Ed's Past Lives

By Caraf Avnayt

When I was twenty, one day sitting in my bed listening to music, I suddenly had a strong and powerful memory of a previous lifetime that shook my very existence.
I wasn't into pretending to be someone else or imagining I'd ever been, to escape the realities of this life. But the memories came to me so strong and affected my being and life so powerfully, that I couldn't help but start recording them in my diary.
A time came, when I actually found photos and writings from the past published in archives on the internet that 100% matched my memory. This truly shook my life view and I realized that I was sitting on something so dear to my heart, and something so powerful; that I simply could not ignore it.
I now know for my own self that the soul has a life that goes on beyond the death of the body; that there is true love that lasts forever.
In this life, I have had very very hard times, but this love from beyond this time has held me and looked after me, kept me on the right track and fed my soul like nothing else.
These memories I've had also presented a very different picture of people and times of the past, compared to what we're shown in period movies, historical documentaries and historical fiction, so I believe they have worth in connecting us to truths of the past otherwise buried in the subconscious.
I've written books sharing knowledge, and sharing things of the mind. This one is about my heart and my soul. In this life, he is called Ed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caraf Avnayt
• Release date: Jun 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223297000

Caraf Avnayt

Caraf Avnayt is Mom to Gavriel and a Herbalist.

Book preview

When He Called Me Back

I don't know why Ed doesn't let me go.

I remember one time in the 2000s I wanted to leave and I was going to. And I lay down in a faint in the afternoon dead tired, and I had strong memories of another life or time.

It was in Germany - I so didn’t want to ever remember having anything to do with Germany, because in this lifetime, there were these nuns from a German order who tried to recruit me when I was seven and made me learn German nursery rhymes and I had a narrow escape from them, but well, humans were everywhere.

I saw I was standing at the end of a hospital corridor and ahead on a row of chairs was sitting Ed. Strangely he looked so much like how he looks now. Same height, weight. Features etc.; Almost the very same.

And he was sitting silently like he was praying and he was saying to me, You will not leave me. I know you're trying to leave. You're not going to leave me, you hear? You come back right now.

I was sort of numb and was so leaving. I had lost a baby. I did not want to stay.

But I saw the thing he does when he's being stubborn, the nerves on his hand become like steel wires, and nerves on his face become taut.

Over about twenty-five minutes I was trying to go, but he wouldn't let me. He kept saying, You come back, you hear? You are not going to leave me. I know you're listening to me. I know you're here; you go back into your body now. You hear me? I know you can hear me. You come back now.

Then I saw near where he was sitting, in that room a group of nurses were cleaning up my mangled dead body. Only one arm sticking out with a wristwatch with a beige strap was not covered with blood and mangled.

And I heard him saying, It's ok, it's doesn't matter, you come back, that's all. You come back, you hear me?

I was so repulsed by the destruction of my body and almost flying off just looking at it. But just near were the nerves of his face and his hands and he was saying, Just come back. I know you can hear me. Don't leave me.

Then I did the unthinkable and went back into my body and suddenly I had such horrible full body pain.

I can never forget to this minute how my body hurt. I don't think I've ever experienced that much pain. The very memory of it wracked me here so I almost lost the ability to speak again.

I remembered that for almost six months after I was so weak I could not speak a word. I was paralyzed and was pretty much a vegetable. Ed took me home despite there being no hope of me ever recovering.

We had a nurse taking care of me when he was not at home in the evening, and another looking after our daughter who was eight.

Ed, would come back in the mid-morning and take me out into the sunshine. He would rest my back against him and tell me over and over again that I was not to lose hope. That our love would heal my body no matter what any doctor said. He was one himself and he would tell me about the times people he thought would surely die, or be ill forever, recovered.

He would say, You just keep loving me, and everything will be alright again.

He refused to give up hope, even though I was a complete vegetable.

I remember one day I was in bed and I heard Ed's heavy footfall in the corridor outside the bedroom and suddenly I turned over and saw him coming in. He had just had a bath and was wrapped in a brown towel. He stopped in his tracks to see I had turned over on my own. He was so happy he was crying. I was too weak to smile or touch his face or speak but I could feel I also was crying.

I don't remember more but I knew I became fully alright.

We already had a daughter before, and after that we had a son that Ed used to call Teddy. Not sure if it was his name or a pet name. When I was paralyzed, he used to tell me I should get well because he's waiting for Teddy. And it was such a thing because I couldn't even speak, I was paralyzed. It was such crazy faith of his to imagine I’d recover enough to have the baby we’d lost in the accident.

