Proof of Reincarnation?

Published: 03rd August 2007
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When I was twenty and on the eve of going to Bern, Switzerland, for a year's work experience my parents took me and my younger brother and sister for Sunday lunch at their Golf Club. There, as we passed through the bar to the dining room, my eyes met those of a man seated on a bar stool with a drink in his hand. I hadn't seen him before and didn't expect to see him again.

But I remembered his eyes and the feeling I had as they met mine.

I saw them again most unexpectedly soon after returning from Bern, when my mother asked me to accompany her to the Club while she collected stuff from her locker for an away match the next day. As a non-golfer I was almost allergic to golf clubs and, having been helping in the garden all afternoon, was not in a fit state to be seen. But I went along to keep her company on the strict understanding that I wouldn't need to leave the car ...

However, while mother was inside I remembered a business call that had to be made before 5 o'clock - and it was now 4.45! Recalling that there was a pay phone in the Club's lobby, I headed in its direction - bumping headlong on the threshold into that man!

Well, within a year - despite his golf habit - we were husband and wife.

He was twice my age on our wedding day; not that this worried either of us. We settled into married life and from time to time he mentioned his great grandmother - Gypsy Lee, the Romany 'queen', who before her death in 1933, read palms for royalty. He said he'd never forget her funeral procession in Farnborough, Kent, attended by six hundred gypsies from around the country. He also said that my eyes reminded him of hers!

It turned out that her funeral hearse, drawn by six black horses, had passed right by the hospital where I was born in 1940. Not that there was anything extraordinary about this.

However, for years and years I had had a recurring dream in which I was standing in front of my own - very elaborate - gravestone. I had been alarmed in the beginning but by the time of our marriage I'd long ceased to be bothered. My dream and I were quite simply interlinked and I knew the gravestone as intimately as if I'd seen it in reality!

Then one day, as we were driving through Farnborough, my husband suggested visiting his great-grandmother's grave.

This we did and upon sight of it I almost fainted - for it was 'mine'! From the tall pillars at the sides and the two hands entwined to the rosebuds sculpted in stone ... it was the very gravestone I had dreamed of so often.

What a shock - and yet it wasn't at all shocking. It seemed to make a curious kind of sense ... and from that day to this I haven't dreamed my dream again!

© P.G. Glynn

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