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The Nun and The Priest

A Past Life Experience By Edwina K. Brady

There are many people these days questioning the value of past life experiences. They are wondering whether or not it is something they should pursue. It is something that should not be pursued from the viewpoint that if it is not done than you are missing out on only something that others are doing. It should be pursued only from the aspect of how it may be of value to or have an impact on this current life. The past is over and attempting to live in the past no value for this life for the only time that matters is now this moment.

Past lives can be pursued from a curiosity or entertainment standpoint, but be aware the experience may not be fun or pleasant. Some people experience past lives as though they are watching a movie or as though they are an observer of others. In this past life that I returned to, I both physically and emotionally experienced what took place. I felt the pain and the events as they took place. I literally relived this past life. So you see, you could get more than you bargain for in the search of a past life.

If the past life experience is necessary for your growth and understanding, then you will be led to experience it when it is time. If you choose to pursue it by yourself, then it is imperative that you invoke some type of spiritual protection during this pursuit. I make it a habit to always, even when meditating, ask the Lord or the Father GOD to surround me with his love and light as protection. To visualize yourself surrounded with the Dive white light, will insure your safe journey through the realms of the mind/spirit.

The story I am going to tell in these pages is one of several past lives which I have experienced. I embarked on this journey because there was a man whom I believed I had a connection with, yet I sensed that he was afraid of me. In trying to determine how he could possibly be afraid of me, because we had not had any type of relationship in this life, I searched for all explanations. I prayed a great deal and asked the Lord why and how he could be afraid of me.

I had read a couple of books and seen a movie about past lives. So I began to question the Lord if this fear could be something from the past—a past life. I started to have a headache and for several days experienced a tight band across my forehead. Then one evening when I went to bed and was talking to the Lord and doing my relaxation and deep breathing exercises, I experienced going to a deep altered state of consciousness. I knew I was not asleep and it was not a dream because I was aware of the room, the clock ticking, and other noises of the night.

I began asking the Lord about the band across my forehead, what it was, and why the man was afraid of me. This is the story of the journey I began that night. You might think it was a short journey, as a dream encapsulated in a short period of time. In reaching the altered state and then going through the experience, the time period was about a three to four hour experience.

I have listed the experiences of this past life in chronological order because it took a dozen times over a period of about seven weeks to complete this journey to the past. I was told this experience was so traumatic that it had to be uncovered layer by layer so that I could deal with it a little at a time.

The following poem is a vision of several past lives which I have experienced. I present it first as a prelude to the story of the Nun and the Priest. The same soul that was the Priest was my love in each of these past lives.

Images of Loves Past

Sometimes my love, my heart weighs heavy as I fear the time will never come for us to be together. I tear these thought from my mind and toss them away as weeds knowing that if I believe the fears to be so, they will become as a prophecy fulfilled. My mind is filled with images of love past. Images of love's wonder and delight, Images of heartache and pain, all of these memories, all of these images, I hold safely in my heart. The image of a yellow rose in all it beauty. I see it lying on her grave, the edges beginning to turn red. Then the entire rose turns blood red, the color of love.
The image of the Cup of Our Lord handed to us as He joined our spirits in the bond of love. The Cup of Love we drank from— at our “times” beginning. The image of the pewter-backed, wooden cross with its inscription— “With love all things are possible.” The image of the rosary's black beads; its stone pulsing with light and life as it lay in my hand. A maiden dancing in the moonlight— the feather-light veils falling and swaying with each step as she dances for her love.
The 16 petals of a rose torn from each other and tossed to the winds by one who sought your love and not receiving it— determined to destroy our love. The Indian maiden clad in a soft doeskin dress with knee-high moccasins. The young army lieutenant following her to love's rendezvous.
London, the South of France, New Orleans, Mongolia, Egypt, Gaul, Rome, Arabia, so many precious memories all kept safely in my heart. The sound of your voice echoes in my mind. So many memories spanning so many lifetimes. So many images, all a part of our journey toward love. Have we at last learned our lessons? Sometimes my spirit grows so weary of the longing to be with you. Sometimes I think peace will come only by erasing you from my heart and mind. My thoughts are with you each day. My dreams are of you each night. My memories of you are held safely in the depths of my heart. Will peace ever come to me? Will my soul ever rest in quiet solitude? There is no peace, no solitude, as long as these images of love flow through my mind. Images of love sought, found and then lost— all for lack of understanding, all for fear of intimacy, all for fear of heartache. Are we repeating the cycles again? Are we letting our fears govern us? Haven't we learned our lessons from the past?