But before I sort of woke up here, I saw a photograph of Teddy as a two or three year old on a wall.

I saw a brass plate with Ed's name on it. But I can't remember it now. It was something with H. He always seemed to have names I can't pronounce easily. I woke up trying to pronounce it.

He doesn't let me go.

But then I was with him, so I understand; now I want to leave to go to him.

Still he doesn't let me go.

Pig Alice

Another time in the 2000s, when I was very ill, this memory came to me. I was recovering from typhoid here and was in bed, mostly awake, when this memory came to me so strong. This embarrassed me so much that I didn’t even write about it in my diary. I only am writing it in this book, because it was so pivotal to my soul experience.

I remembered that sometime in England of the past, I was a child who was either lost, or my parents died or something like that. I was a girl of about seven or eight that no one wanted to have anything to do with, for some reason. Maybe I was born to unmarried parents. I don’t really remember.

But I was sent by someone to this big estate where there were more than a hundred people who worked in various farming activities.

There was a big room with long wooden tables where all the workers came to have meals.

One day I was there and the master of the house, a very tall and handsome young man came around. Everyone got up and stood in lines as he shook each person’s hand.

When he came to where I was, someone said to him, She doesn’t speak, Sir. She cannot be taught either. We have asked for her to be taken away.

The master of the house said, What is her name? Do you know?

The man said, No, they didn’t even know my name and it was unlikely I was ever christened.

The master of the house came directly in front of me, looked at me and said, Alice, I want you to do whatever work you can find to do here on this estate. I will see to it that you are never sent away.

He then asked the woman near me if I had shown any liking for anything on the farms. She said to him, She watches the pigs all day.

Then let her look after them, the master of the house said, before moving on.

From that day on, I helped with the pigs.

Nobody liked me really, though no one particularly hated me. My mind was not sharp or clear like now. I only knew one thing. That was how to keep the big pig pen clean. That is, I knew how to gather and clear away the pig shit. That is all I knew to do and I did it all hours of the day. There were hundreds and hundreds of pigs.

Every day I woke up in the morning and started cleaning out pig shit and till I fell asleep in the night, that is what I did.

When I was in my teenage years, once again the master of the house came to shake everyone’s hand.

As he came near me, I turned and ran away. I couldn’t be so bad as to give the hand that cleaned pig shit all day to him.

What is her name? I heard him ask someone, We call her ‘Pig Alice’, someone said, She cleans the pig pen.

To my utter horror I heard someone come after me out of the building. I stopped and turned and it was the master of the house.

He came up to me and said, Alice, don’t you want to shake my hand?

I put my hands behind me tightly clasping them.

Very well, then, he said, We will not shake hands. But I thank you for your work. If you have need of anything you only have to say the word.

I cannot remember anything more of that meeting.

My next memory was of when I must have been in my thirties. From my pig pen, if I walked around the big building near, there was a huge courtyard and on the other side of it, on the first floor above would burn the candles of the master of the house. He lived there. As I walked well after dark on that route as I did every night, something clutched my heart like a magnet gripping me. Something so strong that it took over my senses.

Instead of turning to the left and going on my route to where I slept, I went straight across the courtyard and to the right and walked in the door that went to where the master lived.

I went straight in, door after door, guided by the light of a candle that faintly came through, till I came to a room where he was sitting at a table with that big candle.

He looked up at me and said, Is it really you come to me, Alice? Or is this your ghost?

I stood in front of him and started crying, wringing my hands.

He stood up and came around the front of the table. There was something like a big step there that led to another room that was slightly higher. He sat on it and said to me. I am struck by tragedy today. I have no one to comfort me. But God has sent me you.

I could feel his broken heart, crushed so bad. I knelt on the floor in front of him and cried for him, so long.

He could not cry for himself. He just sat there quietly, his face ploughed like a field with sorrow, watching me cry for him.

After a long time, he pressed his hands together and said to me, "Stay with me. Marry me. I have loved you as my own soul from the moment I set eyes on you all those years ago. But you were a child then and so was I. I thought I was fooling myself.

But it is real. You are my very heart born in another body."

I looked up in complete shock.

He looked back at me sad and said, It is a No, then? He added, I will never marry another. I will wait.

Not in anger or even shock, but in peace with him, I turned and left the way I’d come. As if I would ever sully his life and his goodness with the smell of pig shit that was me. At least I knew that much.

He must have understood. As his heart sent me no ill feeling for it.

My memories had one scene over and over and over. The route I took from the pig pen to where I slept every night. The big courtyard and his candle burning from the first-floor room he lived in. I lived for that walk and the sight of his candle burning. I think I had no consciousness beyond that.

