In her book Children’s Past Lives, Carol Bowman tells the story of her own son Chase, who was subjected to hypnotic regression on two occasions three years apart. (Pages 8-26, paperback edition.) Ordinarily I am not too impressed with past-life regressions under hypnosis, because the mind is awfully good at concocting stories to please the hypnotist. But this story is interesting.
Chase spoke of being a soldier in a war. Particularly intriguing, as Bowman herself notes, is how consistent the two versions of Chase’s narrative are, even in small details, despite the considerable lapse of time between the two tellings.
When he was five years old, Chase began experiencing a hysterical fear of loud booming noises, like fireworks. A hypnotherapist offered to regress him. Under hypnosis Chase reported:
"I’m carrying a long gun with a kind of sword at the end…. I have dirty, ripped clothes, brown boots, a belt. I’m hiding behind a rock, crouching on my knees and shooting at the enemy. I’m at the edge of a valley. The battle is going on all around me… I don’t want to look, but I have to when I shoot. Smoke and flashes everywhere. And loud noises: yelling, screaming, loud booms. I’m not sure who I’m shooting at — there’s so much smoke, so much going on. I’m scared. I shoot at anything that moves. I really don’t want to be here and shoot other people…. I’m hit in the right wrist by a bullet someone shot from above the valley. I slide down behind the rock, holding my wrist where I was shot. It’s bleeding — I feel dizzy.
"Someone I know drags me out of the battle and takes me to a place where they took soldiers that are hurt — not like a regular hospital, just big poles, like an open tent, covered with material. There are beds there, but they’re like wooden benches. They’re very hard and uncomfortable…
"I’m walking back to battle. There are chickens on the road. I see a wagon pulling a cannon on it. The cannon is tied onto the wagon with ropes. The wagon has big wheels."
Note that Chase specifically mentioned "loud noises: yelling, screaming, loud booms" – the sounds of combat, which clearly tie in with his sudden fear of loud noises. (This fear cleared up immediately after the regression.)
Also note that although he did not know the word bayonet, he described "a long gun with a kind of sword at the end." Instead of Hollywood-style heroism, Chase’s account is that of a frightened man who doesn’t "want to be here" and who’s not sure who he’s shooting at. His description of the makeshift field hospital seems accurate, as does his account of the cannon "tied onto the wagon with ropes" and the "chickens on the road."
Could he have seen these details in a movie? Bowman says the five-year-old’s TV watching was carefully monitored and did not include any programs about war. Of course we can’t be sure that he never caught a glimpse of a war movie, but his account seems to go beyond the memory of a film.
Several months later, out of the blue, Chase mentioned the time when he saw that he "was a soldier." He told his mother, "I talked funny." He spoke English, he said, but, "We sounded different… You know how black people talk?… Well, I was black…. There were black soldiers and white soldiers fighting together."
This led Bowman to speculate that her son was remembering the Civil War. However, she did not pursue the matter until Chase himself expressed the desire for another regression. This was during the 1991 Iraq War, when news coverage of the fighting reawakened old fears in the now eight-year-old boy. By this time Bowman had learned hypnosis, and she regressed her son.
Note how well his second, more sophisticated rendition of the tale dovetails with the first:
"Can’t hear sounds, but can see it. I see horses coming in the valley. Men with guns with spears on the ends. I see myself crouching behind a rock, looking up at them. I’m feeling sad, scared, proud. There are soldiers on horses on my side. I’m now kneeling behind a rock. Waiting.
"There’s a battle going on. Smoke everywhere. I’m not shooting, I’m waiting. I start to shoot at the enemy — I don’t have any choice, I want to protect myself. The people on the horses are white, I’m black. White soldiers are on my side. There’s too much going on. Confusion everywhere. I’m scared half to death. Oh — he gets my wrist with a shot. It hardly hurts. Everything goes black…
"Now I’m going back to fight with a bandage on my wrist. I see horses pulling a cannon, making a lot of dust. The cannon is on a wagon with big wheels — it’s tied down with heavy ropes. There’s chickens walking along the road. It’s a time between fighting. I’m thinking of how unhappy I am about going to war. I didn’t know what I was getting into….
"I’m back in battle. I’m shooting a cannon from the top of the valley. I pull a string, the cannon fires. I’m not loading it, though. I can’t shoot a gun because of my arm. I’m scared shooting the cannon. Now I know how the others feel to be shot at. They’re scared too…."
