I have never posted on a site like this before, and have been drawn far, far out of my comfort zone by this whole ordeal, so I will certainly be interested in any helpful information.
This initial experience happened around 4 or 5 years ago by now. I got home from work one day and laid down on my bed for just a few minutes to unwind. I didn't even go to sleep. I got up from the bed and was heading towards the door when, suddenly, the scene changed. Like a camera abruptly cutting to an entirely different place, there was no flash or transforming of the room. I was just suddenly in another place. This immediately seems like it's not just a dream to me, since obviously, I was awake. Furthermore, I have all of my senses, but the sense of touch was the most noticeable since I normally don't have that in dreams.
A brief historical side note, in case it's needed: Lady Jane Grey was Queen of England for nine days. There was much political manipulation and she was in over her head, and ultimately she was beheaded at the Tower of London on February 12th, 1554. That day is what concerns us here.
So, I am suddenly in Lady Jane Grey's room at the Tower of London, staring into a mirror and seeing her face looking back, working on my hair. At this point, I am no longer aware of my real self, and the only thoughts I am capable of having are Jane's thoughts. My mind goes to my parents -- that is, Jane's parents -- and my sisters -- again, Jane's sisters. I try to distract myself from thoughts of the nearing execution but working on my hair isn't enough to distract me. I half-drop, half-throw the comb in frustration as the thought hits me that my stupid hair doesn't matter anymore. Tears start to sting my eyes and I get up and head to the window for a bit of fresh air.
This proves to be a mistake. I hardly notice the fresh air as I instead see the scaffold below where I am to be beheaded. The building I am in is shaped like a letter "L," with the scaffold tucked into the crook of that L. My room is on the second floor. Seeing the scaffold, which is really more just a small stage, barely a foot high, my breath catches and I look away to the left. This is also a mistake, because at the left I see a cart being rolled past, and in it is the headless body of Guildford, my husband. My feelings regarding him are a convoluted mess, but there's no time for that now. Seeing his body, true panic really sets in. I recoil in horror, and there's a knock on my door. A handmaiden is with me, and she opens the door.
In the doorway is Sir John Bridges, two other guards of the Tower, and a clergyman. I grab my prayer book off of a nearby table, which I had left open to a specific page, and hand it to John. I push myself forward, out the door, into a hallway. We turn left, south, toward the junction of that "L" where there is a stairwell. Sir John and one other guard are in front of me. The other guard, clergyman, and handmaiden following behind.
At this point my emotional strength is spent. My heart is pounding harder than I've ever felt, I am wailing and sobbing as thoughts of "why me" briefly take over, my legs are shaking horribly, and on the stairs, I lose my balance and begin to fall backwards, but am caught by those behind me. I'm grateful for them steadying me, but their hands on my back feel cruel, pushing me towards my death.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and before stepping outside, I work to calm and steel myself for one last show of strength. We step outside into an overcast morning. The handmaiden doesn't come outside with us. There are a few people watching, but not many. Maybe a dozen or so. I step onto the scaffold, facing north. (So the room I was looking from is now on my left, and the chapel where I am to be buried is directly in front of me. I notice its odd angle to the rest of the walls of the complex, and that's one of the first details I write down afterwards.) I remember saying a few words, though it's honestly rather blurry, and then I put on the blindfold. It's a rather poor blindfold, as easy to see through as a sack of potatoes, and probably made from the same stuff. Because of this, I have no trouble finding the block. (I later became aware of an account claiming that Jane couldn't find the block and began to panic until someone guided her hand to it, but I do not remember that happening.)
When I laid my head on the block, the blindfold shifted. I was able to see the sky for a few moments, and the clouds were clearing. I saw the sun for a moment, and then I felt the axe.
Suddenly I was back in my room and finally aware of my real self again. I was still standing, but I stumbled and had to catch myself on the bed. I sat there catching my breath and processing what had just happened, for a long time. I didn't have any way of knowing how much time had passed, or it it all happened in a split second. No one else in the house had noticed anything. The whole ordeal as Jane felt like it had taken about 20 minutes.
As quickly as I could, I wrote down details and drew a map of the Tower as I had seen it. I had never seen the Tower of London before and had no idea what it looked like. I was later able to verify many of the details. The L-shaped building was the Queen's House. The Queen's House today is the same shape, but has been torn down and completely rebuilt. The chapel of St Peter ad Vincula is angled a little oddly to the other buildings there. If my vision is correct, then the spot they have marked as the location of the scaffold is not quite right, as it should be further south, right in front of the Queen's House. (However, the scaffold was always a temporary structure, set up and taken apart as needed, like many outdoor stages are today. So it was often set up in different places depending on the need. I suspect they didn't want Jane to have to walk very far, considering how much trouble I had even with the short walk.)
Personal Context: Like Jane, I am a Christian Protestant who would normally reject the idea of reincarnation. But this-- This gets my attention. Jane and I have very similar personalities, similar gifts, strengths, weaknesses, and dozens of little similarities that are meaningless in themselves, but taken as a whole... Like her, I am gifted in learning languages... Though admittedly I have done little of that since I haven't had much need. And, we are related. Though Jane didn't have any children, her husband had a sister named Mary, who is my 13th great grandmother.
The experience was intense and incredibly real, but I managed to shrug it off and get on with my life. But recently, more, smaller bits have been coming back too. Only a second or so, nothing dramatic. Just flashes of her home life at Bradgate. Watching from a second-floor window as her father took the two younger girls horseback riding, while Jane read a book. Reading beside a tree next to a pond. Lying next to that pond at night and watching the stars. These don't pull me out of my real life like the execution one did, nor do they take away my awareness of my real self. But with all of these happening, I felt like I needed to do something, find answers.
So, I went to a local psychic who had outstanding reviews on Google. I've never been to one before, and I have to admit, I was impressed. She also pointed out that there are similarities between mine and Jane's faces. We apparently have a similar facial structure, similar nose, eyebrows, and overall physical build. (That is, Jane was very petite and tiny. I'm in my thirties now and have gained some weight, but when I was Jane's age, I was a twig, and have always been short for a man.)
This psychic put the likelihood of me being a reincarnation of Jane at 93%.
To be honest I really want to visit London now, as well as Bradgate, and see if more of these memories come back. Or is something else happening? Are there other reasons I could be experiencing/remembering her memories?
And as one last side note, it's actually a bit funny to me. The small details like the person who allegedly guided Jane's hand to the block. If these memories are authentic, then someone made something up to sound more exciting or to sound like they had been there, and it got written down as history. Some scholars also claim Jane would not have worn a white dress as she is often depicted in, but I specifically remember wearing white deliberately. There was purpose to it.
Thank you for reading. I look forward to your thoughts.