Klaus wasn’t a monster.”
“He wasn’t a monster this lifetime?” I asked, echoing her words.
“Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, he was a good man,” she said emphatically. “Well,” she said, giving it a second thought, “he was a hard man. He was a stubborn man.” Then her face broke into a smile again, “But he was a good man, and he loved me, and he provided for me. He is saying that he will be waiting for me. On the other side, you know,” she said clarifying. “Klaus died just last year from prostate cancer.”
“I am so sorry,” I said softly. “How wonderful to know that his spirit lives on and that he loves you still.”
But suddenly Greta’s joyous reunion was transformed as she faced yet another goodbye.
“But Klaus,” she said to him, beginning to blubber, “Klaus, how will I go on without you. What will I do? What is my purpose?”
Tears were streaming down her face. I knew this was a pivotal moment, but one completely out of my control. The ball was in Klaus’ court. I could only hope he had a ready answer. I never would’ve guessed what came next.
Greta broke out into a fit of laughter.
She continue to guffaw and giggle for several minutes. For a moment it seemed like she might never stop laughing, and I found myself chuckling right along with her, though I had no idea what was so funny.
“Oh, that Klaus! He was such a kidder, what a kidder he was,” she said, barely able to catch her breath. “Prince Albert and Schotzie,” she said aloud, as though that would make perfect sense to me.
“I’m sorry . . . Prince Albert and Schotzie? I asked.
“Yah, Prince Albert and Schotzie,” she said, this time emphatically.
My face screwed up in confusion, even though she couldn’t see me.
“They are our two dachshunds! He says, ‘Who would take care of Prince Albert and Schotzie if something happened to my Greta?’ Oh, he is laughing too. He is such a kidder, but I understand what he means. I still have to look after the dogs. There are, of course, my children and grandchildren. Although they live far away, I still have lessons at the earth school, he says.” She giggled. Then her demeanor changed, her face becoming utterly serious. “Again, he says he will wait for me.” She paused, and I sensed a moment passing between them, a communication beyond words. It was quiet. And then, her voice a whisper, she offered her beloved Klaus a tender farewell.
“I will see you soon, my love.”
A tiny, final tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
Apropos of nothing, I suddenly felt two thumps on my back, like I was being hit by a rubber mallet the size of a small skillet. I was temporarily distracted, but refocused, resolute that I would count Greta out of hypnosis, this time actually getting the numbers in the right sequence. After a few minutes, she got her bearings, opened her eyes, and smiled at me.
“I feel better,” she said. “It’s done now. You know, most Americans don’t realize how much shame and regret the German people still carry for the Nazi atrocities, even now. When Klaus and I were married in our current life, I could see that we carried that regret but for different reasons. Now, I know that I had a deep empathy for the German Jews, because I was one in my last lifetime, and Klaus felt some regret, because he had been a Nazi officer, although I can assure you in this lifetime, he was a kind, loving, and just man.” She paused, putting it all together. “He made different choices this life,” she added with a smile of admiration.
Greta and I spent a few more minutes talking about the experience, and finally I had a sense that it was time to wrap up, but I had to ask a last question. “If Klaus liked someone—say, a male friend—how would he express that?” I asked.
Greta giggled. “Oh, Klaus never was—how do you say it in America?” She paused a moment with the quizzical look of a fifteen-year-old girl. “He wasn’t touchy-feely!” She laughed out loud. “He was not a hugger. But if he thought someone did a good job, he would clap them on the back. Usually a bit too hard, I think.”
I grinned at Greta, and suddenly felt a warmth rush to my chest. I think maybe Klaus gave me a couple of thumps of approval that day just to let me know that I did a pretty good job—for a rookie, anyway. Greta and I smiled at each other with knowing glints in our eyes. I wondered what kind of karmic connection Greta and I had that we might bring such a deep and profound experience to each other. Perhaps one day, as I float above Gregg’s body, those answers will be revealed.
THE MURDERER INSIDE HER
Natalie had awakened in the middle of the night with a profound sense of evil surrounding her. She felt like hell itself was burning in her belly as a rage like she had never before experienced went through her. The young mother wondered if she might be possessed. What if I hurt someone? She asked herself.
Natalie was just twenty-six years old, and her four-year-old son, Donny, was asleep just a few doors down the hall. In desperation, she prayed feverishly, repeatedly, hoping against hope that the feeling would dissipate, while her husband John slept blissfully unaware of the murderous rage that had erupted in his petite wife. Could this evil somehow spill over into the other room? She would spend the rest of the night unable to sleep, wrestling with this question.
Natalie, attractive and fit, dressed in the latest designer clothes, showed up in my office asking me for a past-life regression some two weeks later. Whenever someone comes in asking about a specific therapy, I usually ask why. I want to make sure that I am tailoring my approach to my client’s needs. If someone is having marital problems because they have poor listening skills, it seems a little silly to trot off into another lifetime to try and track down the problem.
Running her hands anxiously through her short red hair, Natalie told me about her encounter with the dark side. She said she had repeatedly seen and heard my name in her meditations in connection with a past-life regression. Although I was certainly open to the idea of Natalie being divinely guided, I wondered if this interest might be due more to the fact that Natalie’s cousin had seen me several years before for a past-life regression. My reputation wasn’t completely unknown to her, and I was concerned that she thought a regression would be a quick fix.
But Natalie began sessions twice a week; she was experiencing the frightening feelings almost every night. Sleeping pills helped, but often left her drowsy and exhausted all the next day. The cycle was beginning to take its toll on her. I taught Natalie some relaxation techniques and some ways to tame the anxiety tiger. I knew these were temporary fixes, but Natalie tried them and did get some relief. We had to dig in and get something done soon, but I was reticent to do a past-life regression until I knew more.
In one session, Natalie told me how she had “made a scene” at a Chinese restaurant. She had been having a plate of noodles with her son and her favorite aunt. The aunt playfully asked her son for a kiss, and he bashfully turned away. “Aw, c’mon Donny, give Auntie Billie a little kiss,” she pressured, as Donny tried to crawl under the table. Billie began making kissy noises and ducking her head under the booth to try and reach Donny when Natalie exploded. “Stop it! Stop it! He doesn’t want to be kissed! LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Her aunt froze—as did most of the diners within three or four tables. Natalie, realizing her overreaction,
