He Is Ninja, I Am Samurai

I have not had any martial arts training of any sort in this life time. I say that neither confessing nor bragging. It simply has not been on my path.

In the early ’70s, I lived with my first wife on Bank St. in the Village in NYC. On a rainy fall Saturday night, we ventured out to Queens to a party that went quite late.  We came home around 3:30 Sunday morning on the 8th Avenue Line and got off at the 14th St. Station. Emerging onto the surface, Manhattan seemed a ghost town–no people, no traffic, no open business, nothing. Eighth Avenue was just six lanes of north-bound vacuum.

We were walking south on the east side of 8th. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a figure emerge from the shadows on the west side of the street–I have always had excellent peripheral vision. He is coming toward us at an angle that I calculate will put him on the sidewalk just behind us. Even now, common sense tells me that this is a time to panic, to freak out. Scream and run like hell.

But that is not what I did. I carried on with the banal conversation I was having with my wife. But deep inside me, I went into a state of perfect calm. The only out-of-the-ordinary movement I made was to switch the rolled-up golf umbrella I was carrying from my left hand to my right. My whole attention was focused on every step the interloper was taking.

Just as he lifted his left foot to come up onto the curb from the street surface, I whirled around simultaneously grabbing the umbrella with both hands,  lifting it high above my head and screaming “HAAAAAAAAAAA!” My right foot was thrust forward, and I was in a state of perfect balance. Instinctively, I knew that if he took one additional step towards us, the umbrella would crack down at the juncture of his neck and shoulders. Somehow I knew that if this were a real blade and not an umbrella that his head would roll down the sidewalk.

Fortunately, at some level, he was a man of  reason and simply took flight down the dark street at a rate that would have impressed Bob Hayes. My wife was startled to say the least, “What the hell just happened?” That was my question, too. What the hell just happened?

Flash forward 30-some years. I am sitting in a theater in Boca Raton with wife number 3. “The Last Samurai” is just getting good. Tom Cruise has been captured by Ken Watanabe and is being taken to mountain village. As they ride into the village, I begin to sob softly. I cannot control it. The new wife says, “What the hell is going on?” That is my question, too. What the hell is going on? It is a good movie, but not THAT GOOD.

A year or so later, we bought the DVD. In one of the bonus features, Edward Zwick, the director, is talking about the production of the movie. It was filmed in New Zealand (I think) and the company had taken great pains to reproduce a period Japanese mountain village. Before filming, they brought in several older people who had lived in such villages to get their response. Their response: they began sobbing softly, to the last man.

I think these things happen to other people, not just me. But they tune them out, discount them. But at some level, we all have these responses. My first wife (very Jewish) was fascinated with Ireland. She read books about it and drove me crazy talking about it  (with a name like O’Dell, I have an obvious connection to the “Old Country”). Once when I had her deeply hypnotized, she began speaking with a male voice, heavy Irish accent and warning me that I was “fooling with the devil’s toys” and to “be gone with you.”

I am a tennis fan–big time. The US Open is winding down. And there is one extremely popular player that I cannot stand to watch. My skin crawls when I see him. They say that he moves like a cat, that he floats on the court. I don’t know, because I do not watch him play. And he frequently dresses in all black.

Why should I dislike him so intensely? It makes no sense. I should just forget about it. But I cannot. He Is Ninja. I Am Samurai.



“I Was So Drunk I Could Barely Stand Up–And I Was Leaning Against The Bar”

“I Was So Drunk I Could Barely Stand Up – And I Was Leaning Against The Bar”

Booze made my life tolerable. Actually, my life itself was not all that bad, but I despised myself and what I thought I had done. Huge opportunities. Even bigger failures. Rye and corn whiskey numbed the pain.

The saloon was dimly lit even though it was mid-afternoon. The dimmer the better, as far as I was concerned. I just wanted to go numb. But the jackass next to me wasn’t about to leave me alone. He wanted to pick a fight. And I wanted to drink myself to oblivion.

“Squaw man. You are a God Damned squaw man.” he kept saying that over and over.

My skin was white. But the only time I wanted to be around the whites was when I was binging. After the debacle back home, I had rejoined the Cherokee. That was right after the The Trail of Tears. Those that were left of the People were living on the edge of what the whites called the Frontier.

Jackass kept saying it over and over again—he was as drunk as I was. And it was getting to me. Easy to transfer the hate I felt for myself to this idiot next to me.

In this life, I have strong legs, but the upper body could use some work—not much in the way of strength. And I’m right handed. Suddenly, I felt a surge of power in my left arm. Maybe it was 10 times stronger than it is in this life. “My” right arm was useless—think it was from a wound or something. But the left packed a wallop. I hit the SOB as hard as I could. An upper cut to his left chin. He went flying across the room and hit the wall. I took another sip of whiskey.

“Squaw man! Look at me, you bastard!”

I staggered around and faced him. He was upright and had cocked a muzzle-loading pistol. As drunk as he was, it was aimed square at my chest.

“I’ll kill you!” he seethed.

