A Multiplicity of Advisors-The Process of Reclaiming Of Disassociated Parts of Ourselves, Or Healing From Traumas from Present or Past Lives.
Talk about july 21, 1987 and two characters within life field.
Talk about baby trauma-there is something fundamental here.
Talk about wanting to write, yet held back by self-perception of having nothing to say.
Recount two Past Lives, and their pets itential impact upon present incarnation.
July 21, 1987
During a meditation, I had a most profound spiritual teaching, with a most confusing revelation came, as well. I I could see the field of energy that constituted my “body/mind awareness”. I saw embedded in it two almost complete thought forms, or identity forms, which I recognized as two distinct “entities”. Yes, I had two ‘extras’ attached to my field, and they were not there for my greater good, for sure. I came to regard these two unwelcome components to my life force as “tricksters”, though I noted that their presence seemed to allay the feelings of loneliness of my ego, perhaps only because they seemed vaguely familiar to me. I sensed that I was supposed to let go of these “illusions of self”, but I did not know what to do. The two extra identity vortices in the ‘human energy field matrix’ that constituted my conscious sense of self did not really ever disappear, they just became unconscious again, for me. Little did I know that they were to become the most critical components to understand in my desire to heal from trauma and the unhealed wounding from past lives and form a better ongoing human/spiritual experience.
Reincarnation?
- Ancient Shaman
I was born at a northwest Portland hospital in November of 1955. There were nearly two feet of snow on the ground on the day of my birth. My mother had to take a taxi to the hospital because my father was at work at the time of my birth. My father’s employment helped to characterize much of my early years and my relationship with my father. My needs as a baby and a young boy were often trumped by Dad’s compulsion to work constantly and hard. He carried two jobs for many years, and home affairs were arranged to guarantee that Dad could continue that endeavor. Since I was a crying baby, and my cries kept my dad awake, I was wrapped in a blanket and stored in the car in our garage at night until he went to work at 2:15 every morning. Mom would retrieve me and then try to make things OK with me until her work preparation began, and then Pam and I would be passed on to a babysitter for the day for our first five years of life.
As a child, I learned that my world could be an unsafe place, especially while I slept. I remember lying awake at least until midnight most nights, fearing sleep and its dreams until I fell asleep out of exhaustion, even if bedtime was at 8:00 pm. I remember using that extra time to rehash my entire day and everything I said and did. I would see where I could have behaved better or differently for a greater advantage. I intuited that if I were a “better person” by day, my nightmares at night might not be so severe. Yet, my daily behavior rarely improved, for I was spontaneous and tended to impulsive activity.
I had terrifying nightmares almost every night until I was eight years old. I would be so afraid that I would stay in my bed and pee in it quite frequently, which presented some problems over those early years. Mother removed me from the top bunk of a bunk bed that my sister and I shared because of a couple of yellow “waterfalls,” which led to us having separate bedrooms by age 4. After I started sleeping by myself, my mother allowed me into her bedroom at night after my typical nightly nightmare terror sessions, as long as Dad had already left for work. I remember how protected from my demons, I felt as I lay in bed with her. I also know, now, that I unconsciously sought out women, MUCH MORE THAN MEN, to bond with, with the hopes that the relationship would bring a measure of safety and acknowledgment into my life, which seemed to be quite lacking in too many of my male to male connections. These forces formed an unconscious personality center, yet another locus of energy, in addition to other energy centers, such as the fear of being ignored, which directly influenced most of my future perceptions.
have memories of waking up from sleep and, with my sister, walking over to the garage window and crawling onto my rocking horse to look out of the window to the garage to see if our parents’ car was present. We were distressed by the parents’ absence if their vehicle was missing. To this day, we both agree that this event did happen and that it happened several times.
My famous rocking horse, which my great-grandfather had given to me. My beloved Uncle Wayne is overseeing the rider.
