• Unlocks the primordial memory bank of planetary consciousness
• Explores the past lives of spiritual teacher Barbara Hand Clow at sacred sites during historical periods critical to the development of human consciousness
• With illustrations by Angela Werneke, illustrator of Medicine Cards
• First editions collectively sold 60,000 copies
Combined for the first time in one updated and revised volume, the three books of The Mind Chronicles TrilogyEye of the Centaur, Heart of the Christos, and Signet of Atlantisshow that all the places, times, and beings we have ever known exist now in our memory banks. Using the mind state produced during 100 sessions of hypnotic regression, Barbara Hand Clow unlocks the primordial memory bankthe records of time in which all humans participateoffering readers critical information to reflect upon now.
In The Mind Chronicles, Clow guides readers through 100,000 years of human history, using in-depth experiences of initiations and sacred ceremonies to illuminate the forgotten wisdom of our ancestors. She shows that this ancient knowledge, which is contained deep within all of us, is becoming even more relevant as the Mayan Calendar comes to a close and a new stage of evolution begins.
|Publisher:||Inner Traditions/Bear & Company|
|Edition description:||A Revised Single-Volume Edition of The Mind Chronicles Trilogy|
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.00(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Mind ChroniclesA Visionary Guide into Past Lives
By Barbara Hand Clow
Bear & CompanyCopyright © 2007 Barbara Hand Clow
All right reserved.
from Chapter 7
The Dark Night of the Soul into Magic
Once I was completely embodied, my head in the clouds in the higher realms got connected to my body, and then my feet pushed me into the dung. The pull into connection with the cosmos forced me into my own feet. Like a root from a seed diving straight down into the soil, the journey into the dark night of the soul became a total compulsion. I needed to shine a searchlight into my deepest recesses, and what I could find would be my teacher.
It is 1208 AD . . .
The madness spreads like the plague. The people run through the towns whipping themselves, and we hear about more and more burnings at the stake. The people go to watch the burnings, but I do not. I do not go because I feel fear in my heart. There is thickness in my throat from the fires and the stench of burning flesh. I will not look. I will not look. While sitting in the office of my store in Marseilles, a crying woman comes in to ask me to help her just because I'm rich. She is too dirty to pass by my fabric, and I want her out, away! My valet shoves her and she hits her head. She throws my door open and screams as my men tear at her hair, at her dress. I stop them and say, "No,let her go! Don't grab her!" She screams a piercing scream and falls forward on my desk with her hands clutching the edge. She screams, "You can stop them, all you have to do is pay the Dominicans. If you don't, they will burn her. She is my little girl, only twelve, and you have the money. You can pay the Church. If you don't pay, they will burn my girl."
I feel nothing. As if my heart is in the damp ashes and coals lying in the hearth next to where my mother died, frozen for days, I feel nothing. My men grab her shoulders, pull her away, and throw her out the door. She wants twenty florins, which I make in an hour. But there are too many of them. If I did it, I'd be flooded with filthy ragged women begging for their daughters. Suddenly a ray of white light pierces my head, and I clutch my head as if I'm having an aneurysm. My muscles lose their tone as I fall against my desk. My consciousness as Hebrew prophet comes in, the time when I told the people how to live. In those days, I left behind my own wife and children as soon as the light of my mission took over my soul. Now I am here again as medieval merchant with another chance. But I do nothing.
Now, I'm an old man still living in my house, and now that I am old, I have feelings. Thinking about the different things that happened in my life, I go back to that time when she was being burned. On that fated day, I remained a while in my office worrying about my heart while I sorted brocades from Florence. I couldn't shake it, so I went to the square where a large tree was cut down into a stake that was piled high with faggots ready to light. It all comes back, as if I am there again, the people screaming like animals with no souls. I hear a scream above the crowd, a screaming small sound like a wounded bird. They are bringing in a little girl pulling on her shoulders, as rags come off exposing her flesh. This is the little girl--I see her mother being restrained. Five or six men are holding her and laughing. The little girl screams the most unearthly sound I have ever heard. They bring the ragged, mangy little girl through the crowd, and as she comes close to me, she turns and I see her face. I stare with horror into this unearthly beautiful little face, beautiful eyes, skin, white skin. Her eyes are hot coals staring into the face of my own soul. I know I'm allowing my own soul to be burned by killing it with indifference, killing it with the fear of feeling the fire in my heart.
