Day after day I have to bear superficial analyses and preconceived notions from newbies or, even worse, people without past life memories. I’ve talked about the frustration this causes me at great length, so there is no need to rub more salt in the wound. Then, one day comes when, unexpectedly, a new forum member posts something related to his own research that makes me remember an old memory. In this case, a blurred image with deep emotions that left me with some doubts. Well, not real doubts,

tema creado con nuendo 4 , con plugins de bateria addictive drums, riffs y solos de guitarra de mi entera autroría.

I have started this month of August feeling a bit weird. I have come to suspect that every time I feel trapped in my present, without hopes of doing what I really want to do in the job scenario, and slowly sinking in a depression I don’t want, I start to get in a past life mood from my Black Widow life. It wouldn’t be too bad if it was just me and myself, my thoughts, fantasies, emotions and dreams. I could spend a few days lost in my own world, barely talking and pretending I’m interested in so

There’s no death, it’s just a lie we believe that exists. But there’s no getting out through the flesh, ’cause the flesh is no door. We are. The rest is nonsense.

So, this is how it goes: On Sunday I watch a Spanish TV show about the ordeal Captain Zaida Cantera went through when she was sexually abused by her superior. My past lives were almost a distant memory until I sat down in front of the telly and listened to her, especially the things she didn’t say and were implied in her silence but you could read in her eyes. As in other occasions, I felt the shift of energy in my body, and from that moment on I may have looked like my 4-year-old brother hidin