Memories from past lives

The monastery

I love walking through the cloisters, my arms folded into my sleeves. I still do that now. I walk slowly, rolling my feet in such a way that I'm not so much walking, but gliding. I don't wish to disturb anything, though I can feel the air shift as I move through it. I have walked here countless times, seeing the colours of the trees in the courtyard, the light, the shadows change a little every day. It still delights me. Beauty is never boring.

I know there is another world out there. Sometimes I have to go out into that world. And sometimes I manage to float in my usual peace. But mostly I find that the noise grates on my ears, and I am overwhelmed by a myriad of pungent smells. That's why I rarely volunteer.

Of course, I have wondered whether my life shouldn't be out there, whether I made the right decision by retreating from the world. But whenever I walk these cloisters, or sing in the chapel, or dig with my fingers in the garden soil, those doubts disappear. The other brothers say I should mingle more, but I find there are so many opportunities for conversation in a day that there is no harm passing up one or two.  It's easier to hear God in the silence.

My way, the highway

We're running, stumbling through the field, laughing, exhilarated. It's late, but there is still a streak of light on the horizon. My friend is just a few paces behind me, I can hear him breathing hard, laughing too. So, we didn't get away with it this time. It's almost as if they knew we were coming. They hadn't reckoned I'd manage to get the ladies' jewellery, though. I can feel the necklaces and rings jangling in my pocket.

I realise we are being followed and that the men have guns. Never fear. I know this countryside better than anyone, we'll shake them soon enough, like we did before. I can't explain why I am so unconcerned.

Then I hear a gunshot. It's close by. I turn around and see my friend. His face looks distorted, like he's been hit. His pistol is aimed at me. I sink to the ground, feeling nothing but wonder and surprise. The surprise spreads through my whole body.


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Are these real past-life memories or merely figments of my imagination? Pure imagination? Then perhaps I really should become a writer! Part imagination for sure, because this is not the jumble of impressions and feelings I experienced, but the kind of logical narrative that we humans like to make of our lives. And perhaps, for honesty's sake, I should explain that both times these memories occurred, I was seriously ill with a high fever, which may have caused a degree of delirium. So, all nonsense, then?

Whatever they were, on both occasions these memories had a cathartic effect. I suddenly understood something about myself and my situation at the time, and I was able to move forward where things had been at a standstill.

I personally believe these are real memories. Dreams feel different somehow. And I've had other memories, though not as vivid and coherent as these ones. I have a feeling that I've been here many times and, moreover, that I am not done yet and will return again.

I guess that means I believe in reincarnation. I am fully aware that logically this makes no sense. Then again, you can't really disprove it either, so it's a moot point. I am also aware that because life is short, and we humans are sentimental beings, I may simply be grasping at straws in the face of death. Except, I have no fear of death. Suffering, hardships, yes, but not death.

Finally, I believe that reincarnation is not necessarily chronological. Is time linear? I don't think so. Which means I believe we can be reborn at any point of human existence, past, present or future. Call me crazy? Fine. But you might change your mind when we meet the next time around!

Should I (not) have done that?

Moral dilemmas on a trip to IKEA.

Actions speak louder than words, they say. Or is it true that the mere thought of sinning is a sin in itself, as some maintain?

All day long we make decisions, most of them tiny, some a bit bigger. It's a bit like that curtain rail that I bought at IKEA today: from the railing you hang rings and to those rings you attach little pegs that are supposed to hold up your curtain. Whatever you decide to hang from each little peg becomes part of a bigger whole, the fabric of your life.

It started as soon as I came in. I hadn't had breakfast, as I was anticipating having one of those cheap hotdogs at IKEA. Was that wrong? Should I have had breakfast at home? It soon got worse. "100 % chicken", it said. What does that mean? I don't really like chicken and the word 'free-range' was nowhere in sight, so it's most plausibly the offal of some broiler chicken. But my growling stomach got the better of me. I added some pickles from the self-service counter, decided it was too much, so swiped some back onto the heap. Wrong again?

