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My Journey Down the Reincarnation Highway

The True Story of a Man who Found Nine of His Past Lives

by Frank Mares

I finally connected to the cosmic network and was the network now confirming the connection? I took the opportunity find out. I asked mentally, “Are you signaling yes and no?” My head moved in the yes response and stopped. I asked mentally, “Will you answer questions?” My head moved in the yes response and stopped again. I had no idea who I was talking to in my head but I found this event to be the most fascinating moment of my life. Now what would be the first yes or no question that I would ask this entity? World War II was calling me. The German Wehrmacht was calling to me. The homing beacon that was described in Chapter 2 was now on and functioning. Of course I would ask, “Was I a German soldier in my prior life?”

My head shook yes.

Oh my god! Now there were so many more questions to ask, but how can you get information if you can only get yes or no answers? I realized that I had to prompt the entity with very detailed questions.

When did I die?
1941? - no.
1942? - no.
1943? - no.
1944? - yes.
Was I on the Eastern front?

I wanted to know my name, but the only way to do it was to call out individual letters. Okay, I'll do it that way. What was my first name? A-no, B-no, and so forth until O was awarded with a yes. Going through this laborious process, I learned that my prior first name was O-t-t-o. Moving on to my last name, the same process spelled out the name “K-o-s-t-e-r-m-a-n”.

Was I an officer? No.
Was I sniper? No.
How did I die? Shot? No.
Artillery strike? No.
I threw out a wild guess, bayoneted? (That means stabbed). Yes.

Oh great I thought, what a way to go.
What was my regiment? 2-3.
What was my division? 1-1.
If I wasn't an officer, was I a sergeant? Yes.

What was my hometown? M-a-n-d. (I made the mistake of not suggesting any letters after I got the “D” because I thought I had received the complete name.)

By this time I was so bursting with excitement that I came out of my altered state. I wrote down all of these answers on a sheet of paper so that I would not forget them. I dashed over to the computer to verify this information. Just to try to see what information I would receive from the earth internet, I googled the name “Otto Kosterman”. I did not expect any hits and unfortunately I was correct. I did find out that there was a 23rd Regiment that belonged to the 11th Prussian infantry division. This was a direct hit as far as verification of this story! As I had never read about this unit before, I could not have dredged this information out of my subconscious. As far as trying to find Mand, Germany, I was unsuccessful. But then I remembered that a great deal of German land was taken permanently after the war by Poland and Russia. And if I belonged to a Prussian Division, then I obviously was once a Prussian. And almost all Prussian towns and cities were annexed by Poland and Russia and renamed with Polish and Russian names. I then found a website that had a conversion table showing the new Slavic town names and the old German ones. I found three towns that started with “Mand”. To narrow the choices down, I used the following logic. German army divisions recruited soldiers from defined geographical regions. The 11th division recruited from the areas surrounding the cities of Rastenburg and Allenstein. There was a town by the name of Mandelyn that was close to Rastenburg. As such, Mandelyn would be the best candidate for my old hometown.

During my next meditation session the next morning, I asked this mysterious entity whether Mandelyn was my hometown. My head shook yes. Wow!! Moving on from my old hometown, I then moved on to other questions. I learned that Otto was born May 5, 1922 and died on the night of May 1, 1944. I was only 22 years old when I was killed. I learned that I had four brothers and one sister. My father's name was Dieter and my mother's name was Laura. I also had a Polish girlfriend named Lana.

When little Jimmy’s dad made all of the fantastic past life connections of World War II to his son, his exclamation was “You could have poured my brains right out of my ears! I just couldn’t believe it!” I knew now exactly how he felt. This experience was absolutely incredible and only by going through it personally could I possibly believe that it was real. I can honestly say that if I was reading these words at the age of 40, I never would believe it. I would have thought that this past life information came from a subconscious mind that wanted to fulfill a fantasy about being a German soldier. Trust me, this would be no fantasy for me because I know from my years of reading that that the German soldiers had absolutely miserable lives full of pain, lice and hunger. No thanks; I would not want any part of that if I had a choice.

In following meditation sessions, I actually pushed on beyond my life as Otto. I asked what year did I die in the life before Otto?
Answer-1918. Oh-oh I thought, that's the end of World War I.

Was I a German soldier also in that life? Answer – yes.
What was my name? A-l-f-r-e-d H-i-n-d-i-m-a-n.


Unlike others who had past life memories, I received only minimal information about being a World War II German soldier and they were not actual memories. I really wanted to know my story as Otto. Did I like being a soldier? Was I a good soldier? What did I do? Who were my friends? Did I win any medals, and if so, how did I earn them? Coincidentally, Brenda, besides being a psychic, is trained in hypno-regression.

In this book’s timeline, it is the fall of 2009. Brenda had opened a store called the Mystic Nirvana. It had a new-age type gift shop in the front, and the back of the store had rooms for psychic readings. Brenda had moved both her training classes and psychic readings to the store, but there had been a two-month break in our psychic training classes because Brenda was devoting all of her time to opening the store. In this interim, I had not seen Brenda at all. When the store finally opened, I called and asked her if we could recover some memories from World War II. She said, “Sure! Let’s give it a try.” We set up an appointment for early afternoon on a weekday.

