The General

If we are to give precedence to the notion that a soul can live multiple lives, then we must also face the reality that not all of our past lives were good people. Sometimes, we are born programmed for evil.

That is what I learned one glorious evening in one of the most intense and realistic dreams of my life. What I learned about myself from this dream changed my perspective on how I view myself and the concept of power.

One summer in college, I had the good fortune to work at a state park in Trinidad, Colorado, building trails and mending fences. I would live in a tent on top of this barren yet beautiful plateau mountain outside of town for several weeks at a time, hardly ever venturing down except for grocery runs. It was hard work, but the satisfaction of being out in nature and away from the stresses of the world was invigorating.

One night, while lying in my tent trying to sleep, I heard the distant sound of rumbling. Crawling out of my tent into pure darkness, I was delighted by abrupt flashes of white light in the distance. A lightning show was hovering over the next mountain over. I found myself a patch of grass to lean on and settled back to watch the dazzling sight. Now normally I wouldn’t condone being out in a lightning storm on top of a mountain, but the storm wasn’t close or overhead. Besides, it was a spectacular display of nature, with a gentle rumble across the air once electricity struck rock. I decided that if I was meant to die right then, it would be worth it just to die seeing such a mystical phenomenon.

I lay awake in the dark for hours, watching the swirling clouds and the lightning dance. The air on the mountain was charged, and it felt almost like a holy place on that high point. Seeing that the storm wasn’t ending anytime soon, I eventually forced myself to crawl back into my tent and get some sleep, as I had to have enough energy to do hard manual labor the next morning.

That night, I fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. And where I went was somewhere I have never gone before in a dream. I became an entirely different person. Normally I see the dream through my own current eyes, or I view the dream 3rd person. Not this one. In this dream I WAS someone else. ..

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(Caution: the following dream may be upsetting. Please stop reading if you desire to avoid violent thoughts. The perspective of the dream character is not a good person, and expresses fanatical ideas about God that are akin to the Spanish Inquisitions way of thinking. Please skip to the next row of dotted lines if you wish to avoid reading such a character perspective).

DREAM SEQUENCE, written in 1st person to illustrate how the dream was viewed as it played out in my sleep:

I was a man. I stood on a hill, overlooking a city. The city was burning. I looked over it in satisfaction, knowing that my army had succeeded in gaining victory over my enemies. My army had raided it, looted it, and killed every last person per my orders. I wanted every stone and every person obliterated. For they were heathens, and I knew God wanted me to cleanse them from the earth in His name. I wanted to make every part of my kingdom free of evil in order to please Him.

I turned from the burning city I had conquered and began to walk away from it with my army, heading homeward. The soldiers following me were not men from my city. Indeed, I had been unable to muster support for this venture from my own citizens. My people were privileged and soft, and lacked the ambition to do what needed to be done in the name of God. But the soldiers I had hired were men of war, mercenaries for hire from a foreign land. They were large men, very hairy, and gruff. They were bigger than me. I despised them yet valued them for their abilities. And I was wealthy enough to afford their services.

I personally had not fought with them in the raid. I had no such warrior skills and was a man of politics and civilization. I had come along to view our success with my own eyes, and I had given them free reign to do as they pleased. The men had taken a few prisoners for fun and sport. I didn’t care, so long as the heathens died in the end.

As we began to trek home, one of the leaders of the mercenary group drew close to me, guiding a wheeled cart. On the cart was a large metal pot with a lid. Under the pot was a stack of wood, which another soldier was stoking into a roaring fire.

Before long human screams began to emanate from inside the pot as it was heated.

Apparently one of the prisoners was inside, a young man by the sounds of it. He screamed and begged for some time, but once he realized no one would have mercy, the boy inside the pot began to beg God to save him and fervently praying for forgiveness between bouts of pain.

I stopped midstride, staring at the metal pot in consternation, before turning to glare at the mercenary leader. “I told you Christians were to be spared,” I grumbled to him, not happy my orders had been ignored. I only wanted heathens to die, not Christians.

The mercenary shrugged, not really caring that I was upset. He slapped a hand against the pot, and when only silence was heard, he shrugged and continued walking. “It is too late. His life is beyond saving now,” he pointed out to me.