I remember becoming bent over with constantly bending over to pick up the pig shit. I also seem to have lost most of eye sight. Someone used to bring me to the pig pen and from there on I’d do my work. Then someone used to take me on the route back to where I slept. I could see very little, but I would stop and raise my eyes and see that candle burning there. The person who took me back to where I slept would wait for me for a few seconds. And then we would continue on.

My next memory was of him, I now knew his name was Arthur, the master of the house. He was sleeping, while sitting in a chair, in a garden, with another man named Henry nearby. There were flowers all around and lots of sunshine.

I was standing in front of him, but in spirit. I was watch him sleep.

He woke up slowly and looked at me and said, Alice, is it you? Have you finally come to me?

He then rose out of his chair with a laughing smile of wonder looking at me. Perhaps in spirit I did not look like Pig Alice anymore... Maybe I looked good... He had such a look of wonder and happiness on his face. Like he was seeing something wondrous and amazing.

His body stayed in the chair sleeping. But he rose up and came towards me smiling like the sun, holding both his hands out to me.

I already must have died to go to him in spirit, but I died again out of happiness, I think.

I woke up here, my hair, the pillow, the bedsheets soaked with tears.

If ever my heart promised that I would wait for him forever, it was then.

The Sticks and Stones Militia

The first 'past life' memory I had of Ed was in 2001 when I was in Australia studying. I was twenty then.

It was of a place in Italy. I found the exact place on the map years later - which was a miracle as I knew the exact place. I’d had memories of the place for years – memories of walking in a grove of trees in the night, with owls, who I knew personally. Memories of a scrapbook in which I wrote everyday about someone I loved. But I didn’t really think they were past life memories.

I was listening to some music on my headphones about 2 or 3am in the morning and thinking of taking them off and going to sleep, when suddenly I began to have such clear memories.

A place I used to walk every night thinking of him. The trees, the owls, I knew it all by heart.

There was a row of houses, just a small village. And his house was the biggest and he was educated. I was four or five years younger and he used to teach me to read and write. He gave me a book and said when he went to college, I should write something in it every day. And he'll see it when he comes back.

Then he went off for a long time and I died every day missing him.

He came back after many, many, years and I was all grown up. He came to my house and I didn't go out and meet him because I was so shy.

He went away then, and I was so upset and burst into tears. But he had only gone round the back to the place where I used to put the book he’d given me, in a tin box, in a dry compartment behind a rock. He found the book and read all my really passionate writings and saw the dried flowers and drawings of his face with arrows killing him and knives stabbing his stomach – from when I was angry that he hadn't come for the holidays etc.

I thought he would leave the book but he took it and told my mother to tell me to come get it from him if I wanted it back.

I didn't go and put myself under house arrest waiting till he went away.

We heard horrible rumors. That he's a sort of student militia leader in his university called Padua. That they fight against guns with sticks and stones; that many of them die.

And the most horrible thing was, his own father was one of the land-owning 'elite' he and his gangs were fighting against and there he was chilling in his father's house, apparently being treated like a king, sitting at the table all day long as his Mom brought out treat after treat; he was lecturing his own Dad about the rights of peasants.

My brain went numb with horror and I went to his house to comfort his mother - because that was the horrific level of his betrayal.

He came out at the side gate where I was hugging his mother and crying and all and he started laughing like it was such a joke. He said something like I shouldn't call him a criminal till I've left the village and gone out and seen what's happening in the world.

Apparently, I did, as I next remembered being part of his sticks and stones militia. He used to make speeches and I wouldn't understand what the hell he was saying – I’d just be admiring him.

One time he asked me to dance and I was in heaven and he asked me to marry him.

I said, No, and ran. My memory stopped there.

——

This was my first past life memory ever and it truly created havoc in my life as I felt that it meant that I shouldn’t be afraid of relationships. In fact that was not the right meaning for me at the time.

I regretted a decision I made because of this memory, and tried very hard to forget it.

However years later, the memories of that lifetime resurfaced.

——

His Mom had a pink silk or satin shawl - the most beautiful thing in the whole village. It was like the village heritage item.

When she wore it, the news would spread and I would go running to see her wearing it.

One time when she wore it, she was going to Ed's (don't know what his name was then) college or university for his passing out ceremony when he becomes a man.

It was such an emotional moment for the whole street because one of us had made it that far.

Speeches were made at the gate before his parents left. All the memories everyone had of him as a child. And how everyone knew he would make us proud etc.

———————

Back to when he took my scrapbook.

He was such a creep. He took my book in which