The past life snapshot of this life unfolded and overlapped in one great download of information. Typically, there is awaiting period of reflection in an earlier life, before moving right into another life. This is the life I referred to in NYC. I kept interpreting the messages incorrectly, mixing up Italy, with my life in NYC. They did overlap as I am learning from Thanes as I type this. This image does not show me, the mother, hanging wash between the buildings in Fiume, Italy. It does show my young son, who was about 18 months to 2 years old, playing in the sand between the buildings where I hung wash. We were immigrants to Italy from Germany to escape the turmoil of WWI, and found temporary solace between WWI and before WWII, in Italy’s reign of terror with Mussolini.
Meanwhile, Benito Mussolini an Italian political leader became the fascist dictator of Italy from 1925 to 1945, spreading terror and political unrest. We went from one war torn nation to another, with no rest in sight. Strategic aerial bombing of Italian cities occurred primarily during World War I (by Austro-Hungarian and German forces) World War I devastated Italy, leaving behind massive casualties, economic ruin, and deep political disillusionment. The heavy loss of life and the failure to secure all the territories promised by the Allies fueled widespread anger, creating the perfect conditions for the rise of Benito Mussolini's fascist dictatorship. Then the Battle of Monte Cassino took place from January to May 1944. It was a series of four offensives carried out by Allied troops in central Italy (who was a key ally of Germany) to break through the Winter Line and occupy Rome.
The toddler pictured was a soul presence that agreed to meet me in that lifetime, our 49th life together. We as souls meet like a cast of characters on the great stages of our lives. Many are just passing through; some are continuous characters in the remarkable stories and reincarnations of our lives. This soul whose name is PaOmx is one in which I am destined to meet in a 50th life during this lifetime.
Here we see a pleasant scene of maternal bliss, hanging wash, toddler playing in the sand, posies growing around the building, the calm before the storm. Then all hell breaks out with a storm of bombs dropping everywhere throughout the idyllic region. Italy in the 1920s was defined by a massive political upheaval that saw the country transition from a fragile liberal democracy into a totalitarian dictatorship under Benito Mussolini and the National Fascist Party. Following World War I, the multicultural, former Habsburg city of Fiume became the subject of an intense international dispute. In 1919, the Italian poet and ultra-nationalist Gabriele d'Annunzio led a rogue paramilitary force to occupy the city, defied the official Italian government and attempted to annex it. In November 1920, Italy and Yugoslavia signed the Treaty of Rapallo, declaring Fiume an independent state. When d'Annunzio refused to accept the treaty and declared war on Italy, the Royal Italian Navy acted.
The "Christmas of Blood" occurred at the end of December 1920, when Italian dreadnoughts (including the Andrea Doria) continuously shelled and bombed the city to force d'Annunzio's legionnaires to surrender. The devastating bombardment caused significant destruction to parts of the town before d'Annunzio finally resigned and the city capitulated on December 30. Fiume, Italy (now Rijeka, Croatia) took a blood bath sending the township, and the refugees of Germany, a woman, and her child to an early death.
The life of the two souls who took shelter in Fiume, Italy, me as the mother and my son, reincarnated next into two souls in 1921 NYC. PaOmx, or John Patrick Walker, was a honky tonk piano player, part time tap dancer in a dive bar. In that life, belonging is more important to him than loyalty to a friend, and this is John Patrick Walker’s mission to rise above for the rest of that life on earth. At the point of his death dear Guan, you meet me and take that among many others as your next life’s work. I will always be grateful for your intervention.
Our soul group joins me in this gratitude. I remember Hereon, (your son in your current life), running to the beat of the music in my head, what I just heard on the jukebox, “In the Mood.” Yes Guan, it still runs through your head at times as you remember your life as Sarah…Hereon, we are running and I am humming. You look incredulous since it is out of character for me. I am tapping away and singing. My name is John Patrick Walker, and I am a pale, tall, blond Irish American. My parents are still alive, and I love them very much, although we fight a lot and there is much distention between us. What I now must remember is that I lost my beloved wife Sarah and unborn child, five years prior to enlisting and it was my fault. My work or shall I say play, was more important to me than anything. I danced and played piano in a honky-tonk dive in the lower east side of Manhattan. I did everything wrong up to then as a husband.
