  I don’t have to say them, but once seen, they are seen.  Do you want me to say what I am seeing?”  And as she spoke those words she was drifting in and out of our conversation almost as if she was sleep-walking.

“You were a slave.”  When she said it, I felt a chill.  “Sometimes we bring into this life some behaviours and actions that reflect the joys or struggles of a past life.  I can see you as a slave in this life, but it isn’t because you want to be a slave, it is because you were a slave.”

And I was sitting there thinking about how a few years ago I suddenly had this deep need to submit, to be whipped, having never done such a thing before.  And the irony of finding myself dominated by a Nigerian woman who posed as a NY domme hit home even more deeply with her words.

“You were an African slave.  You were born in Africa.  You were a beautiful black man.  You were kept for breeding.  You were strong.  But you did something that made your owner very angry.  I see torture.  I see whipping.  I say a spike or a pole.  I see that you were whipped and tortured to death.”  When she came out she was looking at me with horror and pity in her eyes, and she was crying.

“Horrific,” she said.

I told her how weird that this was, that I was a slave in this life too, that I sought out the company of the dominatrix.  

“Your hate for men comes from your past life, not this one.  Have you ever felt that you didn’t understand why felt as if you were being punished for being a man?  This is why.  Anyone would hate those men and what they did to you.  Awful.  Horrific.  It is no wonder you don’t trust men.  Don’t wish to be one.  Cannot find the good in men.  And because you died this way, you have carried the thread into this life.”

Kinda wild.  

The night before I had dinner with a friend who said in a totally separate context, “you can’t believe everything these people tell you,” and she wasn’t telling me about me, but just speaking generally.  But her words were very much with me and still are.  I can’t wait to tell her about this reading.  We shall have a good laugh.

But just the same.

I have often wondered whether significant people in my life have been there before.  I once asked Ex-Mistress about this, but she was rather dismissive about it.  My bestie, on the other hand, said to me recently that she was sure that we have been friends over and over again through time, through many past lives.  “That is why you are so easy to be with,” she said.  

I do find myself mulling the necessity of slavery to my life, and why I am drawn to the lash even though I am not a masochist.  How this Akashic reader hit the nail on the head in this way, and on so many different levels, makes me give it more credence than I might otherwise do.  Ex-Mistress spoke eloquently on one of our first dates about the healing power of kink, and how so many people are drawn to it to master trauma or to gain control of their lives.

Is this another such indicator?

And what is weird is that even though I am temporarily (I hope) sexless, my kinky self is feeling a bit like how it feels when you are tired and just settle into a freshly made bed and snuggle into the comfort of familiar sheets.  You have come home.  I am kinky.  It is who I am.  

And now, this forever slave is humbly at the feet of his forever Queen.  Gently, gently.  Just here.  In service.  Always.