Brian Pratt Rules!

When Brian Pratt was three years old I was taking a Child Development class.

One day he sat beside me while I read through the text. I came to a page with a picture of a Caesarian birth. Brian saw it and exclaimed “Oh, I remember that! They opened the window and I swam out.”

That is exactly what happened when Brian was born.

I had been to my OBGYN for a regular appointment. Earlier in the day I felt what I thought were mild contractions. It was my first baby so I was guessing. I took a walk. I asked my then husband, Doug, to stay home from work. He did.

At the appointment, after a quick exam, my doctor to me to go straight to the hospital.

Warning: semi-graphic anatomical details ahead.

I went and was prepped for the Caesarian I already had been told I’d be having. Brian was a very large baby and, well, my pelvic bones were just too close together for his big old head.

When the doctor made the cut through my muscle wall into the womb amniotic fluid burst forth like a pent up waterfall. I remember the doctor commenting on the volume. It splashed everywhere.

Brian talked of the memory that day in a very matter of fact way. At this time in his life it wasn’t the only thing he remembered.

Brian has always been gentle, affectionate and concerned for the welfare of others. He was, even then, kind to other children and never aggressive.

I remember going to pick him up one day at the college day care and being intercepted by one of the teachers.

“Does Brian watch a lot of television? Has he watch anything recently that might have frightened him?”

“No.” I was puzzled. We regularly watched Sesame Street which he loved but nothing age inappropriate.

The teacher seemed to be addressing this issue with great seriousness.

“He told me today that he had been shot and killed by the police,” she said.

She asked again if there was some movie he could have seen. We didn’t watch much TV, I said. She let it pass.

Another time, in that same month, as we drove to school, Brian was suddenly disturbed. He leaned toward the floor board.

“My baby. My baby,” he said.

He seemed to see his baby, pick it up and cradle it in his arms. He said his baby had an arrow in it’s body. He was sad but it seemed to pass quickly.

Brian really seemed, for a short while, to be reliving this traumatic episode. I fully believe he was having a flash back to a past life. At that time he had no younger siblings and had not been around small babies. I can’t even imagine how he knew about arrows at that point.

Within a few months we visited a museum. I think it was the Autry Southwest Museum in Los Angeles. There was a wall with a relief of tall warriors. They must have been from a culture in a warm place. They had weapons strapped to them. They may have been wearing sandles. A rough guess is that they could have been from the first century middle eastern country.

In the museum an older man was standing before the relief of the warriors. Brian went up and engaged him in conversation. He launched into an elaborate explanation of who the warriors were and what they were all about.

At one point I tried to get Brian to let the man enjoy the art in silence but the man wouldn’t hear of it.

“No, no. Let him talk,” he said.

Brian seemed to be completely familiar with the figures on the wall. Who knows what he might have discovered had we been able to travel the world.

Brian never really spoke in a childish way. It seemed he drew from a body of preexisting knowledge. He always prefered speaking to adults rather than children.

By the time I had moved on from a city college to the University of Iowa Brian had out grown the spontaneous past life recall. Still we could discuss matters of great spiritual depth. He had a complete and mature cosmological view of the other world. We had a great discussions about spirits and the “other world.” This too just seemed to be a topic in which Brian was well versed.

He has a great mind for history. He loves contemplating and learning about how man has interacted with man over the centuries. He’s fond of military and political strategies and intrigues.

He is also, like his sister, Jessica, a natural musician. Like his grandfather, once he learned to whistle he could work up any melody. He didn’t dwell on this talent but it is there. He’s a good guitar player and I know he can sing, too, if he feels so inclined.

I’m pretty sure it runs in the family.

He’s brilliant and busy making this life happen now.

I believe that we come into this world with a history of our own. When we are very young we can still access those memories of the other world and past lives.

If you know children between the ages of 3 and 5, listen to them openly and turn off your own prejudices. Let them tell you about what they know and where they have been.

They are not blank slates waiting to written upon. They know many things. Listen to them and learn. it’s very intriguing.

We forget our connection to the universe of possibility so that we can concentrate on this life but deep inside we know where we have been.

Check out Dr. Ian Stevenson’s University of Virginia site.

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