Home Articles Archaeology of the soul: a Celtic love story

Archaeology of the soul: a Celtic love story

celtic reincarnation past lives

I have a fascination with the past. As a small child I used to wander dreamily among the old ruins of castles, one little finger trailing along the crumbling walls, my thoughts on the people who had walked between those same walls long, long ago. As if I wanted to connect with them that way.

​When I went to college I had to choose between English, archeology and psychology. I chose psychology and afterwards, reincarnation therapy: digging into the human psyche instead of the earth, to connect with the past. The past that is all NOW for the soul, because the soul is in a dimension above time.

ziel keltisch soul celticBut my fascination with old things remained. Unfortunately, you are not allowed to touch them in museums. In the Hunebed Museum in Borger for instance, I wanted to climb into the display cases to get my fingers on the old bronze swords, fibulae and golden torcs, but alas. If you do that, you’ll get into a bit of trouble.

And then I came across a bronze Celtic appliqué on Ebay. A sun wheel that once adorned someone’s clothing 2,150 years ago. Too weathered to be in a museum. Too broken to be deemed precious. I couldn’t resist and made an offer.

celtic reincarnation keltisch liefdesverhaal reincarnatieA few weeks later it was in the mail, all the way from Bulgaria. I should have known that as an intuitive person I couldn’t buy something ancient on eBay without strange things happening. And indeed. As soon as I took the sun shield out of the package, I was overwhelmed with feelings. Emotion. Sadness. And a shooting pain in the right side of my head.

Now it happens more often that I feel or attract lost dead people (and other beings). It takes too much time and energy to help them all personally, so I usually pass them on to Archangel Michael to bring them into the Light. Otherwise I would have a day job doing it! But this time I made an exception. Why? Somehow this felt like I was dealing with family.

I rationalized in my head: it was like family because the sun wheel had belonged to Celts, and I have a thing for the Celts because they are the descendants of the old Einache from my book, my adopted family. Yeah, sure, that must be it. So I got to work and went into a trance to help the previous owners of the sun wheel. There were three.

The stabbing pain belonged to the last owner: a young girl of 17, a reddish blonde, spontaneous, dreamy girl who liked to wander through the woods with her dog. She suffered a brain hemorrhage and died from one moment to the next, so unexpectedly that she did not realize what was happening. I connected with her for a moment, told her that her body had died and that she was free to move on, and I felt my heart grow with love and joy. Her joy, my joy. The stabbing pain disappeared.

I still had the shield in my hand when the next owner presented herself.A stabbing pain in my lower back that spread to my legs.A slightly older woman in labor pains. She had died giving birth to her son, and was still pushing, worried for her child’s life. I helped her deliver the child and also told her that they were now safe, free to go to their family in the Light. The pain disappeared.

The third, or actually first previous owner, did not need any help. She had died much earlier, at an old age, in her bed, consciously and without complications.

The next day I showed the sun wheel to my mother. She was also very intuitive and used to do professional readings. Without knowing what the object was, she described its connection to the sun, its composition (copper and tin), and its journey through Europe. It had been a kind of brooch that held a piece of clothing together, “here, on the shoulder,” she pointed confidently to her own right shoulder. The sun symbol had been a kind of family crest that may have also adorned weapons and shields. A family heirloom.

But instead of a sense of joy at its specialness, a sense of disappointment crossed her face. I asked about her feelings.
“Well, I didn’t know if I should say it,” she said, “but that’s true. As if I am disappointed to see what has become of that beautiful brooch, which used to look so much more beautiful.’ I could imagine something about it: the beautiful gold sheen of the bronze has turned into a dull green, the inlaid glass has almost disappeared.
“But,” I asked, “did you also have it in your possession?”

And yes. She had been the first owner, the old woman who had died consciously. Now it got really bizarre. Because I myself was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of loneliness and loss, an unbearably great sadness. I immediately started exploring my own connection to these people and this sun wheel. It didn’t take long for it to surface.

The old woman had been my mother, the woman in labor my sister, the girl my niece. I myself was the son of the old woman, the eldest, the head of my tribe. And the rest of my tribe had been wiped out during an invasion by a hostile people. I had helped my family pass on, but my own past life was still stuck, trapped in shock, grief and loneliness!

The days after the discovery I had my hands full with my own Celtic clan leader. The tragic story emerged in bits and pieces. My tribe lived a happy life, in a village in the middle of nature, in prosperity and peace. They had started a new tribe, one that was free of an old, restrictive set of rules and religious ideas.

Another member of the tribe had been jealous of my family’s happiness and prosperity and had made a deal with a hostile alien tribe, a group of nomadic raiders. Because the jealous tribe member drugged the tribe during a party, the robbers could easily raid the village. The men were immediately killed, many women taken as slaves. It was a tragedy.

My Celtic chieftain did not realize that he had been drugged, nor did he realize that he was dead. He didn’t understand how he had stood idly by and watched as everyone was killed or taken away. But he couldn’t intervene because he was already dead! He felt terribly lonely, guilty and powerless.

I helped my Celtic chieftain through his last moment, helped him understand what had really happened and helped him reconnect with his family. But something remained stuck. It still didn’t feel quite right.

The last evening of that week it dawned on me why. The Celtic chieftain had not yet restored contact with his beloved. Immediately another flood of tears came with the realization: he had lost his wife. She had been taken away, and he didn’t know what had happened to her. I went looking for her, with some trepidation because I could guess. And indeed, she was not a willing slave, so the robbers had killed her after a few days because she refused to accept the fate they had assigned her. She was also unaware of the fact that she had died, and was therefore free.

As my Celtic chieftain I went to her, and took her hand, with tears running down my cheeks. Suddenly I realized why it affected me so much: she was an incarnation of an old soulmate. Her pain was my pain, her heart was my heart, and to be separated from her like that was unbearable. I addressed her as the chieftain: “Beloved, I am here, come, I will take you home,” and the words and the touch of my hand were enough to wake her up. The pain and loneliness dissolved into nothingness. She looked up joyfully. I picked her up and carried her to a sunlit hill, where our children, and the children we had in other lives, played in the grass around us. It was all well. After more than two thousand years, these facets of our souls were finally reunited.

It is a great comfort to realize that the soul always finds a way to heal itself, no matter how unlikely. What the Universe cannot achieve with the help of the internet…

© Wendy Gillissen, M.A. 2015

keltisch liefdesverhaal reincarnatie
Celtic Village by Ben Salter