Love Sets Us Free

09/13/91

These past few days I have felt an oppression so strong it drags me down and burdens my spirit. My head aches, I feel a tight ban across my forehead. I know in my heart it has to do with us. It is there, this oppression, because you are afraid of me.

For three days, I have asked the Lord to help me understand. He told me once, that you avoid me because I'm the object of the most intense passion you've ever known in your life. I can see how this would make you very shy and nervous to be near me, but I sense a fear in you that causes your avoidance of me. It makes me sad to think you fear me.

I lie here now searching for the answer, asking the Lord to open the eyes of my understanding so that I may know at last. As I sink deeper into my reverie, relaxing, drifting, my thoughts are of you, of us, of my need to know— buried somewhere in my memories—of all our yesterdays. Help me Father to remember, no matter the cost in heartache or pain. The invisible band across my forehead grows tighter, my head throbs, the ache only getting worse. I feel the band turn down beside my eyes to the top of my cheekbones. How strange, what is it? I feel it so vividly, but can't identify it. What is it? A headband? A hat? A soldier's helmet? A nun's habit? My mind search for the answer. It keeps coming back—a nun's habit. I see her now—black and white, robe flowing—close-fitting around the face. It feels—it feels the way my head feels— the band across the forehead—down the sides. I see her. Who is she? It's me. I can't see her face plainly, but I know it's me. How can that be? When is it? Where? 1840 the numbers flash across my mind. How is this possible? Me—there—then—a nun. Father, please help me understand. The pain—my shoulders hurt—pressed tight to the bed. The pressure increases—make it stop—make the pain stop! It's someone's hands pressing down on my shoulders harder and harder. Then I feel him—you, inside me— making me feel things, loving me— no! not loving me—raping me. No, not this way—my mind cries— rebels—stop it—the pain in my shoulders. You're there standing. I see you, but it's not you the way you look now, but I know it's you. I feel it's you. Dressed in black—dark hair. You're a priest. Dear God—a priest and it was you raping me—a nun—giving me a child. There was a child—I know it. where—how—who—I don't know. I only know there was one. I don't see you any more, there's only the pain in my shoulders; the feeling of you inside me. Now I know. Now I have the answer—the answer to why you are afraid of me. Oh my love, my darling, I forgive you. Father, please forgive him. I forgive him for an act committed so long ago. It lives only in the recesses of our minds returning to haunt us now. Engulfed by your passions you wronged me and yourself and now pay the price in your fear of me. I forgive you precious heart. I want only to be with you, love you. Forgive yourself my love. Yesterday is gone. There is only now. Father surround him with my love. Karma is balanced at last. The pain slowly leaves my shoulders. As I gradually come to full consciousness of my surrounding, I feel as though a terrible burden, a weight is lifted from my shoulders. I am free. We are free. From the heartache of the past, set free by our love. I know with all my heart. Our time is Now!

09/14/91

I've asked the Lord to let me return to the past. To further open the eyes of my understanding, to learn more about these events, to help me more fully understand what took place. I know in my heart that there was more to it than simply a "crime of passion."

In any situation, there is always more than meets the eye at first glance. Unfortunately, we always tend to judge according to the first glance and love or hate by this superficial knowledge. There are always truths, other circumstances, and causes under-lying most events. We must search for them and uncover each layer to know the whole story.

As I slowly make my way into the depths of my subconscious, I ask the Lord to surround me with His love, to show me more of what took place.

I ask, “Where is this place?” Manchester, England, in 1840. “Is it a monastery?” No, The Convent of the Immaculate Heart. I see her now—the nun. “Who is she?” “Sister Theresa—Sister Theresa Marie— and the priest— “Father James Joseph. They call him, Father Joseph.”

We go back to a time before�. He was a seminary student and she a novitiate. They're together—sitting on a blanket under a tree near a meadow bright with a summer sun. Studying—there are books lying around. They are smiling and laughing.

The vision changes and moves to the year 1840. The Mother Superior comes to the nun and says,

I see her—holding the baby caring for him, loving him, singing to him.

