The Writer's Voice

The World's Favourite Literary Website

The Story Behind Another Lifetime

by

Alice C. Bateman

As a child, I frequently had a very scary dream about fire nothing specific, just fire, but I'd always wake up breathless and afraid. More often than not, I'd get out of bed to go to the window to calm down. For the first few seconds of looking out the window, the view would be slightly different, still a country road, but the road would be on the wrong side, like our house had moved to the other side of the road while I slept.

This was a little confusing, naturally, but in the post-fire-dream state, it wasn't too unusual to my sleepy mind, and it would change back to the real view after a few seconds.

In my mid-twenties, between marriages, I briefly dated an Irishman, who took me to a small town here in Ontario for a visit to his uncle. The place felt familiar immediately, and one of the first things I did was don some beautifully embroidered, leather, ladies riding gloves. They fit perfectly, like they were made for me, and Jack's uncle said they had sort of come with the place when he'd bought it long ago.

I explored the house and the land surrounding it. There was a depression in the corner of an adjoining small field, where Jack's uncle said a barn had burned down about a hundred years ago. This house was on the opposite side of the road to the one where I'd grown up, but certainly not in the same town, probably about sixty to seventy-five miles away.

I'd get goosebumps in certain parts of the house and grounds, and would happily have stayed there to live. I felt right at home. Looking out the upstairs bedroom window, I saw the view that I'd always seen as a child after the fire dream.

Afterwards, Jack and I went back to Toronto to visit his father. I was very tired, and lay down for a brief nap, which turned out to be more of a meditation state than an actual nap. You know what I mean, you can still hear things, but can't really respond...

As I came out of this state, I grabbed the nearest pen and paper, and this poem came flowing out. At the time I signed it 'Jessica Winters, maybe now I can rest in peace.'

Now, I know there are those out there that think the idea of reincarnation is demonic, but I am not demonic, and this is a genuine personal experience that carried over from childhood into that moment.

Can anyone explain it, without referring to reincarnation?

Critique this work

Click on the book to leave a comment about this work

All Authors (hi-speed)    All Authors (dialup)    Children    Columnists    Contact    Drama    Fiction    Grammar    Guest Book    Home    Humour    Links    Narratives    Novels    Poems    Published Authors    Reviews    September 11    Short Stories    Teen Writings    Submission Guidelines

Be sure to have a look at our Discussion Forum today to see what's
happening on The World's Favourite Literary Website.