Escaping the White Faces

a past life story

I worked at a psychic fair yesterday, I’m finally getting the hang of doing quick readings back to back! I did about 16 readings, I can’t remember most of them and only a few details from some. This one in particular is sticking out in my mind in full detail, and that’s my typical indication that it’d like to be written down.

The woman sat across from me and I asked her higher self to show a life that was important to her now for whatever reason. The memory started with a man holding a torch in his right hand, and using a sandstone wall as a support as he limped back to the campfire. 

A group of 6 or 7 people sat around the flames. There was an old woman, a few teenagers, a mix of people. Everyone’s face looked sad, no hope, staring into the fire blankly. He placed his torch in the fire and sat down painfully and assessed the injury on his leg. There was a gash on the outer side of his left knee going up his thigh. 

The scene shifted and I saw him and the group walking. For days, weeks. His injury couldn’t heal right with the constant use. 

Memories swirled in his head of the white faced men. Who rode horses and held whips, memories of his home tribe screaming and fire and people being rallied up. With other’s running far and wide to escape. He was torn between wanting to give up and to keep going. Then he had fallen and torn his leg, which gave him two options – let it be his excuse to cease moving or let it anger him enough into motivation to push on through. He chose the latter.

Now they were endlessly searching, moving from place to place to find a safe haven. No one knew where that might be. 

One night they made it to a spot where many refugees were hunkering down. It was well known to be a resting spot for migrating tribes, or gathering place for meetings. There were around 40 or so people here, stemming from several different tribes.

The relief of being here was potent. There was a safety in numbers, at least from wildlife, and there was a palpable sense of being able to relax for the first time in weeks.

He was laying on the ground when another man approached him. There were so many different languages swirling around that he was surprised when he could understand this person’s speech. They traded stories on escaping the white faces and the pain of seeing some of their own kind working with them. The man asked him what their plan had been, where they intended on going. He shrugged and said, do we really know where it’s safe anymore? 

This motivated the other man, he was motivated by the strength in numbers. My client watched as he stood on a rock and announced to the people, asking if anyone could translate to pass the message along. He said it was time to unite, to rebuild together. No one had a long future trailing from one place to the next, but we could survive together. 

As the message spread through the crowd, people nodded and agreed. A flicker of hope returned to their faces for the first time. Since no one knew where to go, they started building there. The people began making baskets, pooling supplies. It was beautiful to watch these different backgrounds merge, teaching one another their own tips and tricks. One old woman was teaching young girls how to make baskets in a specific way. 

My client watched the children a lot. In one moment he was laying down and there were toddlers crawling over him and giggling. He looked at their faces and saw excitement and joy. It was so different from the adults who had all their comfort taken away from them. It motivated him, the older generation would always be scarred but maybe they could build a safe place for the younger ones to continue being joyful. 

Two men had left to scout, and came back riding on a horse saying that the white faces were moving into the area, it was time to go. They had spent three weeks making structures and now had to leave it all behind.

The group gathered to discuss where they might be able to go to be safe. My client had an idea, there was a tribe far east of them, who was known to be excessively violent and brutal. It kept most tribes away, and likely would keep the white faces away. Just north of this tribe was a valley with stone cliffs they could reside on if they were permitted to pass through.

It was the only hope they had. So together they set out east, and traveled for a long time it felt like. A few of the tribesmen came out to warn them away when they got near their area, they had these long spears and looked ready to attack. My client stepped forward through the crowd and spoke a few words, it was mostly clicking sounds. 

This was a ~plot twist~ 

His father had been from this tribe and left as a young man, his father had taught him and his mother before his passing a few words from his language just in case. This particular phrase meant, ‘Truce, we are in need and not for a fight’. It meant that any harm done would be against their oaths to the tribe, and it was intended that only tribesmen would speak it instead of perceived outsiders. But this quote was law and they listened to it. 

They had a brief exchange, there was a bit of a language barrier. But the group was able to warn the tribe about the white faces and what had been happening elsewhere. They were permitted to pass through the territory and reside in the cliffs. 

They journeyed to the top of these stone cliffs, where they could see a vast valley and water in the distance. They could see people coming in almost all directions from miles away, and retreat themselves into the cliff sides to hide. 

It was excessively rainy here during seasons, and most came from dry climates, so it was a large trial and error to build something that wouldn’t get washed away. 

But they did, decades passed. They gave themselves a name and new traditions. The adults found themselves smiling again. The young generation grew and gave birth to the next.

At the end of his life, he looked around with immense pride. They had accomplished so much together. He could feel his ancestors, and those that he had lost smiling down on him in their pride, and beckoning him home. 

They had a different view of death. Believing that if you had lived a full life and had nothing left to give your people or to yourself, that if your body had reached its limit, you could take a way out. He was old now, he felt like 80 to me, his bones could hardly move him anymore and he spent most of his days sitting. He reached a peace within. 

They chose to die by jumping off a cliff when they reached their life’s end. And when he dove, he felt the freedom of flight and only felt joy on his way down. 

At this point I looked up at my client who had started to cry. She said that two nights before she had a dream of falling down a cliff, and she didn’t feel sad when it happened, and she had no idea at all what to make of it until now.

Read the original Reddit post here.

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