Excerpts from the paranormal and historical book
by Chantal Bellehumeur
Have you ever had a dream that is so vivid that it feels real; so real, that when you wake up from that dream you're confused about your surroundings and wonder what's going on? That happens to me a lot.
Shortly after being jolted awake and orienting myself, the dreams (more like nightmares most of the time) always start to feel like faint memories; not memories of the dreams themselves, but rather actual events of my own life.
Of course, deep down I know they can't be memories of my past despite how nostalgic or deeply emotional they make me feel.
I live in the year 2016, and the dreams I am referring to always happen in time periods when I wasn't even born yet.
Also, I noticed that the people in my dreams, including who I am, usually speak in Old English, using words and grammar I am not accustomed to. Plus, they have an accent that I am not used to hearing on a daily basis; a British accent. Being a Canadian citizen who has never travelled outside of my country, it's impossible that I would be remembering glimpses from a life in England unless it was part of something I once saw on television or imagined from reading or hearing something relevant.
That would seem like the most logical explanation.
I began to wonder though, could those dreams be memories of my past lives? It might seem ridiculous to most
people, but for those who believe in reincarnation such as myself the idea isn't that unrealistic.
What if my subconscious still remembers the different people I once was? What if yours did too?
For a while, I kept this theory to myself because I was afraid of what others might think of me.
I eventually consulted a psychology professor at my old university to get his opinion on the matter, and he recommended I try being hypnotized. I admitted to him that I didn't see what the relevance was, and he explained to me that I might be able to dig deeper into my subconscious; perhaps get more details about these possible past lives.
At first I wasn't too keen on the idea of being hypnotized, but curiosity got the better part of me and I scheduled a session with a professional hypnotist and psychologist who was recommended to me by the trusted university professor.
I was amazed with the results!
During my first session, I was asked to choose a single timeline and to concentrate on it. Under hypnosis, I was able to put some sense into those blocks of dreams and eventually put all the pieces together to know the full story; my story.
It was both exciting and creepy at the same time, and I chose to continue my recorded sessions.
I typed up a lot of notes while replaying copies of the many recordings which I later used to write short memoirs.
London (capital of England since 1265)
In my first life, or at least the first one I remember, I was born into a very wealthy family.
My father was a marquis, and my mother a marquise.
We lived in a stone castle on a large piece of land granted to us by King Henry the sixth. In return, it was expected of my father to provide soldiers for the king to fight his battles. That was never a problem and they would gather in our place of arms for meetings when necessary.
As baptized Christians, we had an obligation to God as well so we devoted our Sunday mornings and other holy days to doing prayers inside our chapel after religious ceremonies. During those times, I had to wear my praying veil like all the other women of the household.
There were many other rooms within our castle, some of which were empty. Those that were in use were lit by candles when it got dark.
We had a kitchen where the food was prepared by our cook; the open room was attached to our dining area. We also had a pantry to store food and a larder to keep things cold. Beer was served to lower household members in our buttery. The beer and wine cellars were located right below this room.
Below the castle was also the undercroft where things were stored.
There was a solar which was used as a private sitting area, a boudoir for my mother, and a cabinet for my father.
Although bathing was considered unholy, we did so about three times a year anyways. During the colder months, we bathed in a wooden tub within our bathroom. The water was usually cold. In the summer, when the transportable tub was placed outside and covered by a canopy for privacy, the sunlight slightly heated the water. The rare times we bathed, we all used the same bathwater one after the other.
Our toilet, a simple circular hole on a long plank of wood, was located in the garderobe. Anything that went down that hole conveniently ended up in a trench outside the castle walls.
We also had chamber pots by our bedsides for urinating, and our servants emptied their contents into the toilet.
My parents' bedchamber, located near the great hall, had a large bed with curtains all around it to keep drafts out.
I too slept in a bed surrounded by curtains, but shared my chamber with my three younger sisters as well as our nurse. My brothers had their separate chamber, but those that did not die of some sickness or another before reaching the age
of seven became pages. At least, that's what I was told. I don't think I ever actually met any of my older brothers.
In the centre of our castle was the great hall of which I spoke of earlier. It was decorated with beautiful wool tapestries and painted linen. Each large window was covered with painted panes of glass.
At the centre of the hall close to the stone fireplace, there was a large wooden table which had two long wooden benches on each side. Although chairs were rare because of how expensive they were, both my parents had one at each table end.
On special occasions, they held feasts and requested that wooden platforms be placed under their chairs so that they could look down on everyone including myself, my sisters, and my brothers.
Feast or no feast, we always ate quite well. Beef, mutton, pork, deer, swans, herons, ducks, blackbirds or pigeons
were prepared for us by our cooks. Some of the animals had been hunted by my father while the others came from our farm.
On Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, we were not allowed to eat meat since the church had declared those three days as fast days. We had a pond in our yard, so on those days we simply ate fresh fish.
We always said grace before eating, thanking the Lord for our food.
There were usually musicians present during dinner and supper to entertain us while we ate. I loved hearing the sounds of the various woodwinds and keyboards being played.
Breakfast was always eaten in private.
We used trenchers, stale slices of bread, to eat. When we were done with them they were given to the poor.
Most of our waking time was spent in the great hall, or outdoors near the flower gardens maintained by one of our gardeners. Playing cards during this free time was most popular, although we didn't usually all play together.
We had several servants taking care of us and our home. They slept on the floors of the castle towers.
About a hundred peasants lived in wooden huts on our land and either gave my father a portion of what they farmed, or paid him taxes.
I did the mistake of falling in love with one of those peasants at the age of thirteen.
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