Old Habits Die Hard

Spiritual Humour

(Here it is interesting to note that years later I read how in medieval times the glass used in gothic churches and cathedrals had a particular luminosity, which cannot be reproduced today. It had the capacity to filter out harmful ultra-violet rays and even in poor lighting conditions it managed to retain a clear radiance. Modern glassmakers have tried to recreate this phenomenon and failed, somehow the secret has been lost.)
        After a while I projected forward in this monastic lifetime, to when I was in my mid-fifties. I was in the main body of the church. I realised I wasn�t alone. Someone was hiding behind one of the stone pillars, almost afraid to show himself, as if he might get into trouble for being there. I asked this person to come forward. A young face with a cheeky grin peered around a column and smiled. A spark of recognition ran through my mind. I knew that this was a young novice that I had taken under my wing and we had become close friends, almost like a father and son relationship.
        Since doing the regression I have also seen him in meditations. He normally appears suddenly, does something funny or rude, that makes me laugh, and then disappears.
        Last year I interviewed the talented psychic artist Patrick Gamble and he agreed to paint one of my spirit guides. Although we had spoken at length before hand, I had not told Patrick anything about my beliefs; in fact he was adamant that I should not talk about myself lest it should influence what he was to paint. After an hour of being in trance and painting frantically, Patrick finally turned the picture around to show me. It was my monk, exactly as I knew him, and had seen him on numerous occasions. It was incredible to be looking at a face that I had seen in my head hundreds of times. How can somebody paint an exact likeness of what you have seen in your mind?
        His portrait now hangs proudly on the wall amongst the pictures of various Grannies, Granddads and kids, definitely one of the family. Some habits obviously last a lifetime� or two�or three.

For Spiritual Writer Nick Richardson delving into a past life proved to be a case of hair today � gone tomorrow

I'll let you into a secret; I�m a baldie! A slap head! As my kids tell me, �Dad, you�ve got a hole in your hair.� It�s so bad the top of my head resembles a poorly made crop-circle. As the years have slipped by, I�ve resigned myself to the fact that I�m beginning to look more like Gandhi than Gandalf.
I know why it�s gone. It�s a throw back to a former life I had as a monk in France. Why couldn�t I have had a more glamorous carry-over? - A scar down my face, given to me by a swarthy pirate, or teeth marks from wrestling lions when I was a gladiator. I�d have even settled for webbed feet after a life in Atlantis. But no, not me, I end up with a terrible monk�s hairdo. You could call it a case of tonsure-itis. (Can my jokes get any worse?) In fact my hairstyle could be classed as a �comb-over� from a former life. (Of course they can!) Still, I suppose it might have been worse. I could have been an Egyptian eunuch�
In my current life I am partially colour-blind. Yet this was far from the case in my monastic existence. Under hypnotic regression I revisited this past life.

The first thing I was aware of was my sandaled feet, and I could feel the cloth of my rough habit against my skin. The clarity of my surroundings was tangible - a large empty monastic room, with very little adornment. At one end was a huge stained glass window that I would sit in front of. As the light shone through the multi paned panels, it would refract into vivid hues of brightness.
As an older man, I had gained knowledge of how to become the separate shades. I could meld my consciousness into each individual shaft of illumination, mixing my energy with that of each colour. I could change my vibrational frequency to become each separate particle of light.