I call it simply remembering, when one becomes towards this awakening process, you remember who you were and you were many “who’s” before this who.

The confusion is disorienting. It displaces the current ego to realize you once participated in a drama, and then your body died, now here you are remembering who you were, and seeing that you are no longer that person. The now personality is immediately humbled. Especially to remember killing somebody, somebody you loved very much.

That’s the humbling part. You wonder how love can get this twisted. You begin to remember more. Over years and years, a bit here, a bit there, as you can deal with it.
It’s overwhelming unless you take it in slowly. After all, you came here for this life. It takes all your concentration to live but one life. The surface mind is like a garbage can to me. It frequently needs to be emptied, even daily, then hourly, then minutely.

You might look at around and see that everyone is capable of murder. You may understand you thought you were doing the right thing, you justified yourself. Then you accepted the punishment. I starting pondering life and death, past lives, which are really simultaneous lives, and the hidden connections to other people concerning these other bodies, these other lives, and I considered all my folders depicting obes and dreams and all those little tidbets of data within those folders, of interactions with friends, former lovers, family and strangers I would meet in this life.

I have questions I sense may never get answered. Then again, part of me thinks they may not need to get answered, as they may not even matter on the morrow when new interactions come about, new experiences to point to my greater self unfolding.

Then I thought about Shirley McLaine. How she wrote a book about all her other lives, and how I came along after her and shared a few past lives in my book. How others were writing about their other lives as well.
I thought she was a brave soul to write about such a controversial subject. Then I thought about her personality. I saw that she liked to dance and sing and act. Just like me. I saw her face, and she smiles like I do. I saw her good nature, that she is playful. Somehow when I think of Shirley, I can’t see her playing a villain part, and neither would I take on such a role because it simply wouldn’t fit even if I tried. And I identified with her. I too, thought myself brave to write my book. It points to our greater selves. Just points. Doesn’t prove anything. Just a sharing that many would say is an overactive imagination. Perhaps wishful thinking even, that somebody would say I have had more than one life. Yet it comforts somehow to know there are others like me, and n the end, knowing, remembering, you lost your patience, and they call this crimes of passion.

I wanted to share with the board here some other lives, brief descriptions, but it's too long.
so maybe tomorrow or the next day. thanks for the read