Oh, God, I've seen this face before, and I am terror struck. I fish in my pocket desperately for twenty florins. But I've brought no money in case the beggars would try to get it from me. I look up again at the face, and my soul realizes this is the face of my own daughter long ago in Thrace. But now I am a male merchant, and this I don't understand. I run toward her and clutch for the men who carry her along. They see my good clothes and they seem ready to stop, but a Dominican shoves one of them hard. He whispers in a raspy voice, "It is the devil, it is the devil," and again they move her along. The crowd of crazed peasants sees my good clothes, and they become angry. One of them pulls a gem ring off my finger almost breaking my knuckle, and I am more afraid for myself than for the little girl. One of them grabs me by the throat and starts to strangle me. I can feel my throat gurgling, and the pain is unbearable. Somebody stabs me in the heart! I think I feel somebody stab me in the heart, but it is the sound of that little bird stabbing me in my heart. I have my own dagger, I hear her cry again as the flames sear her flesh, and I stab myself in the heart. I never want to have life again. I'm lying on the ground feeling heat and flames and somebody kicks me on the side of my head. That is all I remember.
Excerpted from The Mind Chronicles by Barbara Hand Clow Copyright © 2007 by Barbara Hand Clow. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of ContentsAcknowledgments
Introduction by Gregory Paxson
Eye of the Centaur
1 The Court Jester, the Roman, and the Victorian Lady
2 The Priest of Osiris and the Druid
3 The Delphic Oracle and the Magic Cave
4 The Rape of Lydia and the Labyrinth
5 The Renaissance Astronomer, the Medieval Merchant, and the Roman
6 The Vision in the Temple and the Scarab
7 The Dark Night of the Soul into Magic
8 The Argo Passes through the Symplegades
9 Enochian, Druidic, and Thracian Divination
10 Existence as Form
11 The Virtues of the Soul
12 The Vision of the Christ
Heart of the Christos
13 Tantric Initiation and the Goddess
14 The Olmec and the Records of Teotihuacan
15 Priests and Kings
16 Tikal as the Gateway to the Underworld
17 Emergence from the Underworld
18 The Great Lakes and the Paleolithic Spiral
19 Teotihuacan and the Tiger Initiation
20 Bishop, Executioner, and the White Knight
21 Isaiah and Marcion
22 Lakota Medicine Woman
23 Messages from the Pleiades
24 The Emerald Records of the Holy Grail
Signet of Atlantis
25 Labyrinthian Journey
26 Mystery Plays of Atlantis
27 Breaking the Seventh Seal
28 Swimming in Cells and Stars
29 Multidimensional Portals
30 Birthing the Divine Child
31 Decoding the Principle of Twelve
32 City of the Goddess
What People are Saying About This
“The past comes alive here and teaches us life in the present; and time is no longer a single strand stretched out and forbidding but is rather a vast spaciousness all are invited to explore.”
“Barbara Hand Clow offers a brilliant and ingenious record of her inner journey into the multiple landscapes of her creative unconscious.”
“. . . a spellbinding journey through cellular memory and the multidimensional self, brilliantly recalled with an infusion of Pleiadian perspective.”
“Blending new science with myth, Barbara Hand Clow reveals an astonishing vision of past and future. Read it!”
“A spellbinding tour de force of ancient mysteries and archaic consciousness drawn into present time and space. . . . Barbara Hand Clow has worked real magic with this book.”
“Barbara Hand Clow gently illuminates the shadows of our frightened souls with a multitude of magnificent stories, teachings, blessings, and truths.”
“Barbara Hand Clow’s account of her extensive past-life regressions is mesmerizing and insightful. From past lives lived as great initiates and seers to humble everyday people, she reveals that no matter how spectacular or quietly ordinary a life may seem, it is always filled with great lessons.”
"For those interested in reincarnation, this will be a fine reading experience. For those new to the work of Barbara Hand Clow, they are in for a special treat. Recommended to all readers who enjoy exploring the past with a brilliant writer."
"You can read this as a collection of stories or, as the author intends it, as an amassed collection of past-life memories. It does not matter what your belief system. If you can keep an open mind and be willing to find the bits of wisdom laced throughout this book, you will surely find some path toward personal growth."
"Past-life regression goes far beyond symptom relief, validation of belief or simply to verify reincarnation. Regression can facilitate growth, integrating personal healing and spiritual growth into one process. . . . Knowing our own unique past provides a vehicle for learning so much about our true essence, our higher selves."