Past-life influences

When a little grandson struggled, while seated on his mother’s hip, to reach me each time I visited my daughter, and then hung on to me, I felt that this baby knew me. He had to be the son my wife and I lost 30 years before. My wife had a similar feeling.

Then I met a 6-month old baby relative who seemed to be angry or unhappy for no reason. He was supported by loving family and other relatives. At 3 years, he was still unco-operative and grumpy. By 7, he was a normal happy child. I surmised that a past life had bothered him severely initially.

Reliable research shows that some young children, all over the world, do remember their most recent past life; and that, by about 7 years of age, that memory is totally lost. I have seen videos of young children, clearly under 7, playing with great skill the piano, or the drums, or ‘conducting’ a musical program (in one instance playing with an orchestra). Only inbuilt soul-memories of past-life skills could explain such proficiency, but without the child being necessarily conscious of anything unusual.

Yet, I have had a frightening psychic ‘flashback’ of being buried alive. It was a very real experience, which took me about 3 days to overcome; I was way over 60 years old then! My then attempt to delve into my past lives, through auto-hypnosis, produced scenes involving red sand, again and again.

My urge, when facing overt discrimination, to wield a scimitar, has implications; perhaps of a deliverer of steely justice in another life. Yet, I have never seen a scimitar, but do feel an attraction. My wife noted that, asking why. Perhaps it is a past-life memory, I responded.

As well, when I was sketching designs for fabric painting, my initial designs replicated the shape of the beautiful mosques of Central Asia. So I discovered many years later. Perhaps this is why, in spite of being a Ceylonese, I was born amongst a tolerant Muslim people, the Malays.

Then there was an English fellow-migrant. She and I became blood-brother and sister soon after we met; there was a strong bond between us, discernible to others. Another psychic flashback showed that we had been twin brothers; our skin colour was white. We supported each other psychologically through turbulent lives, although separated by oceans for much of the time.

A local psychic healer, assisted by her Spirit Healer, told me about a couple of my past lives. Her intention was to alleviate physical pains reflecting past-life trauma. She was successful.

Another clairvoyant told me recently that she could see me in my scimitar-wielding past life. This view coincided with my earlier views of Central Asia. Was she reading my mind? Or, do clairvoyants, with assistance from the spirit realm, see scenes of relevance to the client?

In any event, since past-life memories are no doubt attached to one’s soul, could they not occasionally seep into one’s conscious mind or unconsciously affect one’s thoughts? Am I not my soul? With an accumulation of memories from many Earthly lives?

 

 

Relating to our Creator

Growing up in a devout Hindu immigrant family, I attended a Pilleyar (Ganesha) temple with my family frequently. We also prayed each evening before dinner, in our curtained prayer space, to the deities of relevance to us.

I was taught that the deities we prayed to were manifestations of the one and only God of mankind, who is unknowable, omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent; and who (hopefully) may intervene in our lives at crucial times. Hence the prayers and (as I see it) the appeasements through rituals. We lived our faith, while we reached out to our Creator. I do not remember being taught to blame God for any mishap in our lives.

As we survived in a territory away from our homeland, we were surrounded by significant numbers of diverse mainly-immigrant ethno-cultural populations. Both host people (Muslim Malays) and immigrants from a variety of Asian lands co-existed harmoniously, accepting that we were on different paths, but with the same objective, to the same end. Only white Christian missionaries, collecting souls for Christ, introduced some dissonance.

Yet, the diverse Christian sects within our tribal community were integrated with the rest of us. That is, both within and beyond our people, there was mutual respect, while the families socialised. Faith in God, expressed through a range of religious beliefs, sustained us.

The reality of Earthly existence is that, in most parts of the world (including the UA), life is hard, if not precarious, for the bulk of us. Most of us need a belief in available cosmic succour. We need to pray in hope that hardship can be minimised, if not avoided. We need to pray when things go wrong in our lives. We will pray while we are being submerged by forces beyond control or amelioration. What else can we do?

Disasters are a fact of life, and a test of faith. Can mankind survive without faith? The well-fed may feel so. Church attendances in Australia so suggest.

On this rocky orb spinning through space, accompanied by fellow space objects small and horrendously huge, and flooded and flushed by cosmic radiation, … … …

‘Generations of lost children’

How is it that, in a modern civilised nation, so many children are in need of protection from harm? A news report in the Sydney Morning Herald of 17 March 2017 points out that, in the State of New South Wales, “Almost 200,000 reports relating to 278,521 children were made to the FACS (Department of Family and Community Services) helpline in 2015-16. Only 30% of children assessed as being at risk of significant harm received a face-to-face visit from a caseworker. There are about 20,000 children in out-of-home care … …”

The harm to which the children are exposed range from negligence, to emotional violence, to physical violence, to sexual abuse. How terrible!

What does this say about the morality of the parents, the coherence of family, and the future of society itself? The financial cost to the taxpayer of this program is $1.9 billion annually.

