–Some of the following account is disturbing.–
I am not certain yet of the details of this particular life, but sense it might have taken place in somewhere in Africa sometime a few centuries ago.
My first memory of this lifetime happened when I was two. I had climbed up onto the counter at my grandparents’ house and dug around in the medicine cabinet (where the chewable fruit vitamins were) and ate some blood thinner pills instead. My grandma found me, and then…
She was wearing a long yellow dress. She carried me in her arms (although I didn’t see either of our bodies) through a field of golden grasses. We approached a thatched hut surrounded by nothing but this field, and she placed me on a cot inside. An African man (I couldn’t describe the dress, but I think he had very few garments on that I could see) was there and he leaned over to give me something. That was all I remembered.
What actually happened (I found this out years later) was that my grandmother found me, called the hospital, and was advised I be taken in just to be sure. I was driven to the hospital and given ipecac. To this day, being carried to the African hut is my only memory of that event.
At the age of 7, I woke up one day with an agonizing pain in my foot. The best way to describe it is that it felt like gout (so painful even a sheet was too much pressure), although it was across the whole bottom of my foot rather than just my toe or some other localized area. I stayed home from school that day and my mom massaged it, thinking it was a muscular pain. It didn’t exactly feel like a muscular pain, or even pain in the skin. It just hurt and I was not able to walk on it. The next day, it was gone, just as mysteriously as it had come.
At the age of 22, I had had a very upsetting dream. In the dream, I was the current me watching a news special on TV. A reporter was in Africa doing a report on a woman and her living situation. The woman was in a hut with her husband and two young boys. It was nighttime and the boys were crying. The woman’s foot was grotesquely infected and there were rats scurrying all over trying to eat at the dying flesh. After that, I woke up with a sickening feeling. The woman in the “report” was me.
The impression I got later was that she had wounded her foot somehow but was unable to keep off of it as she had to keep working and living. She was never able to properly clean or take care of the wound. In meditation, I learned that my memory of being carried to the hut was to have that foot removed. I believe I died a few years after that of something unrelated.
In my current life, I have always had a lot of concern about my feet. I suffer from OCD (not itself related to my Africa lifetime) and it revolves in large part around my feet. I clean and sanitize them constantly; I never allow my bare feet to touch “dirty” surfaces unless I am able to wash them soon after; I am obsessive about keeping shoes off of my carpet and keeping my bathmats clean; and so on. On the plus side, I take very good care of my injuries! Clearly I am still in need of deep healing from this past experience, as it is one of the more prominent lives in my conscious memory.
I have had small partial memories of more positive experiences that may be from this lifetime as well. As always, I will post the memories as they become more clear to me.
(The above photo was taken at San Diego Zoo Safari Park, as I haven’t been to Africa in this lifetime.)