Past Lives
A single life I’ve lived,
at least according to my memory…
Maybe I might have even lived a million more in this condescending universe,
but in this single one past a dozen I’ve leased.
In one I was an “Always and Forever”, in another I was Foe; In one I was Mother and in another I was Babe; In one I was lover but as I took my envy and hate to the next life I became the contemptuous untrusting loner. Hell in some I even occupied professional positions like a therapist-a doctor to the spirit, an advisor; yet within that same life span I was a detrimental bane to my own existence. You would think once you have been called as many names as I have, created as many aliases befitting my rebirths as I have, that maybe I might turn out all the more wiser. All the more loving. All the more beloved. All the more meeker…but alas I am a foolish witch! Powerful enough to create multiple lifespans within my single one -Oh how the economists with their oh so scarce resources would loathe and kill me due to their own ineptitude once they find out- but foolish enough to not take all the knowledge I compiled under those identities and apply them to the next. My past lives must be churning in their graves considering I take their efforts and chuck them out the window every beginning of an era…never fancied old things you know, I have a fear of boredom after all.
But damn it Dave, we have a freaking problem! There are patches in my memory and my memoirs seem more and more foreign to me by the millisecond. I swear to the Fates in Greece that it’s definitely not dementia nor my alcohol problem. It is starting to seem like different entities within my own with their own personalities, their own presences and memories in which they have a nasty habit of withholding them from me. From time to time, I hear the stories of my identities and think, “Boy, oh boy, would I love to have a glass with that lass, she seems like a damn hoot!”, only for them to tell me that dame is me. I wish could call these entities by will! Why must they torment me with trajectories I am too weak to reach? Maybe it’s by Dionysus’ bittersweet graces after all.
Is this that “self-development-self-discovery” thing one of my past lives had suggested to a friend in existential shambles once? Look at me remembering and reconnecting… Maybe the time I spend spaced out is just me clocking in for an internal board meeting with my past lives.
I think finally I understand what spirit guides are…
They are my past lives.
They are dead and I keep killing them.
