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The Tragedy of Mary Gells

A past life communicates with the living


We are born, we live a short while, and we die... to be forgotten by the ceaseless flow of time. Perhaps that is not always exactly the case. Many believe that the human spirit returns to this life, again and again, in new incarnations. "I always entertained the theory of reincarnation as a viable possibility," says HRM, "but a series of events occurred that convinced me that it was most definitely real, and that without a doubt is part of my past." Others believe that the energy of a human spirit can survive beyond death and carry a personal message of its experience to the consciousness of the living. Either might be the case here. This is HRM's story...

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.

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