In My Next Life, I Will Be Homeless

I’ve heard that the soul desires only the deepest of wondrous experiences.

It doesn’t matter if the experience if the experience is “good” or “bad”, because the soul doesn’t feel those things, and those things don’t matter to the soul.

“Good” and “bad” only matter to the ego.

Any psychological wounds we have are only as deep as the ego.

But the soul sees those so-called wounds as experiences that only propel it into further knowing and deeper wonder. And the deeper they go, the further they propel us.

I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation or not, but I do know that if it does exist, and if our souls really are on this journey towards all experience and all enlightenment just so we can escape and be one with the energy of nirvana, I know that the next thing my soul craves for is dire desperation.

It feels like a curse to myself to say it, and it scares me shitless.

I couldn’t even handle being homeless in this life. I’ve been so pampered with multiple pillows to put my head on every single night of my life.

At any point in my life, I have always had at least one bed that I could 100% unabatedly and unequivocally call my own… and that no one would ever sleep in except for me. (Or a partner of my permission.)

At one point, that count was up to five beds.

Heck, even in this bedroom right now, I have two beds. One that hasn’t even been used in who knows how many years. Probably eight.

TWO beds. I have TWO beds!

I would hate to know how many people on this earth would give any and all of their possessions to have one of these twin-size beds to split with another person for the rest of their lives.

Because I’ve got a safe roof over my head and a locked door to hide behind.

I am so, so lucky.

Dare I say my soul would be ready for homelessness now?

I have always been in and around so much comfort.

Yet, in my life, I have walked by and seen so much poverty.

And I certainly haven’t done all I can to help.

And for that, I feel so ashamed.

That time I knew I should give my jacket to the shivering boy, but I didn’t.

That time I knew I should give the change in my pocket to the crazy homeless man yelling at no one and everyone, but I didn’t.

That time my heart ached because I saw the poorest, oldest woman I’ve ever seen in my life in the smelly, hot streets of Jaipur, but she wasn’t asking for any help, and I’m not sure there’s anything I could have done anyway. Money can only go so far.

Yes, if reincarnation exists, my soul may very well choose to be homeless in my next life.

Because even in this life, I seek out experiences that challenge me and change me for the better, and I do it proactively.

I go to countries where I can’t communicate with anyone, so I’m forced to make a fool of myself and then learn a new language.

I lived for two years in one of the worst countries on earth to be a woman.

Instead of taking the easy career path, I founded my own business.

I want to take on a creative project that I am in no way qualified to do, and that I have no idea how to do. Yet somehow I know I will end up throwing my heart and soul into it.

And to be honest with you, if some of us have to suffer homelessness while the rest of us get our faces stuffed with all the endless foods of our choice, it just doesn’t seem fair. It just doesn’t seem just… on both ends. The earthly end and the spiritual ones.

But maybe it’s true.

Maybe the meek will inherit the earth.

Maybe the poor in spirit really are the only ones who will truly see God.

And if that’s the case, and if reincarnation doesn’t exist, then I better damn well learn how to be poor in spirit… and I better learn it fast.