What about the emotional damage to the children? Will more money and caseworkers change the behaviour of those responsible for inflicting this harm? Are penalties applied? What is meant by preventative policies? Would de-sexing the proven guilty be of any value?

What effective policies are available to change the attitudes and behaviours of those who harm children?

Who cares for the psychological needs of children?

The ethos of individualism of nations such as Australia may have leached into rights-filled communities, aiding those who are inclined to be whingers. The following story is, I believe, an indication of the partial deterioration of society in modern Australia.

I had a neighbour who established 5 businesses locally. He managed one, and his wife managed another. One day he found himself locked out of his home; and his wife walked away from the business she was managing (so he said to me) . This left him with a huge debt, resulting in him sleeping in his car for a few months.

He was fortunate, I thought, that his wife had not taken out an Apprehended Violence Order against him. That seems to be the practice when a wife chooses to be vindictive. There may, of course, be situations warranting such an order. When one of these is delivered at a man’s work, the damage to his reputation can only be guessed at. A magistrate in Australia’s national capital once wrote in that city’s newspaper that he would issue the order when requested; but he could not investigate the need for it.

My former neighbour went with the flow (so to speak), which enabled him to collect his children for a day’s outing each Sunday. One Sunday, I saw him sitting in his car, outside the family home, crying; the children were not allowed out. I knew the little children. I felt deeply sorry for them. They were the innocent sufferers, perhaps with only one of the parents morally responsible for their unhappiness.

The feminists would no doubt argue that the woman had the right to do what she did. Others might claim that it is better for the children to be denied the father in order to live without turmoil in the home. Why turmoil? Isn’t civilised behaviour appropriate and possible? Or, would that diminish certain adult wants, whatever they might be?

Two serious questions arise: Why not separate sexual freedom from family responsibility? Does the lifestyle wants of an adult always over-ride the psychological needs of children?

(Re-post from July 2013)

The fall of Singapore

Seventy-five years ago, the great British Empire abdicated its responsibility for protecting its colonial subjects in Malaya (which included the island of Singapore). At the age of 13, my boyhood ended. For almost 4 years, my family and I lived in semi-starvation, and some fear, under a Japanese military occupation.

The stress contributed to the premature death of my father (at 47); my 3 uncles also experienced early death. For most of that Occupation, I lived a lonely unhappy life, away from my family.

Our colonial masters took a hiding from ”short, squinty barbarians” (words allegedly uttered by the English). For weeks, 11 children aged 13 to 2, and their young mothers, watched from a rubber estate as British military trucks rolled south in an unending stream. The little ones used to wave to the troops – who naturally waved back.

I was old enough to wonder why the British were rushing to Singapore. All that the Japanese had to do, I thought, was to cut off the water supply from the mainland. I did not know that the intention of the fast withdrawal was to escape by sea. Some did. Most reportedly did not.

The Japanese were clever. Just as they had landed on the north-east coast of Malaya without significant challenge, by moving through mangrove swamps, they had invaded Singapore by bypassing the causeway. As well, while they chased the British (and Australian?) troops down the highway on the west coast of Malaya, the latter would reportedly arrive at some road junctions only to find a few Japanese waiting for them. Presumably, these Japanese had cycled their way through the rubber estates adjoining the trunk road.

When 2 large British warships were sunk off the east coast, we knew that the British were finished. We were then not to know that Japan would, single-handedly, effectively end the colonial rule of most of Asia by the French, Dutch, and British. When the Europeans reluctantly left during the post-war period, they presumably expressed regret that they had not had the time to teach the ‘natives’ how to govern themselves. Quaintly, the last Governor of Hong Kong has been quoted as actually saying something to that effect – after 99 years of control.

Read ‘Singapore Burning’ by Colin Smith for an interesting portrayal of the way the mighty fell; and some strange behaviour by the rubber barons.

My own experiences and observations are set out in depth in my memoir ‘The Dance of Destiny’. Extracts will be published as posts on this site, to be copied to Facebook and to my book pages on amazon.com.

EARLY MEMORIES: A smorgasbord of characters (2)

On board a small ship travelling from Singapore to Fremantle, my second-class fellow-passengers included ex-servicemen from 3 nations. The oldest was an Australian, one of the British Commonwealth Occupation Forces sent to Japan after its surrender. He had remained in Japan after the withdrawal of these Forces because he had married a Japanese woman. As he was not allowed to take his wife back with him, he stayed – working on the family farm.

One of his stories was how the locals came to admire his chest of greying hairs when he worked shirt-less. He was a big man. Since a number of Japanese wives had settled successfully in Australia (indeed, reportedly they had been readily accepted), the Aussie was returning home to plead his case. We wished him success.

He confirmed to me what I had read earlier; that some Aussie troops, on arrival in Japan with the BCOF, had raped women and otherwise attacked other civilians. They, reportedly, saw themselves as retaliating for the deaths in battle of their relatives!