A figure is standing nearby watching. It's Father Joseph— watching, thinking.

He feels the warmth of passion spreading through him.

Later in her room she removes her habit and stands looking in the mirror wearing only a simple, shapeless cloth garment of white. She touches her hair straight and dark. “I'm so plain, so ugly.”

There's a knock at the door. She grabs her habit holding it in front of her. She opens the door. Shocked—“Father Joseph you shouldn't be here.” He comes in and shuts the door moving toward her he takes her in his arms kissing her. She tries to push him away. “No, no this is wrong.”

He picks her up and lays her on her narrow bed, pressing down hard, his hands on her shoulders. Carried away by his passion—forcing himself on her—raping her. His passion spent—shocked at what he has done, he stumbles to the door.

Later the child is born, they are careful to not let her see it—a boy. The baby is given away She lies in bed, times passes.

My heart weeps for his gentle heart, wounded so, because he dared to love; when he believed it forbidden. My heart weeps for his little nun, so afraid of doing something wrong, blaming herself, dying because she didn't want to live without him.

09/17/91

I asked the Lord to help me remember anything I may have forgotten and to further open the eyes of my understanding.

The impression came there was something about a rose. I asked Him to help me remember. He showed me the scene of the two of them sitting on the blanket. He hands her a yellow rose saying, “You're as beautiful as this rose.”

I kept thinking, no red, because I have an affinity for yellow roses and I thought I might be superimposing that on the scene, but it kept coming back a yellow rose.

A scene I had forgotten was after the funeral, there was the grave with a single yellow rose lying on it and there were whispers,

I thought how strange; I was born in 1941, 100 years later. When I was 21, I had a miscarriage. A boy conceived in July and I began hemorrhaging in September when two month pregnant. I had to go to bed for three months until I miscarried in January. Strange - she died from hemorrhaging in September and I miscarried after hemorrhaging which began in September. Her baby was born in July, mine was conceived in July. Coincidence?

Then the impression came that the baby that I miscarried was the same baby soul that was born to her then. And it didn't want to be born to me then, in 1962, because he was afraid I would die and leave him again. The parents found to care for him in that lifetime were not kind and his life was hard then. I have always believed that someday I will get this baby back to raise him, and I had decided that I would name him Jamieon when I do. Then I got the impression that the name she had silently given her baby was Jamieon because Father Joseph's first name was James. I asked if I would still get to raise him some day and then the impression came that he is Matt and Tammy's (my son and daughter-in-law) baby—James. I call him (my grandson)Jaime. He felt safer coming back to them because of his fear of my leaving him.

I asked if Jaime would be afraid of me when I see him and the Lord said, “A little at first, but you will win him over with your love.”

My throat hurts, I know Father Joseph hung himself. I know I can't sing now, because I was singing the, when he was watching me.

When I was a Senior in High School, I went to a friend's funeral at the Catholic church. I reacted very strongly and was angry when the Priest said, “We must pray his soul out of purgatory.”

I've never known why that bothered me so much. That was what the Priest said at Sister Theresa's funeral. Interesting—could that be why it bothered me to hear those words in this lifetime?

09/22/91

I have felt a kind of oppression the last couple of days. I haven't been able to totally relax and meditate. I've tried each time I have gone to bed and wound up only feeling more tense.

I went to sleep last night unable again to reach the level of relaxation. I awakened in the night and found myself spontaneously reaching the level and drifting back. I asked,

Why? If there was more, I needed to learn, and the Lord said, “Yes, your problem with getting together now is the fear of it happening all over again. The fear the he will rape you, then kill himself leaving you. It won't happen again, because now you both understand what happened. You're so afraid of it happening that you have gained weight and have complexion problems and think of yourself as ugly; your subconscious has created these conditions to make you unattractive, believing it won't happen again if you're unattractive to him.”

The impression came he made love to her in 1838. I tried to shake it. The Lord said,

“In 1838, he made love to her mentally, the way he does to you now. It was only when they were physically together that he couldn't control his passion. That is why he tells you he is not interested in any kind of relationship now, because of his fear that he cannot control his passion.

It will not happen again, because your love is being perfected and you have forgiven each other. It is written there will be no marriage or giving in marriage. That will be because all those souls whom God has joined will be together.”