Acknowledging his point, I allowed the procession to continue home. I felt no real grief over the dead boy in the pot. I was confident that his one accidental death wouldn’t overshadow my overall accomplishment in God’s eyes.

My home city was a bustling metropolis abutting the ocean. When I returned home, a festival was underway. The people were in the streets and on the sandy walkways to the water, dancing and celebrating. A comet had fallen from the sky into the ocean during the night – the newness of this had everyone riled up. Some claimed it was an omen from the Gods, and depending on which priest you listened to, it was either a good omen or bad. Those who thought good were drunk and dancing, mainly the young people. As I walked by them in the streets, I couldn’t help but disdain them for their frivolity, considering I was willing to actually do the hard work while they partied and drank. But I acknowledged they were the people I was in charge of, and I had to care about their opinions. It was the way of politics.

Passing the market area, I stopped by a new stall I hadn’t seen before I had left on my expedition. The vendor had 4 wooden box tables, laden with golden items, and fabrics and spices from foreign lands. I scowled at the items as I tested a few in my hand. I knew that they had come from the East. The young people loved the new colors and wares from these areas, and the people of my city invited foreign merchants to come and sell here. I allowed it, because commerce demanded it. But I also hated it, because I knew the merchants brought their families to live with them, and their religions.

I would not allow my city to be corrupted by infidels and heathens, even if my stupid and spoiled people wanted it so. But I would have to be delicate with public opinion. I couldn’t hire mercenaries to fix this problem. I would have to slowly change public opinion in my favor.

I made my way to the city square. Large stone steps had been placed leading down into the ocean, and it was a popular spot with the people. Here they could step down into the ocean waves and swim. Several statues lined the edge of the steps and people sat on their bases, talking and socializing. Amongst one rowdy group of drinking men, I found a man I was looking for specifically. He was a young priest in his early 20’s, with dark long hair and a beard. He was telling a tale to the men around him, who all laughed and were riveted by his telling. When he saw me coming, his smile died and he sobered quickly.

I told him to follow me, and he obeyed instantly. I led the young priest away from the square and the other men, and into an alley. Once in the alley I grabbed his arm and led him deep into its shadows where I knew we’d be alone. I released him and turned to him.

I informed him my mission had been successful, and that I had destroyed the nearby city and all the infidels. I had brought the spoils from that raid and would use it to make the churches rich and people richer.

The young man, who was an up-and-coming celebrity priest, nodded along to what I said.

I told him I would need him to spin the telling of my victory in a positive light, to convince the people to think favorably of me for what I had done.

He nodded vigorously, agreeing instantly to do so.

I knew that he was well known and popular, and that the people liked him in a way they didn’t like me. I was determined to use him to my advantage. Eventually, I hoped I could use him to convince the people to turn away from the old Gods and the religions of the East and embrace God and Christianity.

The young priest began to congratulate me for my victory, and to praise me and bless me. I could see in his eye that he envied me, but also that he feared me and what I could do to him. His simpering and posturing in front of me made my lip curl, because I knew it was disingenuous.

As he bent his head to me, I was suddenly filled with an intense feeling of hate towards him.

He was weak. I despised weak men. But yet the people loved him, not me.

I was strong. I was devout. I was better than him.

I was so enraged, I had to unleash it.

I lashed out, grabbing him by the neck. I pushed him down to the ground on his knees, and then shoved him forward with his head on the ground. He didn’t fight me. He stopped praising me, going silent, and he braced himself on the ground as I leaned over him. I gripped his hips to hold him steady and I could feel him trembling at what was to come.

He didn’t fight me because he knew I was stronger and more powerful than him. He was in awe of me and my influence. He would do whatever I asked of him. Even this. I wanted to punish him for being weaker than me. And to show him what true power really was. I was the most powerful man in this city, not him, and he had better remember that.

Before I could act on my rage, I was interrupted by a group of people entering the alley entrance. We were farther down, in the shadows, but I didn’t want anyone to see me doing this, with the well-liked priest. I pulled the trembling priest up and shoved him away from me. I ordered him to do as I had told him, and that I would talk details with him later. The two of us went our separate ways.

Again, I felt no guilt over the violence I had just committed. I felt like I was better than everyone on earth in God’s eyes. What I did, I did in His name, so it was justified.

