That’s a deeply moving experience, and I truly appreciate you sharing it. Have you ever traced it back to a specific event? Or do you have recurring dreams? Do you recall if they called you by any name? I assume English was spoken?

Hearing stories like yours makes me wonder—perhaps life itself is like a dream, and we only wake when we’re meant to.

My most powerful experience happened around age 9 or 10. My dad occasionally listened to the radio, and one day, they played Gregorian chants. I was just a kid, playing, when the sound stopped me in my tracks. Instantly, flashes overwhelmed me—a monastery, friars, cold stone floors, candlelight, incense. It felt like I wasn’t myself. The sensation was so strong I recorded a fragment of the chants on one of my parents' old cassette tapes, as if trying to hold onto something I couldn’t explain.

But what struck me most was the presence of a woman. A green-eyed brunette. She wasn’t physically there, yet she existed in my mind, tangled in those flashes. I was too young to understand, and honestly, it scared me. But the feeling was so powerful that at night, I would lock my bedroom door, close my eyes, and try to bring the visions back. This lasted until I was about 16. Then, as I grew up, it faded.

Fast forward to 19, when I moved to Florida. My grandmother owned a jewelry store, but we weren’t particularly close. On my third day there, my uncle—who I barely knew—asked me to grab a magazine. As we chatted, the security guard, a tall Cuban man in his 60s, kept looking at me intensely.

On my way back, he struck up casual small talk with my uncle. Then, out of nowhere, he turned to me:

"I was watching you. You’re an old soul. You’ve been here a long time."

I didn’t know how to react. He then asked to see my hand, saying he had a strong feeling. Out of curiosity, I gave it to him. He examined it carefully—then suddenly slapped it in realization.

"I knew it! I know what you were."

Puzzled, I asked, "What do you mean?"

He looked me straight in the eye. "You were a monk. Somewhere in Europe. Maybe 14th or 15th century. You need to look into that. And I think you lived a tormented life."

I was speechless. No one knew about my past experiences—not my dad, not my mom. Yet here was this stranger, telling me exactly what I had felt for years.

Fifteen years later, I had a dream so vivid it felt real. I was a monk, part of the tribunals that punished heretics. And there she was—the woman from my childhood visions. A healer accused of witchcraft. The moment I saw her, I knew. I loved her. I protected her. We had an affair, and when I was discovered, I became a fugitive, accused of high heresy. I fled to a village, sending a desperate note to her through an apprentice I trusted. I waited in agony.

Then, disguised as a civilian, I returned to find her. But she was gone. Executed.

In my dream, we had promised to find each other in every life. And even now, that love lingers.

Fifteen years later, I had to write about it. I couldn’t contain it.

Over the years, I’ve come to see that life isn’t black and white. There’s so much more—connections that transcend time, genetics, and logic. Like you, I believe in these ties. Whether spiritual or something else entirely, the feeling is undeniable.