Before the First Breath: The Memory That Followed Me Into This Life

Velarion Light Journal Entry 7

There are memories we can explain — childhood moments, scars, snapshots of life.

And then there are the memories that don’t belong to this world at all.

Before I was born, before my lungs ever touched air, before my name was spoken aloud, I remember something. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t something learned or told to me later.

It was a memory of the in-between — the space where souls hover before entering a lifetime.

I remember thinking,
“Here we go again.”

Not with fear.
Not with excitement.
Just recognition.

Like someone remembering an old assignment they had agreed to long before they understood its difficulty.

And I remember the darkness.
Not the darkness of fear — the darkness of waiting.

A soft, enclosed stillness.
A place where time doesn’t exist but awareness does.

In that darkness, I could hear sound.
Muffled. Heavy.
Like hearing life from underwater.

And there were voices — not gentle ones.
A loud one, definitely male, sharp with emotion.
The kind of tone that tells you everything before you ever arrive:
This life will not be simple.

Even before my body formed, I could sense the intensity of the environment I was about to enter. The emotional landscape. The volatility. The undercurrent of generational pain I was stepping into.

I remember wondering why I was there for so long.

Why it was taking time to drop fully into form.
Why I was hovering, suspended in that threshold space between worlds.

Later in life, I would understand:

I was hesitating.

My soul knew the density of the path I had chosen.
The contracts.
The karmic weight.
The ancestral wounds I would be born into.
The people who would shape me, break me, and eventually awaken me.

I wasn’t entering a gentle lifetime.
I was entering a crucible.

And even as an unborn consciousness, I knew it.

But here’s the part that still moves me:

I came anyway.

Despite the heaviness.
Despite the karmic loops.
Despite the challenges I would have to unravel alone.

My soul chose this body, this family, this story — because something in me was built to transform it.

That memory followed me into childhood, into adulthood, into every moment where I felt like I didn’t belong, like I was misplaced, like I was “dropped into the wrong life.”

I wasn’t misplaced.
I was assigned.

Assigned to a timeline I would later break open.
Assigned to a lineage I would help rewrite.
Assigned to a life that would nearly end before I could understand its purpose.

And yet… that memory has always been the quiet proof that I came here with intention — a reminder that my path began long before my first breath.

And it’s only now, all these years later, that I can finally hear what that early whisper meant:

“Here we go again”
wasn’t resignation.

It was recognition.
A knowing.
A promise.

A reminder that every time I fall apart, awaken, unravel, or rebuild…
I am only continuing a journey that began long before I ever arrived.

— Cassia