Two of my fellow-passengers were ex-National Servicemen from France. They had fought in the war of independence in Algeria; and had not liked being shot at. They were of my age, and looking forward to a peaceful life (as I was) in Australia. They were terribly jealous of the Englishman, also of comparable vintage; and were not amused at his claim that Malay women are more attractive than white women.

The Englishman, also an ex-National Serviceman, had been based in Malaya. He had not fought anyone, in spite of the attrition provided by communist Chinese terrorists. Subsequently, it was (General?) Templar who had driven these communists out of Malaya (to Thailand?).

What irked the Frenchmen was that the Englishman had been allowed to spend each night with his Malay girl friend in the adjacent kampong; provided he hopped back over the fence in time in the morning. Naturally, he left the Malay girl behind, then claimed that he missed her. However, by the time we reached Fremantle, he was changing his mind about white women. He may have been just a randy youth.

What I saw of the British troops guarding the train that my Aussie wife and I were on, going north from Singapore, was not encouraging. By about 10 pm, some of the soldiers were clearly drunk, and staggering about. That was in spite of the reality that, a week or so before, the communists had blown up the main track. While our train was apparently protected by some sort of vehicle preceding it, we wondered what would happen were the communists to shoot at the train after it had been stopped.

It was time for the British to protect their own troops by sending them home. They were notable characters in their own right.

‘A cocoon for contemplation’

As I sit at my window, embraced by in the morning sun, I lethargically ponder the question of existence. I do this as I, with calm joy, view the sea just down the road. The almost-daily sun and the ever-present sea combine to create a contemplative mode of feeling and thinking. Even when the sky is overcast, and the sea is rough, when the white caps become the lashing tail-ends of thunderous seas, and the horizon blends into both sky and sea in a grey-blue misty blur, my mood remains contemplative. How else could it be when the mystery of existence can be examined safely in this cocoon of comfort.

Nature, in all its and ever-changing forms, reflects the influence of its creator. I, also reflecting the influence of that same creator, am therefore in vibrant harmony with nature.

I do, however, accept that it was only when I moved, in retirement, to the Eurobodalla coast, that I could so freely and continuously identify with both nature and our shared Creator. This is a strange feeling. I am simultaneously in tune with the here-and-now, the material world, and the where-is-it world of spirituality. This is, however, not surprising as materiality is only a product of spirituality.

Hence, my small, cheap, fibro-and-tin home, flanked (but at a little distance) by beach, by beach, by beach, well off the traffic flow of the highway, and equally well off the preferred routes of pedestrians and vehicular traffic, is quiet – and therefore peaceful. The only sounds I hear are the waves and the birds; but these can be sporadic. The waves talk to me through the roar of a raging sea at the south-eastern and, often apparently simultaneously, the north-western fronts. The birds who use my many trees as park benches and who feed off the flowers produced by my extensive shrubbery, mind their own business – unless I venture too close to them.

Then, they shout at me to go away, and warn their friends about the interloper. How cheeky! The exception is the chatty and beautiful rainbow lorikeet, which is really very sociable. Occasionally, when I am able to strike the correct tonal note in a whistle emulating the call of the lorikeets to their friends, their chatter will cease, whilst the birds seek the stranger. The magpies too accept me, They allow me to share one of their many foraging stations, which happens to be my back yard. My bird bath needs filling daily; I must be surrounded by the cleanest birds in the district.

All the other varieties of bird life, whose names I do not know (because they do not want to be introduced to me), join with the lorikeets and magpies in using a young native frangipani tree near the bird bath as a slippery slide. This has stunted the tree, but I cannot in my heart remove it.

Embedded in this cocoon of nature, either peacefully quiescent or robustly and rapturously vital, I am able to seek that which was taught to me as a youth – that, near the end of one’s life, when one has completed one’s major familial obligations, one might withdraw from the hurly-burly of life, and to meditate; and to seek to understand the meaning of existence. This is not to ignore any residual obligations – whether inherited, imposed or chosen – in relation to matters horticultural, sporting or social. Does it not make sense to prepare for, or to anticipate, what might be on the Other Side of Earthly Existence; and to atone spiritually for those of one’s sins for which forgiveness is available?

Looking back over my life, I know that I did not choose to move to my little home in this delightful place near the sea. I know that, whilst I was attracted to this particular locality, I did not like the house which somehow I subsequently bought! I therefore know that I was sent here – to give and to learn. To give is to serve one’s community as a volunteer. To learn requires a contemplative life.

For a contemplative life, one’s home might desirably be like a cave, albeit a comfortable one. So, as my soul is refreshed daily by what I see, hear, feel, and absorb from my ‘cave’, I reach out to my Creator, the cause of all things material and spiritual. My home at the Eurobodalla coast is where the heart remains healthy, and the soul (which is said to be located in the heart) searches the Cosmos.

(This essay was written as a message for my family and my few friends – Raja Arasa Ratnam.)