"He knew that the hour soon approached when he would be forced into mortal combat with his fellow crewmen…men who were under his command and would lose an arm for him if he needed would soon be made to fight him to the death.”
Gaff awoke groggily. The tiny enclosure in which he slept had been his home for more days than he cared to remember. His back ached as he turned to rest on all fours, the morning sun beating down upon him. His tattered clothing barely provided enough covering to block his warn skin from the blistering elements. As his eyesight slowly returned, he was met with the almost intolerable realization that he was not in his bed with his loving wife as he had dreamed, but trapped, on this beach, in a small cage. He was aligned beside a row of a number of other cages within which the crewmen of his small merchant vessel laid. They had been attacked by pirates some days prior, and the end seemed near — at least he had hoped.
A memory of a life lived as a sailor, fishermen, or pirate is not uncommon when working with past life regression. The life of a seaman was an unavoidable lot for many throughout history, as the economy of many nations relied on those brave voyagers who were to pull straight from the waters the gold upon which a society could thrive. This particular memory was accessed by a client who was suffering from some rather pernicious thoughts relating to knives and violence. Their name and gender will be withheld for purposes of confidentiality, but they have agreed to have their amazing journey told here — enjoy!
He met eyes with his starving, hopeless first mate, his best friend in the cage adjacent, and with an ineffable exchange, they both knew that the worst was coming. As he then scanned the landscape for movement, he was met with the image of the band of pirates rummaging through a pile of valuables lifted from the merchant vessel. Some laughed and danced as they found pieces that suited them and discarded the rest. A small number of the brigands still slept nearby, no doubt hungover from the debauchery around the campfire the night before. They were smelly, drunken, crude, despicable pigs, Gaff thought, as he shook his head, lowering his gaze to the sand beneath him, defeated and exhausted. He was almost certain that his foreboding fate was sealed. He knew that the hour soon approached when he would be forced into mortal combat with his fellow crewmen, men he sweat and bled with for so many years, men who were under his command and would lose an arm for him if he needed would soon be made to fight him to the death. The disgusting plunderers needed their lifeless bodies for fishing bait as the merchants were obviously too poor to be ransomed. And, the pirates’ chosen weapon for the duels? The knife…
As the day dragged on, Gaff listened as his captors laughed and drank, conversing very loudly and casting dispersions toward the unfortunate, imprisoned bunch. He began to doze as the empty feeling in his stomach no doubt indicated a severe level of dehydration and starvation. After what seemed like only a few moments, he was startled awake by the sound of his cage being opened violently, and with that, he was dragged out on to the beach, too weak to struggle. Two men dragged him while his first mate was simultaneously pulled from his diminutive dwelling. Their frail bodies were thrown into a wide pit, lined with driftwood; something of a crude dueling circle. Gaff’s blood turned ice cold as one knife was thrown into the center between the two lifelong friends.
They looked one another in the eyes as the freebooters yelled obnoxiously at them, commanding them to fight! Gaff’s comrade made the first move, diving for the knife and stabbing at his captain. Gaff was exhausted to the point of apathetic lethargy and took no evasive action as the dirty knife plunged into his chest. The weakened state of the stabber must have confounded his accuracy as the knife missed all vital organs, entering somewhere above his right lung. The pain of the ordeal did however caused Gaff to awake from his stupor, he raised his left arm and landed a sharp jab on his friend’s jaw, knocking him back and loosening his grip on the knife. In one swift movement, Gaff withdrew the knife from his own chest, leaped up with it raised high in the air and drove it down, squarely implanting it in his still-dazed friend’s torso as he lay supine on sand. The feeling of breaking bone and cartilage as it crashed through the sternum caused a sickness to rise in Gaff’s throat. A tear welled in his eye as he watched as his friend’s last breaths gurgle from his mouth. It was over.
