Ambushed

By Sue Greenwald

When I was a kid, I was convinced that something was waiting to jump out at me in the dark. The worst was the bathroom—I was sure someone was hiding behind the shower curtain at night. I’d tiptoe past it like it was a monster trap. The fear was real, and it stuck with me for years.

Fast forward to around 2005. I was doing an intense past-life recall meditation with my friend Stephen. He guided me with questions, and together we pieced together stories that surfaced. Honestly, I didn’t expect much—but to my surprise, several lifetimes came through.

The most vivid was a Native American lifetime. I saw myself as a 17- or 18-year-old boy—the chief’s son. And here’s the twist: my father in this current life was also my father in that one. I recognized him instantly, though his face back then had a longer, sharper, hawk-like nose. In that lifetime, he was consumed by anger and had already made up his mind about something I couldn’t change.

Another tribe was accused of poaching on our land, and my father was ready for war. The entire tribe was restless, angry, and itching for a fight. Everyone seemed excited about battle—everyone but me. I tried to reason with my father, but he wouldn’t hear it.

I didn’t feel like a warrior. To be honest, I never really fit in, but as the chief’s son they tolerated me. Since no one would listen to my plea for peace, I decided to try something bold: I arranged a secret meeting with the leader of the other tribe. One night, I slipped away to the meeting place, hiding in the bushes, waiting in the dark. My heart pounded. I wasn’t sure if anyone would show up—or what would happen if they did.

But the meeting never happened. Instead, warriors from my own tribe found me, ambushed me, and killed me. They staged the scene to make it look like the other tribe had done it. My father, blinded by rage, believed the lie. He declared war, and the tribes clashed. I realized later that some of our own warriors had even planted evidence of poaching, just to have an excuse for battle. The other tribe had been innocent all along.

When I relived that lifetime during meditation, the fear hit me hard—especially the part where I was crouched in the bushes, waiting in the dark. After I came back to this lifetime, it clicked: my childhood fear of the dark, of someone jumping out at me, wasn’t random. It came from that ambush. And the amazing part? Once I made the connection, the fear disappeared. I’m no longer afraid of the dark. (Now, if something actually jumped out at me, that’d be another story!)

In another past-life meditation, I again saw myself as a Native American. This time, an angel carried me down to the bottom of a canyon with towering mountains overhead. Before leaving, the angel showed me a sign with a date on it—somewhere in the 1800s, though I can’t remember the exact year. I knew I was in the western U.S., dressed in Native attire, though I couldn’t pinpoint the exact place. It was fascinating to glimpse, knowing these past lives still ripple into the present.

Later, while leading spiritual retreats, I saw how powerfully these connections show up. Around 2015, I brought a group to Sedona. The moment we arrived, I felt we were all there to heal Native American traumas from past lives in that land. On our first day, we went on a light hike. Walking back, I was suddenly hit with a sharp pain in my foot—I couldn’t move. Panic rushed in. I was supposed to be leading this retreat, and we had a whole week of hiking ahead!

As I stood there flexing my foot, the memory surfaced: in a past life in Sedona, my son (who is also my son in this life) had accidentally chopped off my toes with an ax. Once I realized this, the pain eased enough for me to walk again. I still felt it through the week, but it became manageable. The more I worked on releasing it, the more it faded.

That’s the magic of past-life work. Bringing old traumas to the surface doesn’t just explain odd fears or sudden pains—it can actually heal them. Not every ache, illness, or phobia is “logical.” Sometimes it’s rooted in something much older, carried in cellular memory.

There are whole books about past lives and how they shape us, and I find them endlessly fascinating. Our souls remember everything, even if our conscious minds don’t. And when we dare to look back, we often find the key to freedom now.