SAMPLE CHAPTER
Below is a sample chapter from my book. In Chapter 2, Maren speaks privately to past life psychic medium, "Graeme MacKinnon." She needs to know if what she suspects is true, or if it's just a silly flight of ideas. She's also a little afraid to know, for confirmation would mean being exposed, scrutinized and held to account by someone other than herself. Maren learned long ago not to share her lifetime of "unexplainable" experiences with anyone.
Once she has confirmation from MacKinnon and his Spirit Guides that she once lived a life as Anne Boleyn, the woman who was Queen Elizabeth I's mother and King Henry VIII's murdered second wife, Anne herself speaks out for the first time. Using Maren's voice, Anne unloads a litany of wrongs done to her nearly five-hundred years ago, clearly stating that "...it was never about Henry!" Anne Boleyn has been demonized for centuries for crimes she never committed. It's time we all know the truth.
If you want to learn exactly what Anne Boleyn's truth is, IN HER OWN WORDS, read "I AM ANNE BOLEYN, A Memoir in Two Distinct Voices."
*When Anne "speaks" the text is italicized.
Chapter 2
“It was never about Henry!”
I am fully aware that claiming that you can remember any past life would likely be considered a bit delusional, particularly in Western culture. When I first realized who the little girl in my regression was, I was deeply shaken with the obvious deduction that I was the mother of a queen, much less that mother! I was consumed with denial. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't allow myself to believe it. I knew what any rational person would think of someone claiming to have been Anne Boleyn. The last thing I wanted was to become a target of derision and ridicule. My soul's mission in this life is, paradoxically, both connectivity and avoidance. I enjoy connecting with interesting, open-minded people. However, I find my restoration always comes when I am alone. For several months after the first regression with MacKinnon, I was firmly embracing the avoidance mission, trying to figure things out, alone.
I needed to have the “messages” from my own Spirit Guides be confirmed by someone who I believed would not be biased and would objectively tell me if my conclusions were correct. Nevertheless, I sincerely hoped I was wrong. Even then I could foresee a time when I would be required to be far more introspective than I had ever been before. That kind of soul-searching examination would be painful. I would finally have to stop avoiding those parts of me that have been locked away in a secret place that I did not talk about to anyone-ever. I’ve made an art of trying to avoid public scrutiny and have preached to my children for years to “Fly below the radar” and “Keep your head down or you’ll get it chopped off!” (How prophetic.) I’ve never liked having to explain myself, especially to hostile people, let alone hostile people who are close-minded.
I wouldn’t allow myself to trust even my own Guides. I felt I needed more objective validation. If I was going to share this information with anyone, I wanted it to be with the psychic who did the regression—Graeme MacKinnon. If I was only imagining all this, I felt confident that he and his Spirit Guides would see right through me. In his books, MacKinnon repeatedly warns his readers that most people’s past lives are lived in obscurity…that although you may have drowned at sea, that doesn’t necessarily mean you were on the Titanic. So, I felt that he would have no vested interest in telling me I’d ever been anyone of note. I believed in his integrity. MacKinnon wouldn’t hesitate to tell me the truth: that I am now and always have been as common as a sand pebble.
On December 15, 2015, we spoke by phone for the first time since the group regression. For a world-renowned psychic and author, he’s low key and non-threatening. There’s nothing odd or weird about him. My sense of this man was that he was truly kind, and sincere. He put me at ease from the very beginning, explaining how a “session” with him and his Spirit Guides went, and what I could expect.
He began by telling me about other past lives I have lived; some which involved being a refugee in winter, and a disgraced businessman in India who died of suffocation from rags stuffed in my mouth during interrogation by the police. While this was fascinating, I knew I had to find the courage to ask him what I wanted to know. Thirty minutes into the call, I simply could not contain myself any longer. I interrupted him. I pleaded with him to please, just give his Spirit Guides this one name for me. I had never even said this out loud before. I inhaled deeply, exhaled shakily, summoning all my courage and said “Anne Boleyn.”
He was silent for a few seconds, and then I heard him quietly confirm the name with his Spirit Guides. A few more seconds passed, and I heard him softly say “Yes?” And then, “Yes.”
His Spirit Guides confirmed what, until that moment, I would not allow myself to believe. Five hundred years ago I WAS Anne Boleyn!
A massive sob followed by tears came in a flood that I couldn’t contain. Like a dam breaking, the memories poured out...of Anne!
It was never about Henry! I lived that life for one person—my daughter, Elizabeth! Everything I endured…
Having my true love taken from me and given, by royal order, to another woman…
Being virtually prostituted by my family so they could reap favors from a king…
Playing the dangerous game of matching intellect and personal power with one of the most educated and privileged princes in Christendom to keep him titillated and hopeful without ever giving him my maidenhead for nearly seven years…
Enduring the hatred of my countrymen as they called me, “The Great Whore of England” in public and said worse in private…
Knowing that my own husband signed the order for my execution…
Speaking my last words on earth before being beheaded in tribute to his mercy and majesty. I was born for one purpose: to give life to Elizabeth! With my last breath I was trying to protect her from the monster her father had always been. Historians write volumes on the great love of Henry and Anne, but they’ve all missed the point. The great love of my life was NEVER Henry. It was Elizabeth.
My interest in Henry started as a game. Henry had taken the man I loved from me, and I was going to make him pay. In the beginning, I refused and embarrassed him, and didn’t care. I was sure he’d use me and discard me, because he never valued anything he could get easily. In order to climb into bed with me, I created the one demand that I was absolutely certain he could never satisfy: he had to marry me and make me his Queen. No child of mine was going to be a bastard!
On penalty of eternal damnation, I swear I never believed he would or even could do it. Unfortunately for me, I had just thrown down the ultimate gauntlet. Henry took the challenge to its horrible conclusion. And in the end, everyone lost.
I gave the world the only true pearl in this cataclysmic disaster. My little girl was the reason for it all, and now I know she loved me!
It’s hard to know who was more shocked at this out-pouring of searing emotion: me or Graeme, but I suspect he was as taken aback at this rush of memories from Anne as I.
Now I was starting to question everything that had ever made sense, and I was beginning to feel panicked. How on earth was I going to tell this story? I’m a retired nurse. I’m not even English! Dear God, they’ll think I’ve gone mad. Who will ever believe ME?
Anne answered, “I don’t care. Just tell the story. Tell my truth. Let the pieces fall where they fall.”