When Sarah, my wife who was completely loyal to me to the end, died alone in a tenement room, I was nowhere around. She died of some kind of infection due to her pregnancy, and my son was still born in the bed with her when I got there. They lay there for hours alone. I would never forgive myself in that life. I went to my death thinking of my love for her, the love I had never shown her. Sarah was Italian and named for the city of her birth Serrano, Italy. I shortened her name to Sarah, to better fit into our Irish American neighborhood and to allow me to feel better about our place in the community.
Now in 1944 England, the bombing is growing closer as we run toward the airbase. We run directly into a shore patrol jeep, and they pick us up and take us to the base where we are debriefed. We are now in flight, and I see the planes coming at us, shooting at us as they protect their own bomber pilots. One of ours shoots back but finally we spin out and dump in the sea off the coast of England. We all parachute to safety but not you, my dear PaOmx; the crew never understood why you stayed with the plane.
While I could not bear to go back to a life that I created without Sarah, I did not mean to die; I did not want to lose my Lucky Lady. This plane was a symbol to me, to all I had left behind, and I thought I could ride her down. I see myself stuck in the cockpit, stuck in the clear nose of the plane. My consciousness rises quickly above me though, and I see myself struggle to breathe and then relax into unconsciousness. I am dead in that life, and they never find my body; I am missing in action. The background:
It was late in spring 1938 when I, John Walker walked into my apartment through a small hallway that opens into a combined sitting room and kitchenette. As I scan the small room, I see a reflection of myself in the hall mirror. I am wearing a jacket with an argyle pattern on the front, I’m tall, pale, thin and blonde, like any other Irish American in our neighborhood. I look at the tiny apartment. There are two main rooms; a small open kitchenette combines with a sitting room of sorts, and a small bedroom. The kitchen cabinets are covered with yellow fabric that has little tiny red roses on it stretched across a thin rod to hide storage under the sink. The whole place feels very Italian and cozy and there are good smells around.
I think about making some coffee, it is getting light outside, and I have been gone all night playing music and drinking. I had too much to drink and we jammed the night away. I drift around the tiny kitchenette and decide I had better go to bed for a while. Sarah will be getting up soon to go about her day. If I creep into bed, she may not realize that I have been up all night. But as I enter the stark little bedroom I smell an odor of something unfamiliar. It is still pretty dark in the room and as my eyes adjust and I can see Sarah in the middle of the bed, the bedding is twisted in a ball, the brown wool blanket thrown to the end of the bed as she tried to get up. I call out to Sarah, but there is no answer. I find the light bulb hanging from the ceiling and turn it on.
Sarah is lying there in a contorted ball, arm dangling over her head. I cry out to her, but there is no movement. I lift her cold lifeless arm away from her blue ashen face. She is at peace and I realize she is dead. My beautiful Sarah is dead! Oh my God, she is dead…I pull her up to me and that is when I notice the pool of blood and cold, wetness around her.
I felt a sickening feeling come over me as I lift the sheet. There in the bed with her is my tiny little son, still attached to Sarah, his mother’s umbilical cord. My Sarah died alone in the tenement that night without anyone to hear her cries for help. I ran from apartment to apartment looking for help, but it was too late. Both of my babies were gone. Sarah had not cried out. The neighbors said they heard nothing beyond the paper-thin tenement walls. Everyone gathered in the entryway as some of the women went to the bedroom and someone went to the phone booth to call the police. My heart screamed, but like my Sarah no one heard me. I went through the motions of a funeral for both my wife and my son. I never cried or grieved my loss to anyone. I went about my business in stony silence. At this point, John Patrick Walker grieved for his wife Sarah and son’s death through the current life of Shirley Ryan.
The pain engulfed them both and gave way to healing some 70 years later. Guan dear, we meet in the Crystal City, also known as the Afterlife, and you decide to go back right away to another life to play out the mission we have jointly created. Your plan is to take all our last tasks to elevate our soul group to the highest level. We know that you have our highest level of consciousness in mind as you make your way to the Crystal City to meet with the elders. We journey together and listen as you communicate your thoughts on love and peace and how this journey will culminate in fulfillment. In seclusion the elders mentor you and as your soul group creates a plan, they escort you to the edge of the veil, where our souls, Guan and PaOmx await for our return to the Afterlife.
