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.



Why Bother With Past Lives?

First of all, let me say that I do not necessarily believe in past lives? But you should also know that I do not necessarily believe in planets or stars, virginity, childhood or the Easter Bunny. They may or may not be there, too. I’m fine with that. Or, maybe they are not there until someone notices them? And do they go away if we all stop noticing them? Could be.

But here is what I do know. Your subconscious mind believes in what we call past lives, whether you do or not. How do I know this? As a hypnotist, I’ve spent a lot of hours talking to subconscious minds. They are a hell of a lot more entertaining than most conscious ones. (There is another concept to question its existence: hell.)

One of the things that hypnotists do is ask the subconscious mind “what is the source of the problem that you are experiencing?” Sometimes the subconscious goes back to childhood, but many times it says it is something that happened before you got to this planet. And since most of us did not show up here on a star ship, it follows that . . .

And if you go back and locate an incident (memory) in a past life, clear up the energy on that memory, and now the problem goes away, then is not that reason enough to mess with past lives. And the flip side of that coin is that if you do not clear up the past life memory, the problem persists no matter what else you do.

So, why bother with Past Lives? To make this life better.  I have an upcoming training program focused on how to clean up PL patterns quickly. Here is the link:


Past Life Parts Party

Wendy and I did a ceremony at our house today to restore balance and harmony to the land that the house is built on. Maybe a few years ago, I would have thought such a thing was insane. Today, my belief is that we helped right a wrong committed 170 (or so) years ago. This all came about as a result of some of the Past Life work I have been doing on myself.
The 25-word version of it is that one of my Past Life personalities was severely wounded in a battle in Texas and came to South Florida to heal with the help of a Medicine Man. A couple of years later, that Medicine Man and a splinter group from a bigger tribe were slaughtered by some local whites. Skip forward. Thirty years or so ago, the people building this house uncovered the remains and chose to “pour the concrete” rather than report the findings to the authorities.
This house has had a troubled existence from the time it was built. Divorce, rancor, constant turnover in occupants and so forth. We’ve been here three years with escalating problems. For instance, in the last 12 months, I have had countless computer problems including four mother-board failures! Recently, it reached a point where Wendy and I were considering moving just to get away from the energy.
By accessing the Akashic Records, we were able to uncover the source of the problem. Then, we were guided in how to resolve it. Twenty natives and nine whites died here in a blood bath. One of those had been my mentor and healer. Through some Force that I do not fully understand, we were led here to live—and against my will, for the most part, too.
So, do you think this is all BS? You might be right.
Maybe I am as crazy as the Mad Hatter?
And, if that is your opinion, that is okay with me.

But, PLEASE DO NOT sign up for my Past Life Parts Party Tele-Class.  That holds true, too, for those of you who are sitting on the fence with respect to issues like this. You would not get much out of the class, and frankly I don’t want you in it. Explaining things and arguing with you would waste too much time.
But if this resonates with you, please consider taking the class.


You should have had some experience with Past Life energies—formal regressions with a hypnotist (or tape/CD), spontaneous regression, recurring dreams that you “know” are related to a Past Life, etc.

My name is Peter O’Dell, and not only did I approve this message, I lived it.

Perchance To Dream

My sleep was restless this night, so I am up at this ungodly hour and writing. Dad is probably near the end of his life–seems unlikely that he will improve or that he will linger too long in this condition. It is the way of life here, so I understand that. Still, it can be emotional. Last night, before bed, I spent a few hours composing letters to Senators and a Congresswoman (his district) asking for help with the VA. It is a classic Catch-22. They keep approving him for more hours of help each week, but they have no one to send out to actually help. So, my sleep was not sound. I am up.

But all is not lost. As I walked to the bathroom, I had this flash of insight. What would reincarnation look like if we could draw a diagram of the different lifetimes? The simplistic answer is to talk about one lifetime in a straight line, followed by a blank space, followed by the next straight line followed by a blank, and so on. But what if the diagram really looked much more like a bush or tree with hundreds or thousands of little branches growing out of a central trunk?

Mathematically, this makes way more sense. The first line of attack for the skeptic is to point to population studies that show an ever increasing earth population. We can put someone in hypnosis, and take them into parallel lives–whatever the hell they are! So, say, the little limb that I grew out of might have 10 other twigs growing out of it? Makes some sense, doesn’t it.

Or does it? Maybe I am just trying to fit a square peg in a round worm hole? What if the idea of “sequence” exists outside the idea of time? Maybe “after” I check out of this life, I decide that the right conditions for growth can best be found during the time of the Roman Empire as a soldier. So my “next” incarnation is 2000 years ago or so. Hum?  Bob Monroe suggests something like this in one of his books.

Now we can go back to the “straight line” model for our lifetimes (or timelines in NLP terminology). It is just that we are no longer lining up the straight lines on what we call “time.”

Or, maybe it is the shrub model, but sequence exists outside time? Now, what does that look like?

What difference does it make?