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!