1-10 1951-1960 Janet Kira Lessin Ocean Overbeck Thompson (Paternal Grandmother) Reincarnation William Henry Thompson (Paternal Grandfather)

My Grandparents Take Me to the Masonic Lodge

Sometimes memories are sparked by something someone else says. Suddenly you’re thrust back in time to a thought long forgotten. Details not thought about for decades flood your conscious mind. You find yourself wondering why you’re thinking such thoughts?  You struggle to find the catalyst that propels you down this particular section of memory lane.

My memories are often stacked one inside another like Russian dolls.  I activate one series and find myself leading to another series of dolls that now unpack themselves. I also experience “gateway memories,” also known as “screen memories,” which trigger other thoughts and act as catalysts.  When and if you encounter such triggers, and if you’re brave enough to explore them, you are gifted with an avalanche of memories that reveal much about your life and the hidden world long repressed and packed away into the subconscious mind.

I’ve learned to bless these thoughts and ask facilitation to journey down long lost roads.  Yes, sometimes you encounter difficult times and wonder if that was wise to go down that road and remember that thought?  But if you explore with a good heart and realize the gains outweigh the risks, you free yourself from subconscious thoughts that rule and govern your actions anyway.  Once uncovered and processed, you’ve peeled yet another level of the onion, and you set yourself free to continue life’s adventure.

I remembered seeing photos of grandma and grandpa who frequently took me to North Park in Pittsburgh to feed the ducks, geese, and swans.  When I looked at a photo of my grandparents and me feeding birds at the park in all kinds of weather over all the seasons, I realized there was more to those incidents. Luckily I married my hypnotherapist, so I requested a regression session. I’m easily hypnotized and remain conscious. I put my conscious mind on a shelf above my right shoulder so I can look slightly down and witness events unfold almost as if I had entered a time machine and gone back to that day and time in person. I often see everything in a panoramic fashion and can zoom in and out till I see the sweat on someone’s brow or zoom out to get a wider perspective.

After my husband gave me the suggestions to relax and press the number that represented the age I was at the time of the critical incident I wished to explore, I found myself going to the ground floor.  I pushed the button to go to the level underneath floor number one, which represented my first birthday as what I wanted to remember was what happened when I was about one month old.

The memory unfolded with a knock on the front door, and I looked out to see my grandmother and grandfather bundled up from head to toe as it was snowing, cold, and the dead of winter. Grandma wore a headscarf, a babushka.  Grandpa had his hat on and a long, dark woolen coat that went past his knees. They both had boots on.  As the observer looking back on this incident, I wonder why they risked taking a newborn infant out into the snow and cold?  Certainly, this could wait to another day when the weather was less hostile?

My mother surrendered me as if this was normal. I could smell her apprehension, her tension palpable.  She didn’t want to do this. She was afraid, and her motherly instincts were shouting “NO” while she knew she must obey as to do otherwise was not possible.

I, a helpless babe, could do nothing but go along for the ride.  My grandmother held me in her arms. In those days, people did not have car seats.  I felt grandma’s love for me. She was protective, like my mother.

We drove a long distance across town to a large older building. Grandma carried me and was not permitted to go past a waiting room on the left before a long hall.  Grandpa nervously grabbed me and struggled to balance me in his arms as he was uncomfortable holding infants. He had, in fact before that moment had never held me. I wanted to cry but even as a newborn somehow knew that would not be appropriate.  While though I was an infant, but my thoughts were those of an ancient seer.  As we walked down the hall, we passed by dark wooden doorways and doors, tall ceilings, dark wooden floors with antique oriental rugs and furniture.  We entered a room that was large and very similar to the picture below.

Grandpa was called “Pop” by his six sons.  They practically saluted when Pop entered the room.   The men around the table responded like my father and uncles. When he entered the room, the men remained seated.  But all eyes were on Pop as he maneuvered around to the head of the table on the far side.  As he passed them, one by one they suddenly sat up straight as if they had been shocked by electricity.  The smell of sweat, a stench created by fear tickled my nostrils. A normal baby would have been screaming by now.  But I, my eternal self was present, and I was in total control of my infant self.   

I never called Grandpa Pop.  I made him grandpa to humanize him as I never felt comfortable being alone with him, which thankfully I don’t believe I ever was after this incident where he was only alone with me for a short trip down the hall to and from the conference room. There was only one seat at the far end of the table, and it was higher and more elaborate than all the others, fit for a king.

Grandpa gently laid me down in front of him on the table. At first, I lay there like an infant. I was overdressed for the room, starting to feel a bit hot. What happened next was not normal or natural for a human baby.  But I was neither human nor a baby.

When I stood, my blanket fell to my side, my diaper fell off, and my baby gown was long enough to cover me down past my toes.  I shapeshifted and morphed and somehow somewhat gracefully managed to stand up, find my legs and stabilized myself.  I had never stood before in my human avatar.  I now looked not like a baby, but rather like a perfectly formed young woman. Less than two feet tall, my body, possessed by my higher, eternal self, took a deep breath and prepared to address my audience.  I, my wise self, knew exactly where I was and why.  I knew what I was in for and I responded as if I had been preparing for this moment for lifetimes.

During my hypnosis session where I recovered most of my thoughts, I could not bring through the entire message.  A higher self telepathic voice told me it was not yet time.  The more I struggled to recall what I said on that historical moment almost 67 years ago, the louder a voice that seemed to come from my subconscious or superconscious said, then shouted, “It’s not time yet for you to know.”  I feel that while these men feared me, I was to be kind and compassionate towards them.

While I don’t recall the exact words, I feel that I was telling them that the time for them to control and dominate their world was at its end.  Men rule this planet, dominate all aspects of this world. Our planet is left in disarray for all it out of balance. Masculine and feminine, inner and outer are equal and must return to balance, or we, the human race, face destruction of the entire system.

Right now, as we end 2019 and soon begin 2020, the world is in crisis.  I was there to warn those men of high regard and great power as to what was to come. Yet men still to this day, do not heed the warnings of the Goddess.  Mary frequently comes to explain and warn the world, and foolish men do not heed her warning. We as a species need to restore balance between the Divine Feminine and Masculine.

Author’s note: I’ve been writing this book for years now, and every time I look at my history, the history of this planet (as we know it gathered by our individual perspectives and information we digest), and the perceived realities I must deal with, I feel overwhelmed with emotions. Some I cannot define, only notice that I hesitate and procrastinate. I judge myself based on the perceived judgments that you, the reader may impose upon my story. Yet in the end, I must tell it and let it stand for what it is. For if I do not, the story will never emerge from my conscious, subconscious and super-conscious selves. It will never be told.

But tell it I must. For my story is our story is the human story is the story of existence since the dawn of time. But, there is no time. So since the beginning. But even using beginning implies there’s an end and implies time exists. I am lost, stuck in a quandary.

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