The pirates burst into an uproar as Gaff sat dejected, inconsolable over the death of his friend — and by his own hand, no less. With tears in his eyes and with the last ounces of his withering strength, Gaff glanced down at the bloodied knife in his hand, up at the cheering pirates, back down at the knife, and watched himself plunge it deeply into his own heart. This last act of utter desperation was the only foreseeable choice which could possibly have quelled the horror of killing his own best friend. His brother, now dead, never to return, by his very own hand. Words couldn’t have described the pain.
My client laid in astonishment as they relived this horrible scene. After a brief moment of rumination, I led them through pointed hypnotic suggestion to the afterlife, to the bright light above which would guide them to the next phase of the journey. They learned rather quickly that the posthumous choice made by the spirit of Gaff was to never be comfortable around knives again; a fitting decision in the moment despite its obvious irrationality. Once I allowed my client to speak with Gaff on the etheric plane and persuade him to see how this decision has effected this version of himself far into the future, he agreed to retract the belief. Problem solved. Now that the belief had been erased, my client needed a resource to take away from the session; I knew just the direction to take them.
I suggested to them a new, more positive memory that could take the place of the original:
You awake in your cage on the beach at some point during another uncomfortable night. See yourself within the cage and feel within you brewing a hatred for these captors who sleep nearby. You look around outside your cage and notice something hard and sharp laying in the sand just within arms reach. You grab for this object, gripping it and pulling it in. Upon opening your fist you reveal a small palm shard, a sharp wooden fragment discarded from a nearby tree. Your first thought is inspired as you decide to try to pick the lock on your cage with this tiny tool. Success! The lock clicks and you shoulder open the rusty door, quietly rolling onto the sand outside. You are free at last!
You then awake your crew, unlocking their cages one by one. The surprised look in their eyes and the subsequent fire expressed by their actions shows you that you are not just freeing your friends from captivity but raising a small army bent on the destruction of the slumbering brigands. And, quietly you lead them to do just that. You steal their sabers and take no time to stab and chop with all the ferocity they inflicted upon you and your men, except this time returned ten-fold! Two pirates awake, startled and blubbering in some attempt to scramble to a defensive stance, but are quickly cut down by your ravenous, starving, bloodthirsty crewmen. The throat of the last man is cut and as his blood spills upon the sand, you and your men stand and cheer, weapons raised high and your collective exclamation higher. You and your men grab what you can, weapons, food, clothing, valuables and head for the surf, sweaty, hungry, and panting.
As your body submerges in cold waters, you quickly remember the feeling the sea gave you. The cathartic rejuvenation it offers washes over your body and you feel liberated and cleansed through and through. As you swim toward your vessel, still intact, the moon glistening off of its tall masts, you cannot help but grip tighter the saber in your hand, which had just saved your very life, changing the course of you and your mens’ personal histories from that moment forward.You crawl onto the ship, breathing deeply, ecstatic to be alive and once again aboard your beloved vessel. Take a moment and feel the adrenaline surging through your system. Now, have a look at that saber in your hand. Raise it high and see it shining brightly in the moonlight. The sea’s restorative salt waters have purged it of its previous nature. It is no longer a symbol of oppression, terror, and defilement. The waters have restored it and delivered it to a divine status — it is now your very own Sword Of Power!
Moving forward in your life in the present, remember the feeling and the image of holding this divine weapon in the air presented to you from on high! This amazing tool can now be used to vanquish evil and free your heart from the bondage of the fear of all blades; feel the fear becoming insignificant and withering away as you regain your power holding this weapon tightly. This Sword Of Power will remind you that you can use knives responsibly, you will feel calm and safe around all blades remembering that your unfortunate battle to the death was then and this is now. You are in a new age, a new life of peace and harmony, and whenever you feel a discomfort arise or see an injustice in the world, you will remember to grip your Sword Of Power tightly, feeling the surge of justice and bravery flow through you, sharpening your wits and aligning you with your authentic self. Be brave and move forward mightily…
Gaff became an amazing resource in the life of my client, guiding them thro