I’ve never had children. Never had a maternal instinct in my life. But that, I’m sure, is due to my remembering my past death. A long, slow, agonising attempt to give birth, over three days, without success, obviously.
It’s relatively common for children to have past life memories, less common is their ability to retain those memories. Well I remembered – and I retained. So yes, you could say I have an interest in reincarnation, but I’d say it’s more of a burning belief.
As far as interests go, mine are related to all things Viking and Celtic. Their history, mythology, art, archaeology ( … pretty much everything!). And so, from that (and the reincarnation) came the inspiration for the book. The motivation came from visiting the Isle of Jura and discovering a whirlpool called Corryvreckan.
This wonderful, natural phenomenon is at its best on a spring tide, and if you happen to catch it ‘at its best’, approaching overland toward the narrow strait it lies within, then you’ll hear the roar of it before you even lay your eyes on it. Let me tell you, it will captivate you.
Another thing about Jura is the deer. Hundreds of them. And the best time to see these is NOT around autumn/October. This is when you’ll hear the roar of their rut before you even step foot across the sneaky, bog hidden, ankle breaking fells. And if you’re staying there, you’ll never sleep, believe me. When the Vikings first landed there they named the island Dyrøy (pronounced Dura), which is where the name Jura derives from. So, of course I visited during the rut. And I didn’t sleep.And my imagination had to take the place of REM sleep.
And there you have it – apart from one little spark that came from an article I read about a year later. It made rather a big deal of a lunar eclipse being ‘highly’ visible from the western isles of Scotland. Nothing too unusual in that, except it happened to mention it would be on a winter solstice, and that hadn’t occurred for three hundred and seventy three years. It sort of struck me as being an ‘auspicious moment’ for something, and hence the book is set over the winter solstice of December 2010. Which is when the eclipse actually took place.
The story is intended to be suspense filled, insightful, and above all humorous.But beyond that, I’ve tried to build in something subliminal. Raising issues regarding our various, and sometimes conflicting, beliefs; posing questions about the way we might live if we all knew we’d been here before.
My final thoughts on the book: If E. L. James can aspire to raise the sexual awareness of the masses, surely I might aspire to do the same, only to raise spiritual awareness (with maybe a bit of sex thrown in to spice it up)?
Find and follow Debra
Burning Belief is available via Amazon in paperback and for Kindle.
This weekend, the 25th and 26th April, you can download a Kindle copy FREE
by D. J. Farrington
If you remembered who you were in a previous life, would it alter who you were in this? Might you be wiser? Maybe kinder? Or scarred, scared and embittered?
What if you came back with a memory of a place that held something rare and precious? Would you dedicate your life to finding it? Or what if that precious thing could be found within yourself? A rare innate talent? Might it be a blessing or a curse?
As a consultant archaeologist, Bethany Craven has taken a private commission on a remote Scottish estate. A place found to be inherently rare and precious, where the wise are scarred, the embittered unkind, and the famous and the fortunate as cursed as they are blessed.
Exposing layer after layer of their well-hidden secrets, Beth finally uncovers proof enough to believe they all have a past life cross to bear.
About the author
All you need know about me is that I remember my past death.
Not who or where or when.
An extract from Burning Belief
Seeing that the door was slightly open, she ventured to peek into his bedroom, flicking on the light switch that lit a half dozen art deco wall-lamps. Above the bed was a large, gilt framed painting of a bird. A White Tailed Sea Eagle, flying above Corryvreckan. Along one entire wall were books, by the hundreds, and opposite to them a bare wall, bare but for a single door. She guessed that it led directly to Egraine’s room and that they lived akin to aristocracy, having separate sleeping arrangements with pre-arranged visiting hours.
A sudden sharp ringing startled her into a quick retreat, as guilty as having tripped a burglar alarm.
Get a grip! It’s only a damn phone!
She honed in on it until it was traced to beneath a stack of bank statements and accounting sheets on the floor by the tub.
