"As the sunflower turns it's face to the light of the sun,
So spiritualism turns the face of humanity to the light of truth."
Cassadaga (a Seneca Indian word meaning "water beneath the rocks")
All of the above (except for the picture) was taken directly from Cassadaga's internet add but I think it's more telling than anything I could describe. My visit to Cassadaga came up in a Writers Circle Group post tonight and Diana AkaZoltana suggested it might make a good blog story so while it's a bit sketchy I thought I'd give it a shot. I've actually made two trips to Cassadaga,, the first being just for a "reading". It's a sleepy little village of older typical Florida style houses set amid huge moss-hung oaks with porches and gardens holding many a wooden rocking chair and/or bench of some manner.
Admittedly, it's a bit eerie upon entering as it's very quiet with no one "out and about". I had had readings prior to this initial visit to Cassadaga. The Indian reader we had wanted was full up for the day so we had to settle for someone else which was at the onset a little disappointing. The reading went well however, but was unremarkable in it's findings when compared to readings I had received in the past. However, the second visit was a whole different story.
Being very interested in reincarnation and past life stories I decided to see a past life regression specialist. As it turned out it was a man/wife team in their 60's or so. It got off to a rough start as I was a little reluctant to succumb to hypnosis. I wanted to but something inside of me did not. So I had to listen to relaxing music and this for some reason got my funny bone and they were losing patience with me (rightly so) ...but finally I went under for the first of two times. I really don't know what to make of it to this day. All I can tell you is the first time I saw myself at about 5 years old getting off of an airplane, walking down the stairs of a small airplane in a white frilly dress with black mary-jane shoes. Someone (?) a man, was holding my hand and we were walking towards a small building and I was happy and then, zip, I was awake.
The second time seemed much more intense to me although I was told I was not under any longer than the first. I was in an old house like a western type house; there was no floor, only hard dirt. There was a huge long scared wooden table, very rough and battered. There were other young children running around in this room. I was about 8 years old and the only one seated at the table. There was a very tall hulk of a man who I felt to be my father standing at a bench of some kind on the other side of this room and I was watching him very carefully, I was not comfortable nor happy. And then.... I woke up again.
The couple explained it was not a good regression because of my reluctance to go all the way under; perhaps that is so. Truthfully, I'm not sure what it was. You see, I have my own ideas about at least one or maybe two of my past lives based on my obsessions. When I was a little girl I was obsessed with all things English. I wanted to be an English girl, I read English books, I loved Beatrice Potter, I wanted my name changed to something more English?? When I finally made it to England, my husband had to literally drag me home. We stayed several weeks in the country-side, on working farms in the Cotswolds, Longborough, etc. We hung out in the pubs bet on the TV horse races with the villagers, milked the cows, blended right in. I fell in love! Also my obsession with old houses; mostly Victorian old houses. I even dream about them.
So, that's my Cassadaga Story and then some. Nothing very exciting but I definitely believe...I had a reading once that knocked my socks off.....but, that's a whole nother' story.
DiAnne
(Couldn't believe I found a pirate monkey on Photobucket! - Ahahahaha - Love Photobucket! )
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