I just stared at him and didn’t say a word. But inside I was praying that he would pull the trigger. Please do it. You have no idea how much I want to die.

But the barkeep had other ideas. He had a club behind the bar, and he knew how to use it. With a crash, it came down across the idiot’s forearm. The gun fired, and I felt this awful pain in my right foot.

The regression ended there.

This was June of 1992, and I was lying on a bed in the Hilton Hotel in Tarrytown, NY. A class mate (in a Dick Sutphen hypnosis training program) had regressed me back to a past life that was impacting my current life. I had visited this Frontier lifetime before, but this was a new chapter. And it explained something that was happening in 1992.

For the last three months, I had lived the life of a cripple. My right foot had developed an excruciating pain that made it almost impossible to walk. I had gone through a series of orthopods finally ending up with the Chief of Foot and Ankle Surgery at Mt Sinai in NYC.

There was nothing wrong with my foot except that I had lost all muscle tension in it. He had me in an extensive PT program three times a week. Up to this point, progress had been minimal. After this regression, my foot rapidly returned to normal. Sixteen years later, the problem has never come back.

So, I could have just been very thankful for this healing and forgotten about my frontier alter ego. But there was a lot of unresolved pain back there. And there was a lot of energy and skill that I could tap into. He had gone on to be involved with the Texas fight for independence. A minor politician, but he had accomplished a lot.

And I have other past lives with pain—and with untapped skills. So do you. Then, the question is how do you wipe out the negative energy and reclaim your power and reclaim your skills from these alter egos?

Turns out, it is far easier than it may seem on the surface or than what some Gurus have told us. That is exactly what we will be doing in the Past Life Parts Party Tele-Class coming up at the end of this month. Click Here Now for details.


Peter O’Dell

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Five-Session Tele-Seminar

Jan 29, Feb 5, Feb 12, Feb 26, Mar 5

9:00 – 10:15 PM



Peter O’Dell, MA


The Power of NLP: Soap For The Brain

I’ve been conducting NLP Trainings for over 10 years now, so you might think that I would be little blase’ about it. But the truth is that NLP never ceases to amaze me. One aspect of it is what I think of as “taking out the garbage.” They teach us to wash our hands when they get dirty. And if you get something really toxic spilled on you, a whole herd of government gnomes dressed in white or yellow hazmat suits will appear and scrub the hell out of your body.

But what about the garbage in your brain? But what about the dirt in your brain? What about the toxins in your brain? Nobody hands you a bar of soap and tells you to wash the dirt out. But this is one of the things NLP does so well. I know, NLP is so much more than that. I know it is. But this is so powerful compared to any other technology we have in the “real world.” And there are so many different ways to neutralize toxic thoughts with NLP.

Case in point: Last night I was doing some meditation before sleep and working on my back. I wrenched it a bit a few days ago, and it was still hurting. So, as I am working on my back, my mind suddenly flashes to a scene from a movie that I saw in the mid ’70s–I think it was “The Four Musketeers.” At one point, I barely avoided vomiting in the theater. Thought I would have to leave. It was just a sound effect. But, my God, it affected me.

Don’t remember the plot, but some gal had betrayed the boys, so they took her to some island where a “headsman” would chop her head off. They turned her over to this brute, and the camera just focused on them making small talk. Then, you heard the distant “thump!” I almost lost my cookies. And it is one of those memories that sticks with you if you do not clean it up.

So, I stopped working on the back and used Timeline to go back to the root cause (ISE). I was really surprised when the subconscious came up with it being something that I experienced after birth. Going into it, I was pretty certain that I would find the cause in a past life–one of several where I lost my head. Not so. I went to a time when I was maybe 4 years old. We were living on the farm in WV. My mother raised chickens, sold the eggs, and pretty often butchered some of them for food.

I vividly recalled seeing her chop the head off and then release the chicken’s headless-body. It would run around on the ground squirting blood several inches into the air until it would finally fall over twitching into lifelessness. I think she took some sort of pleasure in this activity. Or maybe it was pride? Pride in being able to provide wholesome food for her family? I don’t know. All I know is that it freaked me out.

Then another memory popped in–butchering a steer. I was a little older, maybe 7. My Dad and uncle each owned half interest. The steer was just standing there eating grass in the field. One of them shot him in the back of the head with a .22 riffle. The front knees buckled, and he went down. Next, they were dragging the body around with a tractor, and hoisting it up so they could “drain the blood.” I think that is what they called it. Somehow, this was not as bad as the chickens, but it left its mark on my psyche. And there were other animals similarly dispatched, but those memories are not so vivid.

Here is what I am getting at: those memories were really vivid, because there was a huge negative charge to them. Last night and today, I have been working on them with different NLP techniques. Auditory stuff seems to work best for me. Anchoring would work, too, but you need someone to guide you through it. Fast Phobia and Eye Movements work, also. Already, these memories seem to be fading away. The negative charge is gone. I do not like to think about any animal being killed. But I am not a vegetarian. At least, I’m not right now. Have been in the past. Might be again in the future.

And my back feels a lot better.