When I was about 14 years old, a couple of friends and I went to a small metaphysical shop just to look around. The owner of the shop was a charming little woman who did private and group psychic readings in her home above the shop. Although I had been in this shop a few times before, I had never spoken to her or even exchanged more than polite smiles. This particular time, however, I kept noticing her staring at me from behind the counter. It unnerved me a bit, but I ignored it as well as I could and continued looking around.
As I stood alone looking at a jewelry display case, I heard her walk up behind me. She made light conversation about some of the pieces for a moment, and then she just stared at me with this contemplating look on her face. Suddenly she broke the silence. "I know this is going to seem like a very odd question," she said, "but do you have any problems with your wrists?" I thought she meant a physical injury or ailment, and replied with a somewhat incredulous "no."
"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I just have a really strong impression of you being a slave in a past life."
Chills ran up my spine and I froze. Her face changed a little and she gave me a knowing smile and said, "Oh well, guess I'm wrong," and she turned and walked away, leaving me standing there speechless.
Ever since I can remember, I had always had a bizarre phobia of things being on my wrists. I can't stand the feeling of anything around my wrists; it is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. As a small child, I would play with my sister's or mother's jewelry, but never wore their bracelets, claiming they were too tight on my tiny wrists, even though they were so big they slid off with my arms by my sides. I can't even wear a watch without it being pushed almost halfway up my arm.
I was so creeped out by the woman's statement that I made my friends leave with me, and as we walked back to my house I told them what happened. They were both as shocked and freaked as I was, and as soon as we got home we bombarded my mother with the story.
It should be noted that my mother is a very scientifically minded woman. She is a have-to-see-it-to-believe-it kind of person who does not buy into odd, paranormal things easily. She is a firm atheist and doesn't believe in a heaven and hell, an afterlife, or any of that jazz, and I was sure she would dismiss the incident as nothing more than pure coincidence. However, to my surprise, she listened carefully and intently with a look of genuine interest and concern. She was quiet after we finished, and I could tell her mind was racing a mile a minute, as if she had no idea how to respond. After a moment she carefully and deliberately said she wasn't too surprised.
I was stunned. This was so out of character for my mother. She looked at me very seriously and asked me if I still remembered Mary Gells. At the very mention of the name, chills went down my spine once again. The odd thing was, I couldn't remember ever having heard the name before, and at the same time it was almost more familiar than my own name. My mom nodded at me, seeing the recognition on my face. She began to tell me the story.
I was about three years old and was riding in the car with my mom, listening to Joan Baez. Out of the blue I said, "Don't you just love Mary's voice?"
My mom asked me who Mary was and I said it was the woman we were listening to. She corrected me, and after I contemplated it for a bit I replied, "Well, she sounds like Mary."
My mom thought I was just using my active imagination once again and decided to humor me a bit. She asked me how I knew Mary. I answered, "You know her! Mary Gells! My friend. You know her! You know, she sings at the nightclub down the street."
I apparently went on to describe her physically in detail. I told my mom the exact location of the nightclub in relation to "our house," although the streets and landmarks I referenced she had never heard of. I even attempted to hum some of the tunes Mary apparently sang. Still, my mom chalked it up to my overactive imagination, and I eventually got distracted by something and dropped the subject.
I wouldn't mention it again for at least another six months...
On this occasion, my older sister and I were playing upstairs. My parents were downstairs watching a PBS program on the Holocaust. As I ran through the room on my way to the kitchen, my parents say that I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the TV. All the color drained from my face. On the screen was a video clip of concentration camp victims lined up behind a barbed wire fence, emaciated and broken, staring out with pleading eyes.
I became hysterical, screaming and crying so hard I could hardly breathe. They tried to calm me down and I strained to see the TV, just repeating, "Why are they there? Why are they there?" over and over again.
My parents turned off the TV and tried to help me get a grip and calm down. I was frantic, begging to know why "they" were there. My parents asked me who and I responded with a very adamant, "Mary's father and brother! Why are they there? They didn't do anything! They are just Jewish and they are nice! Why?! They are just Jewish. They are not bad!"
My parents had no idea what I was talking about. Mary who? My mom recalls I was so mad, so frustrated and I just screamed, "Mary Gells! You know her! You do! She is my friend! Is she okay? You know her!"
I was completely panicked, and my mom says I cried until I exhausted myself completely and closed my eyes, but I fought sleep as long as I could, begging to know where Mary was.
After I passed out, she told my father about our conversation in the car six months before. My father was completely stunned and asked me about it the next day, but I refused to discuss it. I just would say, "She's gone now. I don't want to talk about it anymore."
The only explanation that I can come up with for these incidents is that this is some sort of past life memory of mine. I should also mention another interesting coincidence: my father is a German immigrant who moved to the U.S. when he was about 14. His father was (unwillingly) a Nazi soldier. He didn't look back favorably at that time in his life. In fact, he refused to talk about it. All he would ever say at the most was, "That was an evil time and we did many wrong things." Not that his WWII involvement is anything definitive, but its still rather odd, considering.