‘Hello?’ she answered, certain it had to be Guy. ‘No, sorry, he’s not here right now.’ She never considered it might be someone else. Now she wished she’d let it ring out.
‘Hang on a minute. Just let me get a pen and write it down.’ The pen was among the paperwork and one of the accounting sheets was conveniently blank. ‘Okay, go on.… There’s only one Craven initial B, so it should be straightforward job,’ she repeated as she wrote, ‘and you’ll call him tomorrow with all the info. Got it. Sorry, what did you say your name was?… Hugh,’ she repeated. ‘That was it, sorry.… No, he’s out in his helicopter, I doubt he’ll have it switched on, there seems to be some rule against using them while flying.… Okay, no problem. Bye.’
What the hell was he up to? Why was he spying on her? And what info had Hugh got for him? It was unnerving but it was just as equally annoying, and it was so wrong, on every level.
Behind the full length mirror she found the full length safe, just as he’d said she would, and she immediately keyed in the code to open it. It was stacked with bundles of notes; pounds, euros and dollars; and a couple of watches, a Rolex and a Tag; and dozens of brown envelopes marked up as DEEDS, and white ones, labelled BONDS/STOCKS. Not that she was looking.
She found space enough on the top shelf to place the cornflakes box, but as soon as it was placed she took it back out.
Why not? He was spying on her!
It was in fact open, if she were to tip it upside down and let whatever was in it drop through the tucked and folded flaps. She glanced over her shoulder toward the hall door, and then the bedroom door, anxious that Egraine might appear any moment, then sitting crossed legged, she let the heavy contents fall straight into her lap. It was a large, solid slab of gold.
Approximately nine inches square and three inches deep, it had upon its shining surface a matt imprint of a continuous square spiral, just like the one drawn on the helicopter window. All along each ever decreasing length were small, cross cut, engraved marks of the Celtic Ogam, just like the ones on their courtyard table. Beth ran her fingers over them. Each individual stroke was one of four primary colours, vivid and bright, and with an ink that looked, from her experience, as if it were mixed with silica and set like glass.
She lifted it, and then tilted it to see the ornate clasp that ran along one side, and then to the other side to see a matching hinge. It was some sort of casket and it’s similarity to those made by the earliest Vikings meant that she instantly knew how to unhook the intricate, tripled curled latch. On lifting the lid, she realised it wasn’t a casket at all, it was a book. The lid was the first page, and beneath it, a dozen more. Each tile a perfect square and to each surface the same square spiral with the same fine colourful Ogam notched along it. It wasn’t the least faded or dulled with age, but aged it was. It frustrated her that she should be able to read Viking runic inscription so well and yet this was totally indecipherable to her.
At the corners of each page there was a motif of leaves, together with their associated berries, nuts, cones, catkins, fruit or pods, and as she turned one tile over another, she began to recognise their similarity to the trees carved into their doors. These were the native trees of Britain. Trees that would have been held sacred by the Celts, and to no less an extent by the Vikings that came after them.It hadn’t taken her long to realise that this book had to be the most rare and precious thing she had ever laid her hands on, and yet she had no idea where it might have come from or how old it was, other than it pre-dated all things Viking.
She was tempted to borrow it and take it away with her, to study it, maybe even try to decipher it.
Why not? He said he would be gone for a couple of days.But then she had ‘borrowed’ the torc, and the last thing she wanted was to turn the borrowing into an occupational hazard. She quickly repackaged it and put it into the safe.
On leaving his room, she caught sight of Craig coming out of another door further along the hall, and he caught sight of her. He waited.
‘Where’s Guy?’ he asked as she came toward him, clearly suspicious of why she should be in there.
‘He’s gone. Why? Is Egraine looking for him?’ He nodded. They walked down the hallway together.
‘Can I give you a word of advice?’ he offered just before they parted by the bridge.
‘No Craig, you can’t.’
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