Solitude over many lives?

“You have lived at least 300 lives, many of them a monastic life.”

A past life regression therapist said this to me a few months ago as I was tying my sneakers, following an emotionally charged four-hour session.  I remember looking up from my shoelaces and seeing this man bowing to me, with a kind of reverence that still gives me goosebumps.

If what he says is true — as my open-minded spirit battles with my inner skeptic here — then it’s not so far off from the way I live my life now.

I’m not monastic in the religious sense — the orange robes, bibles or any of that stuff.  But I am a seeker who is beginning to accept this: I enjoy solitude.  The type of peaceful solitude revealed to me in one of two lives I experienced during my past life regression.

I enjoy silence.  And being with my thoughts.  Or not being with them.  I choose to travel by myself more often than with others, because it gives me space to reflect and investigate.  I often choose to spend the evenings by myself versus with friends or seeking out dates.

I am still conflicted about this, as I don’t think this is what I “should” be doing.  Not as a spunky thirty-something.  I should be out and about, mingling with men and batting my eyelashes.  Yet, being alone is what I am compelled to do.  Or perhaps it’s just what I’m more comfortable doing.

This Mother’s Day, I spent the afternoon with my parents, sisters and my sisters’ husbands.  When I looked around the table and realized that I was the only person without a mate, I became sad.  Then I became envious.  Then I became curious.

Could the echoes of my previous lives as a monastic creature be unconsciously shaping my approach to life as a 21st-century woman living in Chicago?

Leave a Reply