Sunday, August 4, 2013

Through a Child’s Third Eye

When I was little I was playing in front of the TV while Grandma watched some WWII movie.  In it, there was mention of Chinese water torture.  I remember a man, with water dripping relentlessly on his forehead, his face in shadows of black and white, his face twisted in a portrayal of agony.

I couldn’t imagine how simple drops of water could be so painful.  The man wasn’t the Wicked Witch after all.

Later, in the bathtub, I lay back and dripped water from my washcloth onto that center spot on my forehead.  It tingled.  Tingled in a good way.  It felt lively, lovely, and made me feel a sense of well-being like having the back of my neck stroked.  It almost gave me goosebumps.  I guessed that if one dripped water on that spot for hours, it might make one crazy, but my experienced was a pleasant one.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned about chakras, those energy centers of the body, and specifically about the third eye.  The minute I read about the third eye, I remembered my little experiment in the bathtub.  My third eye was apparently open and sensitive even in early childhood.

This is one of those little clues that I have had my whole life that I was more than just a physical human being—that I was a greater being than my body.  But also that I seemed to know more than my peers.  I remember learning things in school and thinking, “I knew that” but couldn’t for the life of me understand how I had already learned it.   

When I was about seven, walking to school in the morning alone meant a half hour of imaginative mind-play.  I pretended I was all grown up and that I had children and we were walking together.  But I distinctly remember that my imaginary children did not seem real to me.  I knew they were imagined, creations from my own head.  I had no emotional attachment to them.  But I realized one morning that I was certain that I knew what it felt like to be a grownup.  I knew. Somehow, I must have been a grownup before—before I was little Kitty Anthony.

One afternoon, I asked my father about this.  I remember him clearly sitting in the gold vinyl recliner that had been recently purchased.  We were in the living room of Grandma’s house and he was reading a magazine. 

This conversation went something like this:

“Hmm, what?”
“I have a question.”
“Well, you’re created when you are born, right?”
“And when you die, you either go to Heaven or the other place down there, right.”
“Well, if that’s true, then how come I know what it feels like to be a grownup?  I mean, I feel like I know that I have been a grownup before.”
“What you’re talking about called reincarnation.”

I repeated the word and he explained to me what it meant and that some other religions believe we live over and over again.  He gave me a little paperback book titled We Have Lived Before:  The Enigma of Reincarnation, by Brad Steiger.  I was fascinated and frightened all at the same time—I read stories of memories of terrible deaths from Civil War soldiers, and the story of Bridey Murphy.  I didn’t remember dying, specifically, what I remembered was the sense of being alive and being someone/someplace else.  But I was afraid that if I explored further, I might uncover unpleasant memories. 

Still, it was the beginning of my work, my study and hundreds of books and a half century later, I am still learning and studying things of the spirit.

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