Asked how he came to be in the war in the first place, Chase replies,
"I’m at a house. It’s mine. Sort of a cabin made of rough wood. The house has a front porch with a railing — a place to hitch horses. There’s a rocking chair on the porch and a door in the middle. I have two kids. I think I have a wife — I do. I’m happy. It’s before the war. I was where the blacks are free. I see my wife — I see her from behind. She’s in the house. She’s wearing a blue dress with a white apron. She wears a dress with petticoats and black boots. She has straight hair she wears pulled back in a rag.
"I see a black man on the porch smoking a pipe — it’s me. I’m not young — about thirty or something. I’m very happy in the town. I wasn’t born there, but I was brought there as a baby in a covered wagon. I’m a painter and a carpenter, and I make pots and sell them and make models out of wood for a hobby. There’s a green area behind my house with bushes around. That’s my favorite place — that’s where I make my pots.
"There’s a dirt road in front of my house that goes to town. My town is a friendly town with wagons and farms. Chickens walk free. There are other black people who get along pretty well. The name of our town is something like Collosso…. It’s eighteen-sixty-something, at the beginning of the war.
"People are standing around a post where the roads meet — it’s the center of town. There is a lot of excitement, they’re talking about the war. I’m reading a notice attached to the post. The notice says ‘WAR’ and has little print. I’m not sure that I can read, but I know the notice is asking for volunteers. I get excited too, and I volunteer. I sign a paper. I don’t know what the paper says. I can’t read.
"I’m leaving my family. This is a sad time for me and my family, especially my kids. They’re crying. I’m very sad. This is the saddest time of my life…
"We’re meeting with someone important, a general or something, after I join. He’s talking about strategy. It’s for my own good to listen. But I’m not paying attention — I’m thinking about my family. I feel totally pushed around, and I don’t like it. People around me are more sad than scared….
"I’m hurt in the wrist. I’m under a big cloth held up by poles — it looks like a tepee or a covered wagon — wide open on the sides. It’s very crowded. A lot of noise — war in the background, gunshots. Someone is putting bandages around my wrist.. Others are screaming because they’re in so much pain. I’m thankful I don’t have as much pain as the others. I guess my wrist isn’t that bad. I’m sad to go back to battle. I miss my family. I’m behind the cannon. I’m hit!…
"I’m floating above the battlefield. I feel good that I’m done. I see the battle and smoke below. As I look down on the battlefield, everything is still and smoky — nothing is moving down there. I feel happy that I’m done. I get to go to a happier life. I float over my house. I see my wife and kids. I say goodbye to my family. They don’t see me because I’m in spirit, but they know that I’m dead….
"Everyone has to be in a war. It balances everything out. Not necessarily die in a war, but experience it. It teaches you about feelings. It gives you a sense of how other people feel. It’s a bad place. I skipped World War II. I was up. I was waiting for my turn to go back to a more peaceful time. I had a short life in between."
Bowman comments:
The consistency between this most recent version of the story and his first regression was remarkable. Although these two accounts were three years apart, Chase reported the same images and feelings almost word for word….
Chase gave what sounded to me like an accurate portrayal of a Civil War soldier’s life. His account of what it felt like to be in the middle of a confusing battle and to be "pushed around" is more realistic than the glorified version of war that is commonly depicted in movies and on television. The mundane details added color and realism to the story: chickens running free, his wife’s black boots and multiple petticoats, the recruitment poster on a poll that was the center of town, enlistment papers he couldn’t read, the field hospital made of poles and canvas, pulling a string to fire the cannon (which, I verified later, was how these cannons were actually fired). The cumulative effect of the details, the flow and cogency of his story, and the credible predicament of the protagonist would do credit to any novelist. Yet this was coming from an eight-year-old boy with virtually no exposure to the realities of war.
Most importantly, the benefits of these regressions were tangible. After this last regression Chase was immediately more confident and relaxed.
There are other similarities between the two accounts. These include the setting of a valley, the soldier crouching behind a rock, the bayonets (still unnamed but clearly implied by "guns with spears on the ends"), the smoky battlefield, the confusion of the war zone, the wrist wound, dizziness in the first account and blacking out in the second, the wagon with big wheels, the cannon tied down with ropes. Remember that the accounts were three years apart, and most eight-year-olds would not retain a clear memory of a story they had last told when they were five.
To me, the most interesting thing Chase said was, "I skipped World War II. I was up." As Bowman comments, "Where was ‘up’?"
Now, that’s the $64,000 question, isn’t it?