I started 1st grade at 5, taking an advanced entry exam to qualify me to start earlier. My mother arranged this because I was so unhappy with the babysitters that my parents had arranged to care for me. One sitter, named Jo Stanley, was an unloving presence who also had an abusive teenage son who terrorized me and threatened me with sexual assault on one occasion. I had several other decent babysitters from ages 0-5, but the Stanleys were my living hell experience. My mother especially wanted to help me, so she arranged advanced entry into the 1st grade. This action caused great stress to my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Tozier, who had difficulty accepting me and my “immature” behavior. To quote her from my first-grade report card: “Bruce’s main problem is talking to others and himself. Some of his behavior problems have disappeared, however, and he is working hard”.
One of our first daily activities in grade school was to perform the “show and tell” ritual. Students would bring objects of interest to tell stories about or relate their experiences with new or fun activities away from school. Each student would get in front of the class and have a few minutes to present. I would go up every day, whether or not I had anything new to show off or talk about. I wanted to be the person who had something to say and get positive feedback about it. After a couple of weeks of standing in front of the class, shell-shocked and silent, I was told to weigh and measure my words better, which was not part of my toolkit at that age.
The need to be recognized and heard, the fear of public speaking, and the appearance of suffering and death originated at different points in my life but became part of one big family in my mind as time went on. In the third grade, Mrs. Tozier had me again, and her final statement about me was the following: “Bruce is a careful worker and wants very much to do his work correctly. It has been interesting and rewarding to watch him develop this year. His main problems are social ones”. I spent a lot of time under the dunce’s cap in the back corner of the room. Mr. Hill, the school principal, and Mrs Tozier required that I take medicine for my hyperactivity to continue to be allowed in her class. My mother and my doctor conspired together, and the doctor prescribed me sugar pills, placing them in a methedrine-labeled prescription bottle. The “prescription” was given to Mrs. Tozier, who made sure that I took the fake pills daily. I miraculously improved, though Mrs Tozier’s perceptions of me were enhanced by taking the placebo!
Third grade photograph, Bruce back row, third from right
I had fantasies about friends, of which I had so few or none in the early years. One fantasy with remarkable staying power was that people would become attracted to me if I miraculously saved them. Otherwise, people would be uninterested in befriending or loving me. We lived in an area devoid of children my age and sex before 1965. I grew up isolated from friendship until we moved to a new neighborhood, which was much more mature and had more options for childhood.
At eight, I had a most unique, realistic dream. The dream appeared when I slept very little, as I usually got to sleep no earlier than midnight, no matter how early I went to bed. I lay in bed and reviewed the day every night before sleep, seeing where I could have done things better or said something differently. My dreams finally evolved beyond the continuous nightmare phase before age 8.
Here is the dream:
Having received his directive from “on high,” the priest returned to his village along the lake in the high mountain region. He gathered all of the villagers together and informed them that they were to take every golden figurine, every sacred symbol that they owned, and they were to throw them all into the lake, and never to think about them again. Then, he told each villager that they must go into their own home and face the “evil one” without any protection or care from their gods or their sacred symbols. The priest then returned to his own home, having tossed all of his own idols and treasures into the deep blue lake. He stripped himself bare of all clothing and then began summoning the dark forces. He became surrounded by a fog, and as he lifted his hands, sparks started flying out of his fingertips at the unknown force of darkness that lay just beyond his visual field, still hidden beyond the boundaries of the fog. The priest refocused his energy into his arms and hands, and the sparks grew into a steady energy field, extending from his body, his heart, and his spirit towards his unknown adversary. He was determined to overcome this force, this dark energy, and he redoubled his efforts. The priest’s heart began to race out of control, sweat profusely, and a growing sense of fear and dread began to take hold of his entire being as he finally understood that his energy could not last forever. To continue this battle, he must sacrifice all of his life force. Yet, he felt that he had no choice but to keep engaging the enemy, to finally see the face of the force that had terrorized his village since time began. He desperately strained and stretched to see the object of his fear and disdain, even as the ebbing energy field flowing from his fingertips continued to cut through the fog. Suddenly, a face began materializing before his faltering gaze. As he collapsed to the floor, almost drained of all life, he could no longer fight an undeniable truth– the face of the evil one might be his own!
