{"id":44512,"date":"2024-05-08T00:03:37","date_gmt":"2024-05-08T04:03:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/?p=44512"},"modified":"2026-02-27T21:15:56","modified_gmt":"2026-02-28T02:15:56","slug":"the-soul-other-lives-and-inter-dimensionality-a-perspective","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/rachellerogers.com\/dev1\/the-soul-other-lives-and-inter-dimensionality-a-perspective\/","title":{"rendered":"The Soul, Other Lives, and Interdimensionality: A Perspective"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n
\n

07<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

May 2024<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

Spirituality
Dimensions
Other Lives<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n

The Soul, Other Lives, and Interdimensionality: A Perspective<\/h1>

by Rachelle Rogers<\/a><\/span><\/p><\/div><\/div>\n\n

I live a quiet life these days, although not one without challenges. At seventy-seven, for me this has become a time for going within, for expanding awareness, for learning to love and take good care of myself. And also for reflecting upon where I\u2019ve been and where I want to be now. A time of sorting through experiences \u2014 the good the bad and the ugly \u2014 many of which spontaneously play through my mind, reminding me to honor all <\/em>of my journey.<\/p>\n

It was in my mid-twenties that I started asking the big questions. Who am I? Why am I here? Have I been here before? What is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of <\/em>my life?<\/em> Over the decades I received answers, many of which came from amazing sister souls who were gifted \u201cchannelers\u201d and seemed to slide into my life at times I needed help the most.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
\n
\n

I think of my Soul as my non-physical Essence. My Soul holds all my identities, personalities, and memories. My soul is the complete experiential expression of who I am, have been, or will be, through all dimensions, in and out of time, past, present and future, on this beautiful planet Earth and elsewhere in the Universe.<\/p>\n

Other lives, to me, are individual expressions of my Soul in a given time and place. Although I might use it here, I don\u2019t often use the term \u201cpast lives,\u201d since I believe that all is happening simultaneously. It is only within time that we see things as past, present, or future. And so it seems possible to me that a Soul can incarnate at any specific point on a timeline, or several places and timelines at once. From inside the timeline, lives appear chronological, but from the vaster timeless perspective, all is happening at once.<\/p>\n

A few of my memories of past lives have been as known historical people whom one can read about in books. These memories did not come from ego on my part. If fact, they were often very troubling. One of the things I came to understand is that, in simple language, one person wasn\u2019t one person. Fifty people can have memories of being Queen Victoria, and they can all be correct. There are many aspects to each individual Soul expression and different people could have experienced different aspects. At least, this is what makes sense to me.<\/p>\n

I also came to understand that there\u2019s something that can be thought of as a Soul Family or Soul Group. One of my beloved non-physical teachers defined this using vibrational Color Bands. She told me I was of the Yellow Band. She also referred to this as the Michaelangelo Band and the Romantic Band, as in the romanticism of 19th century art. The Yellow\/Gold band, she explained, was responsible for much of what, over the centuries, has been known on this planet as \"great art.\" Because that is a major aspect of my Soul, and even though I did not choose to express \u201con stage\u201d in this lifetime, it is not unusual that I would \u201crecognize\u201d others \u201con stage\u201d with whom I have a strong Soul connection.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
\n
<\/div>\n\n
\n

Dimensions, from my perspective, can be thought of as realms that vibrate at different energetic frequencies. The higher the dimension, the faster the vibration. The higher\/faster the vibration, the more expansive the possibilities.<\/p>\n

The third dimension is the realm of physical reality, of density, of ego, of never enoughness, of fear, of very little to no spiritual awareness. It is the realm of duality \u2014 good\/bad, right\/wrong, black\/white. There is no gray.<\/p>\n

The fourth dimension is the bridge between 3-D and 5-D. It has a slightly higher\/faster vibrational frequency than 3-D, which allows for accessing spiritual practices like mindfulness, meditation, more awareness of our multi-dimensional beingness. It is where we can begin to process what happens in the third dimension from the perspective of our Higher Self, although it is still accessed more through the mind than the Soul.<\/p>\n