After gobbling down the tasteless sausage, I made my way to the food section. It was my purpose to buy some 'caviar' for a Russian party. Of course, I would empty the little jars in a nice Russian bowl and stick a beautiful spoon in it. Nobody needs to know it's not real Russian caviar, right? When pressed, I will admit where it came from, but I'm not going to volunteer the information. Deception? But it all adds to the illusion of a Russian party. Illusion, since we're not actually in Russia and few Russians will attend. So, no harm done. Right?

But my biggest challenge was yet to come. I had selected a few items and made my way to the self-service check-out. It said that there were cameras to keep an eye on the proceedings and that there might be 'random' checks to see if you'd paid for everything. A little pillow didn't have a label, so I couldn't scan it. I dropped it back into my trolley and paid for the rest. I had also clicked on 'paper bag', but the lady next to the gate said they were all out and offered me one of those big blue plastic ones instead. Part of me thought: "Ai, plastic, not good." Another part thought: "Bingo! The plastic ones are more expensive, so profit for me!" I took the bag. 

Meanwhile, I realised that my conversation with the woman had taken her attention away from what was in my trolley, including the unpaid pillow. She even helped me open the gate. I felt a certainty that nobody was going to check me now and that I had got away with it. Theft! Haha! And then the most horrible thing happened... Somebody stopped me. It was that stupid voice in my head that said it was wrong. "But IKEA is an evil multinational that won't even notice the disappearance of one little pillow," I argued with my better self. 

It's not that I've never stolen anything. Maybe I've become a bit of a chicken myself (though I hope I won't come back as an IKEA hotdog in my next life). I handed the pillow to one of the cashiers and left, feeling both good and bad.

On my way to the metro, I had one of the 'Wild' snacks (made from Moose and Elk) I had also just bought. It consisted mainly of pork. Serves me right, I guess.

The day history was erased

What do you do when your email account has been hacked? 

When some Nigerians try to get money out of your friends, acquaintances, near-strangers-who-gave-you-their-email-on-a-blue-Monday, your boss? 

When they subsequently delete all your emails from the beginning of the Internet, aka the beginning of time? 

When they also delete all the contacts you've built up over all that time? 

Think about it. What would you do? Cry? Smash your computer? Make voodoo dolls to torture those torturous hackers? Shake your fist at God? Start a blog?

No, first you do all the practical things, like changing your password and getting in touch with your provider to see what can be salvaged. And then you wait, hoping things will be restored to the pre-hacking days of yore. You stare at that inbox that says '10' instead of '3924' emails in disbelief and horror. You feel a great emptiness, a void never encountered before ... and then ... SPACE, the final frontier - oh, darn, I've escaped into Star Trek again - I mean, simply s p a c e.

I guess there is such a thing as a fresh start. Once you've squeezed through the funnel and come out the other end you realise it's not the end. Not the end of the world anyway. Not the end at all. 

We seek reassurance, comfort, recognition. We think we've found it, in social media, in marriage, in religion; we think we're safe. But we never are. And maybe that's not a bad thing. I don't even need to tell you why. You've heard all the clichés about 'getting out of your comfort zone' and into the world, finding 'yourself' again and all that. But even that is irrelevant. Because, truth be told, all we want is to experience, sometimes a little peace, sometimes a huge melodrama. 

So, I had a bit of melodrama. Now I can have some peace again.

Mmm, not much of a blog, this first one, but I'm sure I'll get into the swing of things sooner or later. Well, not sure exactly..., I just hope ..., except I don't believe much in hope, so ... Ah, darn again! I so wanted to be interesting!

Meanwhile, I would say: don't try to 'think positive' - sometimes life just stinks. In fact, I'd like to quote that great inspirer who said: "Try not. Do or do not; there is no try."

Having said that, I'll keep trying to write a better blog, so don't give up on me yet!