09/30/91

I have been searching for the end poem for my book “Quest For Love”, The Journey of a Lifetime. The Lord again took me on a journey and I've written the following poem about the vision of that journey. The one, my love, my twin flame whom I saw in this vision is the one who was Father Joseph and who has been with me through many other lifetimes.

10/02/91

The Lord began taking me back again. I asked, “When?” He said, �.” Surprised I asked, “Why?” He said, There is something you must experience."

I pleaded not again, but he took me back anyway. As I began to feel the pressure on my shoulders. I begged Him (the Lord) to stop. He said again, “There is something you must experience at the time the child was conceived.” Oh no. As the pressure increased on my shoulders, I kept asking Him to stop it, it hurt so much, He kept saying, no I must experience this.

I could feel you inside me again; it didn't feel so much like rape this time and at the moment the Lord spoke of when the child was conceived; I heard in my mind the impression of your voice saying,

(A friend wanted to know if the one whom I believed to be my love in this lifetime knew about this past life, too and he asked, if it resulted in scandal in the church the, why would the Lord bring me 2,000 miles to be with this person again.)

10/03/91

October 3, 1840 was the day Father Joseph forced himself on Sister Theresa Marie. I had felt this horrible oppression all day. During the day of October 4, I felt better than I had for several days. I felt as though the oppression had left me.

10/05/91

I felt the band again and even worse I started to feel the pressure on my shoulders. The Lord said,

“Back to 1840.” I pleaded, “Why, why must we go there again?” He said, “There is something for you to see.”

I saw Father Joseph Standing. My vision focused on his chest. Why? What's there? There was a cross he was wearing. I asked,

“The cross, is that it?” “Yes, you gave it to him when he became a priest.” “I can't see it clearly, please let me see it clearly.”

It became plainer. It was metal and wood. The backing was metal with a round piece. The metal came over the edge of the crossbar. And there were tiny spikes on the crossbar and at the foot. This time I got only the impression of a round top.

10/06/91

He showed me the cross again. This time plainer. There was a circle instead of a round top, Like a Celtic cross. The tiny spikes were so detailed and on the back was the inscription.

“J.J. With love, all things are possible. T.M.

He also showed me a rosary that my love gave to me when I became a nun. Black beads and instead of a cross, an odd shaped clear stone, that flashed fire when I held it.

10/08/91

I awakened with a pain in my left shoulder. I had had the pain for two days, it was stronger now.

“Oh, Father, why, what's wrong? I need to know, show me please?&” 1840 again. “Is there more?”

See the little nun again; locked in her silence, pregnant, she holds the cross.

The Lord said, “The cross was your only link to your love then, just as your love now is your link to him. You were concerned you can't have his child now. He gave you a child then. The bitter gall you have felt in your throat the past few days comes from the remorse over the past. True love is never wrong, never a sin. It was only society and man's church that viewed it as wrong. You were trapped by the church's views and destroyed yourselves with guilt imposed upon you by external forces. Forgive yourself, forgive the little nun and the pain will leave you. The Mother Superior kept the cross and the rosary.”

I pictured the little nun and forgave her all that happened —took away her guilt. I forgave myself for all my fears, for all the things I had done that I thought were wrong.

The Lord said, “Forgive yourself for not working on the book. It's time is not now. Forgive yourself for not working on the cards. Their time is soon, but not now. You don't need to keep the weight anymore to make yourself unattractive. He loves you. You don't need the bad complexion anymore to make yourself unattractive.”

“Father, be with my love. You've forgiven him. I've forgiven him, help him to forgive himself. Heal him, Father, make him strong and healthy. Heal his poor battered and bruised heart.” (The pain left my shoulder)

Father, a friend has asked about the end poem. (The Holy Grail.) He wanted to know when it was—he thinks it's the end, after death. I don't think so. The Lord replied,

“No, it's the beginning of time, when you were joined. Whomsoever I have joined let no man put asunder. Then, you were sent on your quest. the end poem is the end of the quest, but the beginning of your lives together. Your quest was to perfect your love.”

10/14/91

I was still feeling a pain in my shoulder, I had been trying for three days to relax and meditate about it, but the level of consciousness necessary had escaped me. I was resisting it. I couldn't understand why. Could there be anything worse than I had already gone through.

Finally this a.m. I succeeded in relaxing enough. I asked the Lord to show me what I needed to know no matter how painful. I want to get rid of this feeling I was having.