As I walked toward my villa at the top of the city near dusk, I thought of my mother waiting inside, and felt annoyance. I knew she was sad for my state of life – she thought me too cruel and didn’t understand why I was doing the things I was. When I had last left her, she had been crying for me not to go. I was not looking forward to facing her or her troublesome tears. ..

END OF DREAM SEQUENCE.

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(Continue reading from here...)

When I awoke from this dream in my tent atop the mountain in Trinidad, it took me a while to remember who I was. This man, who I have decided to call “the General”, was so unlike my current self that it took me some time to orient and sort out what I had just experienced. Indeed, all day during work, my coworkers commented on how quiet I was. I worked, but my head was contemplating every emotion and thought of this long dead man.

At this point in my life, I had already accepted that I had had past lives. And I had already acknowledged that some dreams I experienced were not typical, and could be visions of one sort or another. I was all too willing to believe that this dream had been a direct memory from a past life.

And I was ashamed.

I was ashamed at his lack of empathy for other’s pain. Upon waking, I thought back in horror for the poor people he had allowed to be tormented and killed, all because he deemed their religious belief's to be wrong compared to his.

His callous feelings toward the priest, and his attempt to intimidate and hurt him, had been by far the most shocking part of my dream. I had never experienced an urge to hurt someone so badly like that, and the experience had been traumatic even to my current self.

His warped view on God and Christianity was deeply troubling to me. I myself have a strong belief in God, but my view is one of compassion and mercy. The General didn’t understand that at all. He was obsessed with purity, but ultimately failed to see that his ways were wicked and the opposite of what God wants. Experiencing his fanaticism made me understand a bit better how cult leaders might feel or die-hard terrorists. He used his love of God to justify his brutal actions.

After a long day of hard work fixing trails and stringing fencing, I was able to relax at camp. I picked up a notebook and wrote out the dream, detail for detail, to make sure I would remember it. But it was so realistic, and because I had lived it first-hand through his eyes, I could remember it clearly.

As I contemplated the General, I came to another interesting conclusion. If I was being honest, I didn't only feel shame.

I did envy his power. Just like the priest had. In my current body, I’m an introverted intellectual. I’m also a bit timid and shy of being in charge of situations. I’d much rather follow and take orders.

Not the General. He wasn’t afraid to take what he wanted, or to demand it from others. He rather expected it. And people did give it to him. The General was wealthy and had more power than I will ever possess in this life. A part of me had enjoyed feeling that power through his eyes.

I could admire his strength, power, and authority. If not his sociopathic cruelty.

Ultimately, I have come to appreciate the incite this dream has given me. It has helped me to understand why a part of me is so drawn to villains in stories and movies, and has helped me to empathize with evil men like serial killers and dictators in our world. Not because I condone their actions – far from it! – but because I know I once thought and felt like them.

I think the shame from my life as “The General” has carried over into this life. As a child I was obsessed with being kind always to my fellow man, to never hurting or angering anyone. I still feel overly anxious to the point of being sick even as an adult when someone is angry or upset at me. I also shirk offers of power and prefer to keep my standing small, both in my personal life and at work. I think my current soul is trying extremely hard to over-compensate for past deeds.

If it is true that upon death we receive a life review and feel all the pain we caused others, then on boy, the General would have racked up quite the pain bill. My soul might still be terrified of experiencing such pain again, even 4 lives down the line.

Based on what I experienced in the vision, I believe the General was the ruler of a small but boisterous commerce city somewhere in the Mediterranean. It would have been after Christ’s death - I was a devout Christian, but not many were. The area I lived in was filled with many other religions and races. It was an interesting time to live. It was also my oldest known past life; all of the other known one’s came afterward.

This is my last installment in the past life category. In total, I know of 4 past lives, and I have shared them with you all in 3 posts. The Drowned Woman, the Boy Author, The Revolutionary Girl, and now The General. I hope you have enjoyed them – I have relished sharing what I know of my soul’s journey on this plane of reality.

I have experienced other strange events while living my current life on this earth, so far as a female living into her 30’s. Ghosts, manifestations, healings, strange dreams, synchronicities, glitches in the matrix, aliens...I plan to share them in future posts. Until then, thanks for reading!

- Ruth H. Curry