Reincarnation and Soul Connections

By Kristin Masterton

As a child I recall my mother explaining to my sisters and I that not only was there no God, but that there was nothing after this life either. There was no heaven and no such thing as reincarnation. Those were things that people made up because they were afraid of death. Mom told us, “When you’re dead, you’re dead and that’s it.” But then, she consoled, “You don’t have to be afraid because when you’re dead you don’t realize it so it’s not painful. It’s like falling asleep and only the people left behind know that you’re gone.” She said that for herself the only bad thing about death was thinking she’d miss something. Of course, as young children we believe that our parents are right. Their view of the world becomes our view and so I too decided that there was no God and nothing after this lifetime. Still, I remember wishing I didn’t know that believing in God was a crutch, never to be used or that “when you’re dead you’re dead and that’s it.” 

However, as I got older, mom’s perspective wasn’t enough for me. Like most of us I needed to discover the truth for myself. I needed to do my own exploring and come to my own conclusions regarding the existence of God or an afterlife. Even more strongly, I longed to know who I really was and what my purpose was in being here. Outwardly, my search began with a curiosity about different religions, as I tried to understand the perspectives of great teachers and people I admired. Inwardly, it culminated in a regular practice of meditation where I am learning to glimpse my soul, gently reminding myself who I really am.

Throughout the years I have experienced numerous synchronicities and other unexplainable events which continue to point the way for me, showing me there is more to life than I can see with my physical eyes. I also realize that there is more to myself than my thoughts, feelings, desires, experiences or even personality. The following is one such episode, an experience I had with my son when he was just three years old, which also came to be quite meaningful to my husband, Scott, whose father, Bill Masterton, had died suddenly while playing hockey for the North Stars.

WHEN I WAS BIG

One day when my son Joshua was 3-years-old he ran to me with tears in his eyes. In his hand he held an old picture of his grandma and grandpa and his daddy as a baby. Crying, he told me that Hannah, his 5-year-old sister, was being “mean.” “Hannah keeps saying that this is not me!” he said, pointing to the photograph. Together, Josh and I looked at the old picture. “There is Grandma. There is daddy as a baby. And, there is daddy’s daddy.” I gently reminded him. Pointing at the picture Josh replied, “Yes. That is grandma and that is daddy as a baby and that is me a long time ago when I was big!” 

Sitting there, holding my son, I remembered how he had often looked at that same picture and said it was of himself. Naturally, I had always assumed he was referring to the baby in the photograph and I’d casually remind him that it was an old picture of daddy. A few times he had pointed to my husband’s father, Bill, and said “no, that’s me” but I’d just smile at him. Kids! They have such imaginations. Yet now Josh was making it crystal clear and so, not wanting to upset him, I pointed at the baby in the photograph and carefully said, “Oh, so you think that this is you?” Josh smiled; as if relieved I was not correcting him, and said, “Yes. That is me a long time ago when I was big and then I died. Remember that?”

Josh asked several times, “Remember that?” Of course, I didn’t remember, but I started thinking back to being pregnant with Josh. For several months I had tried to talk my husband into naming the new baby William if it was a boy, and calling him Billy. I had wanted to name the baby after my husband’s father who had died in a hockey accident when my husband was 3-years-old and now here was my son telling me that he had been Bill! 

Just then, my 5-year-old daughter walked in the room, declaring loudly, “That can’t be Josh, because when you die you don’t come back!” I knew what she was thinking. Last year her great grandmother had died. Hannah had been very close to her and we had tried to explain that grandma’s leaving was final. She would not be able to make cookies or to have a tea party with Ama Nana any longer. She would have her memories, but she would not be able to see her great grandmother ever again. Hannah was devastated. Months later, I would find her holding something Nana had given her and crying. At times she even slept holding a picture of them together, yet it had been almost a year, and she had accepted the fact that grandma was not coming back.

(Josh and Hannah Masterton)

Death is final.

Or, is it? For the next few days I kept thinking about death. What happens when we die? Is there really such a thing as reincarnation? Should I take what my young son said about having been my husband’s dead father literally? What could have led Joshua to believe that he had been “big” a long time ago and then “died”?

Although these thoughts were on my mind, things went on as usual around our house and no more was said about Joshua believing that the picture of Scott’s father was of himself “when he was big.” Then, one afternoon, Joshua walked into the kitchen and asked “How did daddy’s daddy die?” When I told him that Bill had an accident while playing hockey, Josh responded by saying, “He had the wrong skates. He should have had the blue skates, not the black skates, the big skates.” All the while Joshua was describing those skates he was shaking his head “no” and looking down at his feet…

Later, when I passed along Joshua’s story to Scott’s mom she was quite amazed. She said Bill may actually have changed skates. Although she had never mentioned this to either Scott or I and hadn’t even thought about it herself in years, she had taken Bill to the hospital for blood poisoning just two weeks before his fatal accident on the ice. Back then, most hockey players didn’t wear socks and the blue dye from Bill’s skates had gotten into a cut on his foot and the resulting blood poisoning had almost killed him. 

At the time all this happened with Joshua I remember wondering what else my young son would tell me about the past or ask me to remember. It struck me that so often our teachers are the youngest among us. Today I think, “What a great story!” Whether or not Josh’s story about having been Scott’s dad is completely true or not doesn’t even matter to me any more. What is important is the way it reminds me that there is more to this life than meets the eye. It reminds me to look beyond the surface – to look deeper, to look into the heart and soul of myself and all others. That kind of reminder is a gift, a gift from the God I was taught did not exist, a God that, for myself, is becoming more real than this body of mine.

We are not just physical beings. We are not just mental, emotional beings either. We are spiritual beings – and there is a part of us that never dies.

Kristin Masterton is a Certified Meditation and Yoga Instructor. She lives with her husband Scott in Minnesota where she enjoys teaching meditation, yoga, writing poetry and caring for her children. She welcomes the opportunity to hear from readers. To learn more about Kristin, please visit: www.namastebreeze.com.
You can contact her at kristin@namastebreeze.com

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in these columns are solely those of the writers and do not necessarily represent those of the editor/publisher.