Reincarnations

 

In the beginning, I was a human seed.  

I trampled the Middle East with an army of thousands, cutting through swaths of enemies, the finest among them. Flawless in fact. I was one of the greatest warriors the world had ever seen. The sun sparkled off the golden ridges of my armor as if I were a trophy, the grandest trophy of all the warlords loved by the Gods. Swifter than a snake and more powerful than an ox, none of the infidel challengers could stop me. My blade sang a tune of triumph so deadly that the blood I flooded the desert with left stains on it for centuries. Like an arrow I penetrated through the defenses of steady lines upon the dunes, fronted by beasts of burden carrying apprehension. I wanted them all to see me in action. I wanted them all to know the glory of my perfection, my bullet of a body, my unparalleled endurance. I can’t explain how I always foresaw all the moves my enemies would make, moves that came as a precognition, moves that complicated my multiple simultaneous attacks on the battlefield. Call it a gift, an intuition, a genius of visual prestige. I was an invincible killer, until one day the chariot of the sun finished its course across the burning sky, and the house of Aries slept after the setting of my soul. 

To atone for the mass killings and unbridled wrath which stained me at my next birth, I was born into slavery among the Hebrews of Egypt, circa 1200 BC. Rebellious by nature, I was killed early for attempting to disrupt the political order. That is why, whenever I see photographs of the pyramids, I am reminded of something I can’t quite place; a distant past lost in the catacombs of time. 

Glory wasn’t reserved for only one lifetime. In another I was a champion marathon runner, one of the first champions after the Olympics in Athens were first implemented. I ran to places all over the known world, far and wide, from Gaul to the Subsaharan Rift, visiting places I had traveled to in previous lives. Running through the Syrian desert especially felt genuine, as if I'd been re-living the glory of my first incarnation, re-living my life as a great warrior. There is no feeling quite as free as the dry breeze of the desert, making your eyes squint and your legs beat against the vast expanse of the sandy frontier. I'll remember it always. 

Next, I developed the intellectual powers of my mind, in a Jewish community. For years I studied The Torah in Jerusalem, engaging in debates on subjects that I knew little about. It was in this life that I met a master of wisdom, a being who opened my eyes to the realms of mystic thought. I was taught gematria by a Rabbi and shown the secrets of Kabbalah. No doubt, I'd been sentenced to return to the Hebrews, the people I'd tried to help free in Egypt centuries ago. 

While Rome was at the height of its power, I avoided it to explore more diverse environments. Sequentially I was an Incan priest living in Maccu Piccu, a Chinese alchemist, and a Native American roaming the Great Plains. This native life, which is one my favorites, was particularly interesting, for I was named Storm King because I was born during a particularly ferocious one. Later in that life, I would always brave the storms by riding through them on my horse. Modern folks would call this insanity, but it was a spiritual thrill for me, and it made me feel honorable, for the tribe admired my courage. I was struck by lightning five or six times, but that never stopped me from doing it. I became a lost legend in the mythologies of native folklore, an inspiration for scared little children, and a hero for the sanctity of nature. Perhaps these were active foreshadowings of a future life, a life in which I’d commit suicide. Perhaps I was just getting bored of Earth, daring it to take me away. 

So, I tried something new and became a woman, a very moody one. I was a clairvoyant, accused of witchcraft by the Holy Roman Empire in medieval times. This life ended in betrayal, as I was burned at the stake by a priest that had protected me. His voice echoes through the corridors of time, reverberating in my skull. The crimson cinders sketch tears of fire, the fire that burned me, the fire that made me furious at the western world. 

I left Europe again- can't learn a thing from it. The longest life I ever lived was as a vegetarian monk in the Himalayan Mountains of Tibet. There I assisted in the building of temples, learned the power of Om, and the pathway to nirvana. I learned it fast, but it didn’t seem promising to me. The desire to attain nirvana seemed to me a coward’s way out, or a lazy one. I couldn’t let myself off so easily, or waste lives I could spend helping people overcome their petty sins. So, I unselfishly decided to become a Bodhisattva, a being who keeps reincarnating to help other souls develop along the pathways of their journey. The time that I came to this decision conjures a great memory of me sitting cross-legged, meditating on top of a high mountain with the crisp air blowing my face, the prayer flags around me waving in agreement, and God’s blue smile grinning at me through the heavens above. God is not God in Tibet, God is Oneness. My vision of Samadhi forged a metaphysical smile of All That Is. 

The next life was my most accomplished. I would have been a famous explorer if my voyages hadn’t been torn out of the history books. Because of my previous incarnations all over the world, navigation and geography came easy to me, and I became one of the most talented sailors in the world. Wherever I went I helped people in need; those in hunger, pain, and even people with emotional scars like heartache, addiction, and loss. I was like a Mother Theresa/Christopher Columbus hybrid. The bigwigs in my country didn’t like the fact that I was conspiring to expose them for using my maps to invade native territories. In Central America I was incarcerated for speaking out of order, but I escaped. Then I inspired a revolution against the gold-hungry invaders, against my own people. We were all beaten savagely, and the maps I drew were published under another man’s name, some bohemian fraud I care not to mention. 

In the late 1500s I was an orphan, a very lonely one, and I died young for too little love. Nobody wanted me. I accidentally fell into a well, cracking my skull. 

The tragedy of my previous lives turned me away from the desire to help people. I realize now that the orphaned life was a test, and that I had failed it. In my next life I was an Italian sculptor in the 1600s, a self-indulgent narcissist who thought he knew it all. It was a safe life, for I was fully reimbursed by the Catholic Church for creating sculptures from scenes of scripture. I was not Bernini, but I idolized him. 

Then I was a maniacal lover, an erotomaniac. I committed suicide over unrequited love. Location unsure.  

In one of my lowest lives, I was a pirate or a sailor of the West Indies. This life was a vacation from society. I was banned from England anyway, and I would prefer not to speak of my despicable actions. 

As the bad karma continued to stain my soul, I was born a peasant in pre-revolutionary France. An opportunity for greater sanctity came when I was befriended by several intellectuals who spoke to me about injustice, taxation abuses, and the immoral institution of slavery. Together we aroused one of the bloodiest revolutions in history. The chaos of Revolutionary France is a beautiful scar on my soul; a necessary horror for an ultimately good cause that would ripple through the centuries. Surges of democracy and equality spread around the world because of us. This was our cause, and it is still the pride of France. I did not partake in the violence, but after one disturbance I remember walking through a field of corpses holding a torn flag. While walking through it, I played a sad melody on the lute I was carrying. 

Recklessness set in during my next life. I was a poet, a womanizer, a drug addict, and some kind of artist. Though I never amounted to anything, those who were close to me held my work in the highest regard. 

In the early 1900s I was one of the most unusual people in the world. I was a Jewish mathematician & inventor who lived on a stormy ocean beach. I was also a philosopher, writer, astrologer, numerologist, and musician. Pianist or guitarist, possibly violin. My musical prestige translated into an interest in dancing. At this point I'd lived so many lives that all their energies began to converge into something untamed. A lost Boddhisattva with an addiction to western progress, yet conservative in his Eastern roots. 

In my last life I was a west coast beatnik, a union organizer, and civil rights activist- definitely one of my more extroverted lives. I came to love the American west so much that I decided to come back, with a more introverted and introspective attitude about life. Ever since the French Revolution, my karma has been improving. I get the sense that my next life will be another holy one.