(For those who may have heard the story before, on the old SHC website, my most sincere apologies… I misstated the session with Lysander and Azrael previously. I was restricted to bed rest only by that time of the pregnancy with our twins, and as such, I was not privileged to witness the actual events with the others. It has now been explained in depth and corrected here. My apologies for any confusion.)
During a session with our friend, Lysander, Az found out some “disturbing” information about a past life. For all his pride at being, a “Damn Yankee” this particular regression was a shocker on so many levels. For those who do not know any hardcore Southerners, “Damn Yankee” is the term used for a person from the north who moves to the south and stays. This is the difference between “Yankee”, i.e. one who visits and/or moves down but leaves soon after arriving, and a “Damn Yankee”.
As I was saying… for all his pride, he was very cocky and playfully obnoxious at times, especially toward those hardcore Southerners of whom I was speaking , my husband was happy to tell anyone he met that he was a “Damn Yankee” living in Texas. Therefore, you can imagine he was rather shocked to find that some of his spiritual “roots” had come from much farther south than he expected, in previous lives, especially this one in particular, a Lil’ Ole Southern “Belle” who was quite flirtatious by nature.
Lysander had regressed Az and the resultant voice alone was startling to hear. It was high pitched, very feminine and formal, which reportedly sounded a very odd coming from my tall and husky husband. As Lys was taking him through “her” surroundings at the time, she described the bedroom she was standing in. The very frilly draperies, the four-poster bed, and dressing station with large mirror, several pots of creams and perfumes on the top, and right down to the man currently in her bed. When asked about the man, quizzed if he were her husband “she” was quite amused and replied “Oooooh Lordy, Noooooo!” When the laughter died down from those in the room hearing this very prissy, very southern exclamation coming from my 6’5” husband, the session continued. It seemed that he was a young “former belle” of an honorable family who had fallen from the family graces. “She” was forced to live in the Natchez red-light district and was earning her living as a “soiled dove” (for those of you who never read any romance novels… that is a polite way of saying my husband was a hooker in a previous life.)
Needless to say, from this point on, any time I wanted to be chased around the house, all I had to do to was bat my lashes a bit and say “Oooooh Lordy, Noooooo!” and the race was on.