The fifth dimension is the most exciting to me. As I understand it, until this time in our planetary evolution of consciousness, it seems the high vibrating frequency of 5-D could not easily be sustained on Earth. Only Self-Realized Beings, like Buddha, Lao Tzu, or Jesus could hold that vibration within a body. Now, however, through the intent of millions of spiritual practitioners globally across the planet, it is becoming possible to access more and more of the expansiveness of that realm.<\/p>\n

The fifth dimension is the frequency of Unconditional Love and Light, of synchronicity, psychic communication, Joy, and true Freedom. It is also the realm of dreams and imagination. It is being in the Now, the present moment, yet being able to access timeless Soul memories. It is the vibration from which we can send Light, Love, Peace, Compassion into the \u201cfield,\u201d creating new choices for those beginning to awaken. It is the realm of unlimited possibility.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n

Dimensions, however, are fluid and we constantly move through them as we live our lives. I\u2019ve had decades of esoteric experiences that tumbled through dimensions, shaping my understandings, and playing a major role in my becoming. They included glimpses of Souls I have traveled with, memories of other lifetimes, amazing synchronicities.<\/p>\n

When I look back on these experiences now, they feel like other lives I lived in this body, Sometimes, I don't know what to make of them. To some, these stories could be considered fascinating, even miraculous, although they often caused me to question my own sanity, and called upon me to draw up courage and strength I didn\u2019t think I had in me. I have written in detail about these encounters in both my novel, A Love Apart<\/em><\/a>, and my memoir, Rare Atmosphere: An Extraordinary Inter-dimensional Affair of the Heart<\/a>. <\/em><\/p>\n

Being of the Yellow Band, it is not surprising that some of my closest Soul connections and recognition was of those also of the Yellow\/Gold Band. And at times this recognition expanded to memory of past lives as historical figures from the world of the arts. In one case, I recognized a Soul partner as the energy of Fr\u00e9d\u00e9ric Chopin (Romantic composer) to my George Sand (prolific writer, scandalous feminist) who were in an intense nine year relationship. To this day, I cannot listen to Chopin, the Nocturnes especially, without tears welling from a deep familiarity with the haunting melancholy of the music.<\/p>\n

In 1999, fourteen years before I wrote my memoir, a writer and visual artist friend came to Asheville for a visit. One evening she did a sketch of me for my birthday. At a later time, when I came across a photo of George Sand, I was amazed and a little freaked to find how strangely similar the images were.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n
<\/span><\/div>\n\n

Art by Mindy Lewis<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
<\/span><\/div>\n\n

Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin\u00a0(1804-1876) known by her pen name, George Sand<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n

[If you have any interest in a wonderfully entertaining, brilliantly acted, and somewhat fictionalized account of Chopin and George Sand, I would recommend one of my all-time favorite films, Impromptu 1991<\/em>.]<\/p>\n

\u2665<\/p>\n

The last interdimensional relationship I had I shared only with a few very close friends. The experience had many of the same remarkable aspects that my other encounters like this had \u2014 immediate recognition of connection, extraordinary synchronicities, moving through dimensions, guidance from channeled Spirit Guides, but this encounter gave me something more \u2014 an experience of true healing, unconditional love, and what it feels like to merge into Oneness.<\/p>\n

This relationship was with another public figure, a consummate film and stage actor this time, who I will call Benjamin. I had felt a connection to this being since I was sixteen years old. Although he was of the Yellow\/Gold Band, he also held the Green Band vibration of a Healer. This relationship was extremely sensual, sexual in a Tantric way, and deeply spiritual. In those inner spaces, we meditated together in lush gardens, by lotus pools, in the light of a thousand candles. We recognized our own reflection in each other. We made love with more than our bodies.<\/p>\n

Early in the relationship, Benjamin \u201csent\u201d me the name Makura, which he asked me to call him. I felt it was from a future past life on another planet. One day while driving, I briefly \u201csaw\u201d us as extraterrestrials. Another time, in an altered state, I heard him speak to me in a language that was not like any language on this planet, and I understood it.<\/p>\n

At the time of this relationship I was struggling with an intense physical challenge, and Makura, in his Healer persona, \u201ctoned\u201d into my body. The sounds, which seemed to come through rather than from him were unearthly and miraculous \u2014 first melodious, then haunting; first barely audible, then projected to a depth and vibratory strength I was sure could move mountains.<\/p>\n