He took me back to 1840 again. I couldn't understand why we always seem to be going back there. Something else did happen.

The little nun was sitting oblivious to anything around her and not speaking—locked in her silence. A Bishop? (I am unclear about his position, but he was a superior of the group at the convent) comes to her room under the pretext of praying for her immortal soul. He shuts the door ordering no one to disturb them (then locks the door). He proceeds to force himself on her (rapes her himself). Her trauma deepens for she knows him and knows what he has done to her. He knows he's safe because she is still locked in her silence.

The Lord keeps showing me this (again on 10/18/91) because I need to forgive him. (He was in two other past lives that I know of and in this current life). I have forgiven him as each event was brought to me, but apparently not completely enough as the Lord keeps returning me to this one. I go through once again and forgive him for each rape.

I ask the Lord why, why so much sex and violence and He said that sex without love is used as a weapon to manipulate and hurt.

People use it to gain power over each other and to hurt and destroy each other. Sec with love is ecstasy and sex without love is manipulative, coercive and destructive.

He also showed me the cross I gave Father Joseph two more times telling me I will find it. I believe that one day I will find it.

10/25/91

I feel the band again and only a slight pain in my shoulder.

“Does that mean I need to go back again?” The Lord said, “Yes, there's more.” What more can there be? I'm in the room again. Father Joseph has just come in the door. It's the night he attacked me. Oh no, must I go through that again? He is speaking to me. “I love you. You mean so much to me.” I protest—“No, no you mustn't say that. It's wrong, we can't; we vowed to love only God.” He—“My love for you is a part of my love for God.”

He takes me in his arms. I struggle and try to push him away. He kisses me and picks me up and lays me on the bed. He begins to make love to me. I stop struggling and give in—my own passion matching his. I feel it the moment a child is conceived.

He didn't rape me after all. We made love.

“James, this is so wrong. We've broken our vows. We've destroyed our immortal souls.” I was sobbing. “Go away, leave me alone.” I began blaming him, “Why, why did you do this. Why did you force yourself on me. Why did you rape me.” He stared at me puzzled and said, “But, I didn't—”

He shook his head and left. When he killed himself, I felt him die. A part of him inside of me died, too—the connection I had always felt with him.

The Lord said, “Your guilt at loving him was so great because of the beliefs of the church and society that your only escape was to blame him. Then when you felt him die you took on that guilt, too. Blaming yourself for pushing him to commit an even worse sin in the eyes of the church&151suicide. You must forgive yourself. Your love was not wrong. Only society and circumstances and the church made you believe it was wrong.”

“My love, forgive me for blaming you and pushing you to kill yourself. I loved you then as I love you now. Father, heal his precious heart, take away the black cloud that surrounds him.”

I pictured myself and forgave myself for blaming him. I understand now why I did. I understand now why he killed himself. It was his only escape from me, from the blame I placed on him, from the church, from the circumstances and now this black cloud continues to haunt him.

I asked the Lord why he didn't show me this all at once instead of little by little over a seven week period. He said it had to be uncovered and dealt with layer by layer so I could accept it and examine it and deal with it little by little. The feelings and guilt were buried deeply in my subconscious.

Afterword

There are many lessons to learn of live and love. In my search for meaning in life and in my search for love in this lifetime I have come to believe that the earth is a giant schoolroom and that our purpose here is to learn to love. All of the lessons of our lives are for that purpose. Sometimes the journey is painful and the lessons difficult. I am sure of one thing that if we don't learn the lessons, then they will get repeated until we do learn them.

I don't know what benefit the telling of this experience will be for anyone, but I felt the need to tell it. There may be those who take exception to it because the love was between a nun and priest, but I think it does illustrate how our religion and society have structured our lives to the point that we make ourselves wrong and guilty for loving.Love is never wrong. Love is what we are and until we learn that most precious of lessons we will not be healed and our society will not be healed.

The other lesson I have learned is that of the healing power of forgiveness for those who hurt us and also forgiveness for ourselves. Forgiveness walks hand-in-hand with love and much heartache, pain and illness can be healed with its loving power. I have learned that when I have a pain in any part of my body or an illness to immediately begin the search for the lesson. I search for what my body is trying to tell me.

                                                 Edwina K. Brady
                                                 September 1995

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