The dream of the mountain lake community of people, with the priest (me) fighting the force of darkness, is still quite alive in my mind and remains a significant teaching for me as both a child and now as an adult. Idolatry and psychological projection are the modern names for the phenomena shown to me in the dream world. Being so immature and not too worldly in my knowledge, I did not have the necessary background to know what to think about the dream at the time. I discussed the dream with my older sister, who seemed to have some partial answers to its mysteries (based on her understanding of reincarnation), but so many mysteries remained for me. I waited, watched for further answers, and went on with the important business of being a carefree boy, though at times, I fleetingly experienced “self-awareness.”
- Bobby Clemens
In April of 1987, after I had been sober for about one month after 16 years of hell, I had a series of three dreams, on three consecutive nights.
In the first dream, I was an early teenager, hanging out with 4 or 5 other boys, who were my buddies. My name, in the dream, was Bobby Clements.
In the second dream, we are all enlisting, as a group, to enter WWII. We told the recruiter that we all wanted to fly on the same plane, or we would not accept service. We were promised that the Air Force would do everything in their power to make sure that we all were on duty in the same location, and, perhaps, share space on the same military aircraft
In the third dream, I am piloting an aircraft, with all of my buddies assuming support roles. We are flying into anti-aircraft shelling turbulence, and I can no longer keep the aircraft under control. My buddies stay in their positions, but apparently whatever hit us from below, is a fatal blow. I know that we are all going to die. The dream ends.
I researched Bobby Clements substantially for two months (prior to advent of the internet) later in 1987. I had seen a park with the last name that I was researching south of Salem towards the coast, and drove to Philomath, Oregon with my wife Sharon, researching the Clements family there, but I came up short.
Several decades later, my sister took up the search for me. My sister is a STRONG BELIEVER in reincarnation, and she has memories from her own past life experiences.
In her research, she came up with Robert “Bobby” Kelly Clements, of Nova Scotia, Canada.. Robert flew a Lancaster bomber for the RAF out of England, and he was allowed to hand pick his crew, according to the records. He picked his five Nova Scotia friends!
His story was identical to what I saw in the three dream sequence, according to the family reports that she had read about “Bobby”, too.
Umm, Bobby was an electrician prior to his enlistment. As an eight year old, I wanted to become an electrician more than anything, save becoming an Air Force pilot. I had a full ride scholarship to the Air Force, was in the ROTC at the U of Portland, then dropped out due to my first wife’s severe health issues.
I eventually retired, as an electrician, in 2016,.
I tried to commit suicide in 1986, when I finally realized that my childhood dreams of being, first an Air Force pilot, and then an astronaut, were never, ever to be realized in this incarnation.
Eerie!
Here is my letter to my sister, acknowledging the experience:
Unraveling the Wounded Energy Vortices of the Soul
The tapestry of our lives is often far richer and more intricate than it first appears. Lying beneath the surface of a singular human experience may be countless threads spun from past incarnations, each holding the echoes of forgotten traumas, triumphs, and incomplete journeys. To see ourselves merely as products of our current lifetime is to miss the spiritual complexity that has shaped the contours of our energy field.
Two such vortices have shaped mine, mirroring fragments of past lives that resonate powerfully in my present. One seems to emerge from a life as an ancient shaman, a healer tethered to the spiritual forces of the earth. The other, from the life of Bobby Clemens, an ill-fated WWII pilot surrounded by camaraderie and sacrifice but plagued by loss. Together, they weave a narrative of wounding, healing, and the reclamation of wholeness.
On July 21, 1987, during a profound meditation, I gazed into the energetic matrix of my existence. For the first time, the substrate of what I’d come to know as “my self” revealed two distinct and potent energy vortices within my human life field. Each bore the imprint of a past life, not as harmonious integrations, but as unresolved fragments that had remained entangled with my current incarnation.