Yet, as in my other interdimensional journeys, I also had to face difficult issues within myself, which, in this case, were revealed through story aspects and parts Benjamin played in films that synchronistically \u201cshowed up\u201d in front of me.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n

In addition to these vast experiences, however, this relationship eventually lead me to the solution of an overlapping past and present life mystery that thoroughly intrigued me. Many years before, when I was living in Chapel Hill, communicating with my guides of the Yellow\/Gold Band, they helped me flesh out a life I felt I had lived as the writer and poet Elinor Wylie.<\/p>\n

A short time later, at the library in Asheville, I felt a clear message to look her up and found both a comprehensive collection of her poetry, and a biography. I read the poems over and over, and the biography with interest and compassion, even as I reminded myself not to get caught up in the drama. And there was a lot of drama.<\/p>\n

Like me, she had married three times, her last husband being the poet, writer, and editor William Rose Ben\u00e9t, who was said to have been completely captivated by her. I wondered who Bill Ben\u00e9t was to me and eventually asked my guides. I was told he was an incarnation of the one I call Yashu in my memoir.<\/p>\n

Elinor had been called vain, self-centered, cold, emotionally unavailable, and even slightly on the edge of sanity. But she was also considered highly intelligent, beautiful, artistically gifted and generous. In Bill Ben\u00e9t\u2019s foreword to the collection of Elinor's poetry, which he complied and edited after her death at forty-three, he referred to her as \"\u2026one I deeply love and whom I have always esteemed a genius.\"<\/p>\n

It was difficult for me to find much of Bill in Yashu today, and it saddened me to learn that Elinor had never really been able to return his love. Yet it was Elinor's obsession with the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley that fascinated me the most. She'd read and devoutly studied everything about him since she was seven. She wrote an inspired and beautiful sonnet sequence to him, entitled, A Red Carpet for Shelley,<\/em> which began:<\/p>\n

But this is nothing; an eccentric joke,
The legendary patchwork of a year
Flung into muddiness, like Raleigh's cloak,
To ask the honour of your step, my dear.
Your path is printed on the atmosphere
Forever as a flame against the smoke
Of obscure vision, and I must invoke
Your magnanimity to make it clear.<\/p>\n

If I might spread soft words like living grass
Laid smooth beneath the heavy wheels of Time;
If I might loose the river of a rhyme
Or build a pavement out of gold and glass
Providing Heaven for you to walk upon,
It would be well; it would be better done.<\/p>\n

Reading this now still makes me tear up.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
<\/span><\/div>\n\n

Elinor Wylie (1885-1928)<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n

<\/span><\/div>\n\n

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
<\/div>\n\n
\n

Elinor resurrected Shelley from his watery grave in her novel, The Orphan Angel<\/em>, based on the premise that Shelley didn't drown, but was rescued and brought to America. She attempted to turn every dinner conversation onto the subject of Shelley. She professed to hear him in the next room, or see him press his face against the door glass. It was said she even believed, at times, she was<\/em> Shelley.<\/p>\n

Elinor's feelings felt frighteningly familiar. There I was reading about another aspect of me in a past life having an intense interdimensional relationship like the one I was having in my present life, only hers was with someone who had died a hundred years earlier. I had to find out who this man Shelley was\u2026to Elinor, and to me.<\/p>\n

My desk looked like I'd booked a literary excursion into the past two centuries \u2014 Elinor's writings and biography, Bill Ben\u00e9t's poetry, biographies of Shelley, Shelley and Byron, Mary Shelley's journals, poetry and prose of Shelley\u2026 I had a grand time, and I, too, fell in love with Shelley, a man whose heart, for reasons not known, remained whole instead of turning to ash as he was cremated. But who was this incredibly beautiful and sensitive soul that could evoke such passion in us? Who was he to Elinor? To me?<\/p>\n

Then, one evening, I was talking about all of this on the phone with my dear Soul Sister who channeled my Asheville guides, when, in a familiar profusion of feeling, bodily sensation, and the inevitable tears that follow an exquisite recollection, it came to me. Benjamin, of course, was Shelley. It seemed so obvious, I didn't know why I hadn't come to it sooner. It was a quiet revelation, just another incarnation, but it solved for me \u2014 and perhaps for Elinor, too \u2014 a little interdimensional mystery. As I'd followed my clues through a trail of time, I\u2019d felt Elinor with me, right beside me, just as she'd felt Shelley, just as I feel Benjamin and Yashu, just as all of us, whether or not we're aware of it, feel all of us, because we are<\/em> all of us. Elinor was not mad, and I wrote her a letter telling her so.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

