From very early childhood, I have had what seems to be a memory.
I see my parents, my brother, and myself as a little baby in a carrier, going on the sidewalk to the house I grew up in. It’s a sunny day, maybe in early spring.
I see all of this from above, from a birds-eye view, perhaps 10-20 meters up.
As we approach the house, I see a largish white rectangle in front of the house.
I float inside the house. I see some yellowing patterned old wallpaper on the walls in the main bedroom. I see the living room. It’s all empty. The walls are in need to painting.
In my teens, I asked my parents about this, wondering if it really was a memory. They confirmed everything. We had walked from the old house 10-15 minutes away to the new house, and it was an early spring day. I was perhaps four months old. The large rectangle outside the house was the moving van, seen from above. The wallpaper in the bedroom was as I saw it, and they painted it over almost immediately.
It seems I was out of my body here, which somehow makes sense. Another memory from very early childhood is from between lives when I was shown my next incarnation. I loved the oneness and love between lives and didn’t really want to incarnate again. I preferred this disembodied state. And that’s perhaps why I was out of body here.