Past Life at Moulin Rouge
Since having returned from the birthday trip of a lifetime to Paris last week, I have been ungratefully depressed. Not (just) because I went somewhere fabulous and now I’m back to the daily grind but because SOMETHING SIGNIFICANT HAPPENED THERE.
There was a time in THIS life where, I had time to do Past Life Regressions on myself and a few friends and family members somewhat regularly. Fantastic discoveries! I’ve been: a PHARAOH* (although I called myself: “The son of the Pharaoh”), a brothel Madame in a Wild West Saloon, a banished gay cave man, a petite redheaded Irish woman that was crushed by a heavy wagon, a Russian logger with huge forearms, a TRIBAL AFRICAN MOTHER, a hardworking shepherd in the biblical days, an ITALIAN BISHOP, a Japanese fisherman that survived a shark attack, an INUIT PRINCESS in Greenland that avoided Viking** capture by jumping off of a cliff, a coffee farmer a la Juan Valdez in Brazil and several more. All of which I am proud of and proud to know about because I understand myself and my likes/dislikes more.
That being said, I NEVER EXPECTED WHAT HAPPENED IN PARIS. I’d always heard of people driving through the English countryside for the first time and suddenly knowing exactly where they were or of small children that were once war pilots that could name their whole squadron now and do. But until it happened to me, I don’t think I would’ve believed it.
Our FIRST day, first day in EUROPE, in Paris we woke up and I wanted to go to the Sacre-Coeur Basilica that people had been talking about, right away. I had to get to this Sacre-Coeur (Sacred Heart) ASAP located in the Montmartre section of town. So, we took a cab that drove us all of the way up to the top of the hill and dropped us off. It WAS a beautiful church with the stunning views (see pic 1) that I’d heard about, loved the interior of the church but by now I was hungry. We climbed down the hill and found a quaint little baguette shop with sandwiches and chocolates. 😋 After lunch and the Angel Store we maplessly decided to walk further down the hill until we found a more crowded area that would have at least a taxi.
So, we walked and walked down these lovely little brick buildings and ancient roads when we passed what looked like a former flower shop. Suddenly, I thought I was having a HEART ATTACK, it was as if my heart GASPED!! The whole front side of my head seemed to suddenly salivate. I tried to keep all of this in and away from Akira but I suddenly just yelped and sobbed and SOBBED and WAILED AND WAILED. I hadn’t cried like that in YEARS, and it was ALL OF THE SUDDEN! It was as if I’d been kept away from home for 100 years and finally returned. Akira kept trying to ask me questions (he knew what was going on) but I’d shush him as though I’D JUST AWOKEN FROM A DREAM AND WANTED to remember it all. I turned and studied the dusty green florist shop (now a kitschy souvenir shop complete with cat-shaped pillows) and the apartments above. I seemed to know the old building across from this little brick street only feet away, so I walked towards it. Taking in all of my surroundings, sweet Parisians seemed to want to console me or offer handkerchiefs. I guess I composed myself enough to walk back over by the florist and with that, my heart began to lead.
We took the other 20 feet to the corner of that block and turned to the right, right smack dab into MOULIN ROUGE!!!!! (Red “X” marks flower shop.)
And suddenly I KNEW, and fully lost my composure again (pic below), that this was once my home in a very happy and exciting, fun-filled life. MOST OF MY FRIENDS that I’ve worked with in the THEATRE in this life, were there then too and some of my siblings.
I knew the building and red mill looked different than they once had and I knew where the back alley was (pic).
Everything in that square was familiar to me and I could tell you what was different. I could point to apartments (pic) where wild parties once were (and THEY WERE wild, I don’t even know what the drugs and alcohol we took then are called now or if they even still exist!) and I knew what the renovated art deco interiors USED to look like.
I KNEW the rusted turquoise art deco: “BLANCHE” sign for the subway (pic) as well as I know my last name now. I suddenly understood French. We walked around the neighborhood and it was bittersweet, I think I cried all day.
The next morning, as I woke up, I remember remembering that I used to send money home to the countryside in that Moulin Rouge life, coins and all to my family in brown butcher-paper like envelope paper. I think if I researched more, I could find out everything, maybe even my former name. What if I found my tombstone!? And what happened to me? It was such a happy, fun life with so many CREATIVE PEOPLE I know now (which, if you’re reading this and wondering if you were there, YOU WERE!) that were once the eclectic Bohemians of that new revolution.
I cherish Paris now, I think I always have and I think there were always little hints to that life at Moulin Rouge in this life. For instance: why was I named: “Colette/CoCo”, the two most ICONIC female PARISIAN names? Why did my mom always decorate our homes in a very Parisian style and how did I know how to dance the CAN-CAN when I was a wee little girl. And why the Moulin Rouge elephant was always so familiar to me and so much more. What treasures we hold inside of ourselves if only we find the right key!
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*In Ancient Egypt, there were Pharaohs but it was really a Matriarchy. The women ran everything by the moons and the seasons and the men were like their trophies that they liked to admire their physicality. We wore the kohl eyeliner, ALL of us, because it reduced the glare of the sun on the sand like sunglasses and the oil in the kohl helped to keep the sand out of our eyes. We also wrapped fabric in a very specific way to keep the sand out of our nether regions. We wore wigs because of the sand irritation in our hair and my husband now was my cousin and wife then. I could draw you the crescent shaped head of the 7 ft. axe used to behead me and the leather scaley like armor that that assassin wore. Brilliant colors adorned statues we now only see as tan.
**I still HATE Vikings.😏