One day, out of the blue, my oldest brother spoke with me about an incident that occurred when he was 12 years old. He called it his worst childhood memory. After he told me, his wife informed me that in their 28 year marriage (up to that point), that was the only time my brother had ever spoken of his childhood. The strange part is I remember the incident. I was present when it occurred. I was there with my brother, my father and my mother. My brother did not remember I was there. I sat in mute silence because I was only 6 years old, and also because I was stunned by what I had witnessed. I am still stunned by it to this day and have never forgotten the incident. I am stunned that parents, especially my own parents, could be so cruel to their own children, but then I am reminded of this fact whenever I take my aging mother out for lunch. She will often refer to us, her children, as "our children", using the term in an odd way. She will insert it into a sentence like this: "You know, your father and I were very disappointed with our children", when she is speaking directly to me, when I am the only person present other than herself. She would sometimes say this when my father was sitting next to her, but he never corrected or contradicted her. In an instant, I thought my parents were trying to tell me I was adopted, which, at that point in my life, wouldn't have seemed like such a bad thing. Living with my parents was very odd and love was a conditional substance.
A memory came back to me just a few days ago while I was reading Carol Bowman's book about children and reincarnation. I remembered a deep memory that I had forgotten, or probably its more accurate to say, it was a memory I had shoved deep into the recesses of my mind, a long time ago in hopes that I would forget all about it. It was triggered by reading a story from her first book. It sent a shock wave through my mind and body as I realized the implications and impact it must have had on me at the time. It was the day my mother told me that she did not love me. She told me she loved a friend of mine as her son more than she loved me. She went on to explain to me that this friend of mine was her son in a previous life, as if that somehow justified her comment. She never explained it further than that. She didn't seem to grasp that I was her son in this life, which is all that really should have mattered, and that she also had two other sons as well. Where did they fit in? Given that my mother's mother was a psychic medium, and that we were brought up to understand reincarnation, karma, and a whole lot more from an early age, I am at a loss for words to describe the stupidity exhibited by my mother. Many times she not only demonstrated her lack of compassion, but also her total lack of understanding of what she had taught us as growing children. I never felt she actually connected with her children in any real meaning way.
The only lesson I can take from this is: even if you believe in reincarnation, and feel enlightened by it, it doesn't mean you are an enlightened or rational human being. Reincarnation is just a piece of the puzzle; its not life itself. It also showed me that my mother was twisted. What would possess someone to tell their child something like that? Nothing good can ever come from making that sort of statement. What on earth was she thinking?