Because I work for myself, I have the luxury of taking off when I want. I was really looking forward to this appointment, almost as much as I had been to meeting my deceased father again. I had this fantasy that Brenda would be able to put me into a dream state in which I could actually see the events that I participated in. In a sense, I was hoping to achieve clairvoyance through this hypnosis process. Just before I had to leave for the appointment, I got a business-related phone call that delayed my departure. I hit the road late and had to speed to get there on time. You really hope to enter a hypnosis session in a relaxed state, but I was hyped up from speeding through traffic—not a good start. Brenda greeted me and led me to her office, where she told me to get comfortable on a couch. She darkened the lights and then went through her warm-up routine, just like she had before giving a psychic reading. It was then that she gave me some really astounding information. She said that they (the other side) were telling her that I had been very religious in many of my past lives. In fact, I had been a priest many times. She said, “I see a vision of you as a Mayan priest, and you were pretty hard core about it.”

“That would be me,” I said. Though I had limited knowledge of Mayan history, I did know that that region and time was known for gory ritual human sacrifice. “I sure hope that I wasn’t one of those guys who cut out human hearts!” I exclaimed. Brenda shrugged her shoulders and said, “Sometimes you’re the persecutor, and sometimes you’re the persecuted.” Wonderful, I thought. That’s reassuring.

Brenda then said that I had been a Catholic priest a couple of times. For some reason, the memory of my first girlfriend’s parents’ shunning me for not being Catholic came to my mind, and the cosmic irony of it all made me laugh inside. Brenda received another vision and said, “In medieval times, you were pretty high up in the Catholic hierarchy!”

That would mean archbishop or cardinal, I thought. Frank, the atheist, a cardinal? No way! “But I have been an atheist all my life,” I said. “How can that be?”

“Are you an atheist now?” she asked.

Well, that’s a good question, I thought. With all of this exposure to the supernatural, I wasn’t an atheist anymore. But I didn’t know what I was at the moment.

With that, Brenda suggested that we move on to the hypnosis. I was still reeling from the exposure of my religious past, but I moved on. Brenda started to play the CD that she used in our meditation group and then went through the pretty typical routine that hypnotists use to put people under. Since I was still hyped up from driving fast to the appointment, it took a while for me to slip into another state and I had trouble getting into a very deep state. I don’t remember exactly how she got me to talk about it, but I described a battle scene in Northern Russia that had occurred during my life as Otto. Brenda asked me to look at my reflection in a pool of water and describe what I saw. Well, since I’m not clairvoyant, I can’t see anything in my mind’s eye, but I described what I thought I’d see. I told her that my boots were black and dirty and my pants were gray and also dirty. I was wearing a gray helmet, and I had short brown hair. I was about five foot eleven and had brown stubble on my face. It was October. There were ten of us in a rolling tundra–like field. It was very desolate, and there was light, patchy snow on the ground. I was leading a group of young soldiers, some of whom were only eighteen years old. Gunther and Hans were with me. They followed me and trusted me. I really didn’t want to be there. I didn’t believe that we should be there. It was the Nazi swine government officials who sent us there, and now we were stuck in this do-or-die situation because of them. Up ahead on a desolate slope was a log barricade, and the Russians were behind it. They started firing their machine guns. Well, we were in the shit again. My group was pinned down, but we spread out and started crawling toward the Russians’ position. One of us got close enough to throw a “potato masher” grenade toward them, and we killed all of the Russians there.

Brenda then said, “You were pretty young to have all of this responsibility. Look on the ground. What do you see?” “I see dead Russians. They were not regular soldiers and not very good.”

“Do you feel guilty?” asked Brenda. I answered in German, “No, I do not.” Then I switched back to English. “They were trying to kill us. It’s them or us. I am well past being sorry. No time for guilt because I am sure that my time is coming soon anyway.”

Brenda then directed me to tell her about when I died.

“The captain made us go on a night patrol to scout out an area. I do not like the idea, but I go anyway. What choice do I have? I am wearing a green uniform parka, and it is chilly. I am twenty-two and lead two other men on this patrol. We get into some kind of trouble, and we sneak into a house to try to escape. We go through an open door, but there are Russians inside. There’s a struggle in the dark, and I get stabbed in the left chest. I try to get out, but that’s it. I’m done.”

What was I experiencing during this process? Not much—my eyes were closed. I didn’t see anything except a curious cross (not a crucifix) shape behind my eyes that spun slowly and continuously. I had never seen that image before this reading.

Let’s analyze this experience. Did my hypnosis story contain actual memories, or were they just personal fantasies derived from war stories that I have read? At that point, I really had no idea. But Brenda extracted from me new details in the story. The death scene in the house at night was new, and the desolate slope represents a thought or a feeling that seems familiar, something just out of my memory’s reach. This story could actually be true; I would just need more corroborating information to confirm it.

Regardless, a new focus for my curiosity had come on the scene—the revelation that I used to be a high-level Catholic cleric. That idea alone was fascinating, but high-level clerics actually have information recorded about them, which would be able to confirm the revelations that were being given to me. I was starting to get the idea that my little ride down the reincarnation highway was going to involve more than learning about the life of Otto Kostermann.   back


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