One vortex belonged to the essence of an ancient shaman. This being held the power of deep spiritual connection, one that flowed seamlessly between realms of the seen and unseen. And yet, this past life had not been immune to trauma. Sacrifices and spiritual battles from that incarnation had left wounds that persisted in my present energy. The second vortex bore the mark of Bobby Clemens, an RAF pilot who had perished in WWII. A life defined by leadership, loyalty, and the anguish of unmet aspirations, this energy was less about warfare and more about the brotherhood and deep loss that echoed far beyond his final moments.
What was once unconscious became visible during that meditation, and although it filled me with clarity, it also left me with profound questions and uncertainty. How could I, immersed in the present, heal from the shadows of lives that had long since extinguished? And in this revelation, what role could these embedded traumas play in my spiritual evolution?
The shamanic vortex was deeply rooted in the archetype of the wounded healer, a paradox I have often lived without fully understanding. My childhood was rife with night terrors, abandonment fears, and a desperate yearning for connection that rarely found its nourishment in male figures. Yet, intuitively, I always bridged my inner world with spiritual forces I could barely name. Just as the shaman of old must tear away illusions of their own identity to serve others fully, my past as a shaman called me to release layers of ego and projection.
The priest from my childhood dream, who cast golden idols into the lake and summoned the fog veiling his own deepest fears, feels like an echo of this identity. The lesson was clear yet terrifying—to confront the unresolved energies of my past lives, I had to be vulnerable enough to face their darkness. This process began with deep meditation but extended into deliberate acts of reconciliation with my younger self and the pent-up traumas of my childhood.
The name Bobby Clemens arose as vividly as if I’d spoken it aloud during a series of sequential dreams in 1987. At first, this vivid narrative felt almost too fantastical to take seriously. Yet, the details were so poignant and consistent. I was shown a young man from Nova Scotia, a boy full of hope and companionship, who entered WWII alongside five close friends, only to perish together in the skies.
Years later, research confirmed nearly every detail of these visions. That past life had carried with it a core wound of unfulfilled dreams. Despite my early aspirations to join the Air Force and the ROTC plans I set into motion in my youth, life circumstances prevented me from stepping into that reality in this incarnation. Fragments of unhealed grief turned inward against myself, manifesting as a short-lived suicide attempt in 1986, culminating in the desire to dissolve the self altogether.
Seeking Bobby Clemens wasn’t just an intellectual pursuit. It was a spiritual act of acknowledgment. To this day, his frustrations, loyalties, and ultimate sacrifice continue to mirror parts of myself that long for resolution. His unfulfilled potential—to lead an unencumbered, joyous life beyond war—is a dream I now strive to carry forward consciously.
What these vortices have taught me is that healing is rarely bound by the timeline of one life. The wounds we bear today often transcend what we dismiss as “only childhood” or “just this life.” They are echoes reverberating through the chambers of multiple realities, requiring not only personal introspection but a deep spiritual honoring of what brought them into being.
Healing these pains and distortions requires several key steps:
- Recognition (the act of naming what haunts us): Just as I came to realize the shaman and Bobby Clemens were significant vortices within my energy field, we must honor our inner acknowledgment of dissonance, no matter how irrational it may first appear.
- Integration (inviting the fragments back home): Both my past lives taught me to claim, rather than reject, the vulnerable parts of my soul. This takes time, trust, and radical honesty with oneself.
- Awareness Beyond ‘the Now’ (transcending human temporal constraints): Healing extends beyond the narrative of this individual life. To heal from all incarnations means acknowledging that time simply creates the context for understanding the cycles of spiritual growth.
These vortices are no longer my captors; they are companions on my expansive spiritual path. They teach me that while wounding itself may arise from the finite journeys we’ve made, healing belongs to something much larger. Healing does not happen alone, but in communion with the timeless essence of our shared human and spiritual experience.
To those on their own journeys of disassociation, trauma, and shadow work, the message is this: we carry the weight of wounds older than we realize. But within us also lies the light of countless lifetimes, waiting patiently to illuminate pathways to freedom.
