Past Life Resurfacing
Every once in a while, things happen in your life that can only be explained by the interaction of your life path, whether intentional or not, with elements of a previous existence your soul had experienced in a past life. I won’t go into the mountains of evidence for the existence of reincarnation, because it’s out there, nor the subjective proofs I have had in that regard, specifically those which were made known to me in a series of past-life regression sessions I had with a trained psychologist under hypnosis. Let me just summarise that all my previous lives that I have recalled happened in Eastern Europe.
I was born in Eastern Europe, in Czechoslovakia during the Soviet invasion of 1968. At 3 months of age I was moved to Austria, then the USA. In 1976 we moved to West Germany and moved back to the USA in 1977. In 1991 I made the decision to move back to Czechoslovakia, a country I knew only from the story-books of other people’s memories. I had no idea what I was getting into, and the only relatives I had there were people I had never met, nor even knew much about. In retrospect, it was a move somewhere between foolish and progressive.
Within 2 months of my arrival I had a job, a surprisingly good one, too. My advantage at the time was my command of both English and Czech, and being a fresh college graduate. In that job, I had, on several occasions interacted with many different people from various countries, as well as high-ranking people in the Czechoslovak government because the company I worked for was a Dutch company engaged in international trade. A series of events caused me to quit that job, and 2 months after that ended, I was hired by another international company from the UK.
This particular company was a tobacco company, and my duties included travelling throughout South Moravia and building a sales network for advertising and distribution of the company’s cigarette brands in what later became the Czech Republic.
One day, I was making a sales call in a tobacco shop right on the main square of Uherske Hradiste, and just as I was leaving, a man walked in there and immediately recognised me. We walked outside and he asked me if I was “that young American man” who worked for that Dutch company and I told him what had happened. He seemed to know me, and he knew my former boss’s names but I didn’t remember him at all.
He was a man in his 70s who bore a strong resemblance to Eduard Shevardnadze, and with him were 3 other guys who wore the same dark business suits like him, one obviously his driver, and one obviously his bodyguard, who wore black sunglasses. They all looked like characters from a Russian mafia movie but I had a deep but unexplainable reaction of positivity and trust toward them all, especially Eduard (for want of a better name).
Eduard was the only one of the group who spoke to me, and his English was very good, with a slight French accent. I also took notice of his car, a black Jaguar with French plates and a CD diplomatic sticker. He told me that the job I was doing was beneath me, and that I should be working at a much higher level and making more money. He said he was from Astrakhan, and that he was negotiating some import and export deals between his country (or whatever it was) and various countries in central and western Europe, dealing with everything from heavy machinery to consumer products, and based on what he knew about me, he thought I would be perfect for a position with his company. He seemed to be in a hurry, and even said so, telling me that he was late for a meeting that day, and that he had a lot of work to do. We exchanged business cards, and he insisted that I call him the next month to arrange a more formal meeting and discuss things about the position. His business card was a lot bigger than a normal one, and his company offices were stated as being in both Paris, France, and Astrakhan.
He got into the back seat of the Jaguar, and lowered his black-tinted window, saying something like “not to worry,” and that soon I will have a much better job. I was psyched. I couldn’t stop thinking about that encounter throughout the rest of my day as I went about doing my job. I remembered he asked me where I lived, which was Brno, Czech Republic at the time, and he said he was planning on setting up a corporation there as well. What I couldn’t understand about the meeting was my anomalously positive reaction to meeting him. I felt like I had met a long-lost friend, and I almost got the impression he did too. I just KNEW that he was a good guy and that I needed to find out more about him, and whatever outfit he was working for. I carefully placed his business card in the front flap pocket of my business card holder as I prepared to leave Uherske Hradiste to drive back home.
Even under normal circumstances, the drive from Uherske Hradiste going west is quite treacherous, especially the sharp twists and turns going through the Buchlov Hills. This night was particularly bad, with freezing rain and icy road conditions. Right around where the Buchlov Hills begin there was a massive traffic jam, and the reason became instantly obvious. It was a car accident and one of the cars had been completely crushed to where it was only about 60cm high but I recognised it immediately as I drove past the accident scene at a snail’s pace. It was a black Jaguar with French plates.
No human could have survived inside that car, and I had no doubt in my mind that this was the car of that mysterious man and his colleaugues. As far as car accidents go, I’ve seen some really strange ones, and I couldn’t figure out how the car got crushed like that. I also knew that my meeting with “Eduard” was a fateful one, at least for him.
I also knew that I had to at least call one of the phone numbers on his business card and possibly arrange to meet someone else from the company, but as everyone knows, back in 1993 the telecommunications scene was a bit different, and long-distance calls would cost an arm and a leg, and because of that I kept putting it off.
A week or so later, my company car was broken into right after I got home and parked it in front of my house. I was about to empty the contents, which always included 6 master cases of cigarettes, and my briefcase. One of the neighbours in my building had seen the robber, and had rung my bell repeatedly but I had just gotten in and was sitting on the bathroom when all of this was happening. By the time I got to my car, the damage had been done. None of the cigarettes were missing. The only thing missing was my briefcase. At that time, I did not have a telephone in my apartment, and neither did anyone else. The only option to call the Police was a phone booth a block away, and when I got there, there was a long line. I explained that it was an emergency and was able to call the Police immediately. They arrived, and took pictures and evidence. It was ridiculous because one of the police officers, a young woman, managed to slice her wrist open on the jagged glass, thus contaminating the scene.
I filed a Police report and before that had to drive the car (loaded with cigarettes) with a broken passenger-side window to inside the courtyard of the Police station. The next day was worse, because it was winter, and I had to drive all over town to find an auto glass place that would repair the damage, all the while having cold air blowing at the right side of my head. This resulted in a severe head cold.
The window was fixed the next day and I immediately visited the distribution company we were cooperating with and the owner told me that the Police had called, and that my briefcase had been found. This was great news because I had all my business records in there and some new contracts, and other important stuff. Like my business card folder.
The briefcase had been found by a doctor in the middle of the woods, on a path he would take as a shortcut to work. I thanked him and took the briefcase home to assess the damages. The only things missing were 6 of my business cards out of that folder, and one of them was that of that mysterious man from Astrakhan.
I never did find out what his real name was, although I do know he died the same day he had given me his card. It was on the local TV news, and reported that a fatal accident involving foreigners had occurred on the E50 in the Buchlov Hills. He obviously had a lot of money, and was obviously an important man. Maybe the Police (or someone else) had found MY business card among his personal effects during a search of the car, and maybe they decided to pay me a visit, and attempted to wipe their tracks by stealing HIS business card from me.
Maybe I was never meant to contact him again. Then again, maybe I WAS supposed to contact him again, but someone somewhere intervened, for whatever reason.