The Quickening. Gregg Unterberger

continued to live on. Curious, she floated up high over the rooftops of the city in which she lived. She was offered a panorama, a completely novel perspective she had never known in that life as she looked down on rows of familiar houses and shops with smoke billowing from their chimneys, drifting up into a deep blue sky.

      Then she “remembered” she had a body . . . but where?

      Suddenly frightened, she returned down to the scaffolding where she had been hung, but her body was no longer there. This is exactly the moment where we had “entered” her past life in our first regression. No wonder she had been so terrified and confused.

      Following some kind of internal homing beacon, she found herself in a cold concrete warehouse where the bodies of dead Jews had been stacked. It was uncomfortable, but less painful to experience on this, the “return visit.” She became frustrated, because she could not see the faces on the bodies.

      She eventually identified her body by her shoes.

      “I spend some time looking at my feet and my body and all the bodies,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how long it is. Maybe a few minutes, maybe several hours, but then I become aware of a light—a beautiful, brilliant golden light that seems to enter the left-hand corner of the warehouse. As I look up at the light, my heart feels drawn to it, and I have a sense that everything is going to be okay. I realize that somehow, I am going to be okay, too.”

      She released a heavy sigh. As she floated deeper and deeper into the light, her facial muscles relaxed. Then suddenly, she brightened.

      “It’s Klaus!” she said excitedly, “not the Klaus from back then, but the Klaus from this lifetime. Oooh, it is so wonderful to see you.” Her face wet with tears, the words came rushing out in a tumble. “He is hugging me, and he says he loves me, and he says he was a monster last life, but he came back to prove that he didn’t have to be one in this life, so Klaus wasn’t a monster.”

      “He wasn’t a monster this lifetime?” I asked, echoing her words.

      “Oh no, oh no, no, no, no, he was a good man,” she said emphatically. “Well,” she said, giving it a second thought, “he was a hard man. He was a stubborn man.” Then her face broke into a smile again, “But he was a good man, and he loved me, and he provided for me. He is saying that he will be waiting for me. On the other side, you know,” she said clarifying. “Klaus died just last year from prostate cancer.”

      “I am so sorry,” I said softly. “How wonderful to know that his spirit lives on and that he loves you still.”

      But suddenly Greta’s joyous reunion was transformed as she faced yet another goodbye.

      “But Klaus,” she said to him, beginning to blubber, “Klaus, how will I go on without you. What will I do? What is my purpose?”

      Tears were streaming down her face. I knew this was a pivotal moment, but one completely out of my control. The ball was in Klaus’ court. I could only hope he had a ready answer. I never would’ve guessed what came next.

      Greta broke out into a fit of laughter.

      She continue to guffaw and giggle for several minutes. For a moment it seemed like she might never stop laughing, and I found myself chuckling right along with her, though I had no idea what was so funny.

      “Oh, that Klaus! He was such a kidder, what a kidder he was,” she said, barely able to catch her breath. “Prince Albert and Schotzie,” she said aloud, as though that would make perfect sense to me.

      “I’m sorry . . . Prince Albert and Schotzie? I asked.

      “Yah, Prince Albert and Schotzie,” she said, this time emphatically.

      My face screwed up in confusion, even though she couldn’t see me.

      “They are our two dachshunds! He says, ‘Who would take care of Prince Albert and Schotzie if something happened to my Greta?’ Oh, he is laughing too. He is such a kidder, but I understand what he means. I still have to look after the dogs. There are, of course, my children and grandchildren. Although they live far away, I still have lessons at the earth school, he says.” She giggled. Then her demeanor changed, her face becoming utterly serious. “Again, he says he will wait for me.” She paused, and I sensed a moment passing between them, a communication beyond words. It was quiet. And then, her voice a whisper, she offered her beloved Klaus a tender farewell.

      “I will see you soon, my love.”

      A tiny, final tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

      Apropos of nothing, I suddenly felt two thumps on my back, like I was being hit by a rubber mallet the size of a small skillet. I was temporarily distracted, but refocused, resolute that I would count Greta out of hypnosis, this time actually getting the numbers in the right sequence. After a few minutes, she got her bearings, opened her eyes, and smiled at me.

      “I feel better,” she said. “It’s done now. You know, most Americans don’t realize how much shame and regret the German people still carry for the Nazi atrocities, even now. When Klaus and I were married in our current life, I could see that we carried that regret but for different reasons. Now, I know that I had a deep empathy for the German Jews, because I was one in my last lifetime, and Klaus felt some regret, because he had been a Nazi officer, although I can assure you in this lifetime, he was a kind, loving, and just man.” She paused, putting it all together. “He made different choices this life,” she added with a smile of admiration.

      Greta and I spent a few more minutes talking about the experience, and finally I had a sense that it was time to wrap up, but I had to ask a last question. “If Klaus liked someone—say, a male friend—how would he express that?” I asked.

      Greta giggled. “Oh, Klaus never was—how do you say it in America?” She paused a moment with the quizzical look of a fifteen-year-old girl. “He wasn’t touchy-feely!” She laughed out loud. “He was not a hugger. But if he thought someone did a good job, he would clap them on the back. Usually a bit too hard, I think.”

      I grinned at Greta, and suddenly felt a warmth rush to my chest. I think maybe Klaus gave me a couple of thumps of approval that day just to let me know that I did a pretty good job—for a rookie, anyway. Greta and I smiled at each other with knowing glints in our eyes. I wondered what kind of karmic connection Greta and I had that we might bring such a deep and profound experience to each other. Perhaps one day, as I float above Gregg’s body, those answers will be revealed.

       THE MURDERER INSIDE HER

      Natalie had awakened in the middle of the night with a profound sense of evil surrounding her. She felt like hell itself was burning in her belly as a rage like she had never before experienced went through her. The young mother wondered if she might be possessed. What if I hurt someone? She asked herself.

      Natalie was just twenty-six years old, and her four-year-old son, Donny, was asleep just a few doors down the hall. In desperation, she prayed feverishly, repeatedly, hoping against hope that the feeling would dissipate, while her husband John slept blissfully unaware of the murderous rage that had erupted in his petite wife. Could this evil somehow spill over into the other room? She would spend the rest of the night unable to sleep, wrestling with this question.

      Natalie, attractive and fit, dressed in the latest designer clothes, showed up in my office asking me for a past-life regression some two weeks later. Whenever someone comes in asking about a specific therapy, I usually ask why. I want to make sure that I am tailoring my approach to my client’s needs. If someone is having marital problems because they have poor listening skills, it seems a little silly to trot off into another lifetime to try and track down the problem.

      Running her hands anxiously through her short red hair, Natalie told me about her encounter with the dark side. She said she had repeatedly