\n
\n

Letter To Elinor<\/strong><\/p>\n

We\u2019re back, my dear,
and I am here to do it differently
this time.
They say you lived more scandal
than a Wharton tale, your story splayed
from Washington DC to England\u2019s shore.
Poor thing. I can understand, for I loved
drama too. In fact, I\u2019m not sure what I\u2019ll do
without it now, or who I\u2019ll be. You see, it\u2019s time
for us to cease the melancholy stance, unwind
this dance. You\u2019ve suffered much,
I know.
An exile, self-imposed, and all for love
(you said) can be no bed of daisies, though
you tried to claim it was. We must get real
my dear. We must now feel and not
just bury passion under icy silver
words, as sparkling as they are, but live
it warm and golden face to face and heart
to heart in each embrace.<\/p>\n

I married Phil again
you know,
and it proved just as cold.
It wasn\u2019t even in the plan, but more
a detour taken round an endless misery
at home. I was not yet nineteen.
And Horace found me several years
ago. He\u2019s known as Denver now, a preachy
irritation, like an itch just out of reach.
But we were friends, and he did teach me
things. I think he loves us still.
And Bill! If you could see the princely
face he wears today you\u2019d cry. They call
him great and goddess-gifted, and the best
that ever lived. He\u2019s made his mark
upon his art. And yet, it\u2019s all an act, a large
distraction posed to keep his soul
at bay. He does not say, This is my joy!
<\/em>but robs himself and sighs, This is my job.
<\/em>They\u2019ve called him cool, exacting, and unkind.
Can you imagine Bill unkind? He keeps
his chosen hell, his dazzling prison guarded well.
We\u2019ve hurt him dear, through centuries,
as he did us. So much denial. So much mistrust.
It\u2019s taken years and years of dreams
to win him back. I love him so. I know
you know. He\u2019s such a part of us.<\/p>\n

I have yet saved the best
for last. Our elfin-knight, our Ariel\u2019s returned.
Our lovely Shelley shines
again, not just in words, but large
upon a stage, upon a screen as tall and lean
as once he was. Now, he does not bow
his shoulders down. He is magnificent!
And I, too, would unroll the rounded moon
<\/em>and sun and knit them up for him to walk
<\/em>upon.<\/em> His smile spins stars, its splendor sparks
the dimmest heart. Music keeps
in every syllable he speaks and floats
along the ripples of his resurrected
song. Those still blue eyes have held for me
the vision of my own divinity.
His richness
is the sanctum of my dreams, the altar of my core.
He is my soul, my one, my Epipsychidion.
<\/em>\u00a0
They say, like Albe, you were mad
<\/em>and bad and dangerous to know<\/em>,
in part because you swore you often saw
his face inside your door, yet he was dead.
If it is consolation, I can say
the landscapes of the heart are lush
and real and spell the curl of possibility.
This truth
has been shown to me, and I have proved
it to be so. Dead or out of reach, it\u2019s all the same.
Ring once his name and he will hear.
I cannot claim to know my<\/em> Shelley
in the flesh, yet for a year he came
to me as deep and faithful as my breath.
He smoothed my hair, and pressed
his honey mouth to mine, and placed himself
beside me jasmine-scented gorgeous
in the crescent slant of night, and beamed
his constant love through mirrored
eyes until I could not fail to see
my Self.
That was his greatest gift to me. If this be madness,
lock my cells, key the alarms, and I
will stay forever fairy in his arms.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Well, my dear, it\u2019s getting late.
I put more bronze into my hair last year
to catch the sun. I thought of you.
This has been great. The other day I read
your epitaph \u2014 An image of some bright eternity.
<\/em>Well done!
And your obituary in the New York Times.
December 1928. It was too strange. Angels
<\/em>and Earthly Creatures<\/em> both are we.
I do agree. Into our destiny, like Ariel, we sail,
as I, for you, renew the legend and refuse to let it fail.\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n
\n
\n
← <\/span>Self-Love: A Path To Freedom<\/span><\/a><\/span>Above The Fray<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n