Rethinking Reincarnation Again

A brief History of Reincarnation, and Me

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Here I am again, this time not writing off the top of my head, but writing from inside of my head, still not knowing for sure what I will say, but tonight I have a direction to go in. I wish I knew how to put background music onto a blog, because there are two or three songs I would love for you to listen to while reading this particular blog page. I would start with Neil Diamond singing Skybird, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nyBkeUmUkfI) and follow it up with Eric Burdon and the Animals singing “New York 1963 – America 1968 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PVcC9KQB3Y), ending with Eric Burdon and War doing Visions of Rassan (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ3tkwInb_g). These songs tell the story of a search for something humanity has yearned for from the time we realized we were intelligent, because we knew naught from whence that intelligence came.

It is my belief that intelligence came from reincarnation. And the knowledge of reincarnation came from the Indian subcontinent. While most people alive at the time were spending their days hunting for food, clothing, and other needs for survival, there was a group or groups of people who had enough sustenance to allow them time to think with their minds about why they even had minds. They exchanged their ideas with their fellow thinkers and other fellow thinkers, until they came together as a group and declared intelligence came from being born to this world time after time after time. And how were they able to do this? Because they were still close enough to their own incarnations to remember some bits of where they had come from.

And from this one declaration came great philosophies of thought, and great religions that celebrated their discoveries. But as these great thinkers died and passed on their thoughts and words were twisted and turned around on themselves until the common castes forgot the purposes of reincarnation. And made of them a joke they used to defraud those who were luckier or richer than themselves. Only in the monasteries was the wisdom of the great thinkers preserved. But they too over time lost sight of the whole, and became but pieces of it. Each monastery specialized in the thoughts and wisdom of a single thinker, until there were many forms and sects of first the Hindu religion, and later the Buddhist philosophies as re-revealed by the Buddha to the people and monks of the various sects in a vain attempt to rebuild the whole from all the pieces of its parts. But not even the Buddha could do that, because he did not know where all the monasteries were located, so he could only reunite those of which he was aware. Of that he did an incredible piece of work, showing all the people what he thought it would look like were all the various sects rejoined in one big all-knowing group. His mistake, as was, and still is today, the mistake all great teachers have suffered from every era of intelligent life, They gave their wisdom away to people who could not understand it, and it did not take many generations to obscure the teacher’s wise words into that which he did not say. And that which the Buddha rebuilt from the ashes of the Great Thinkers tumbled down once more until as had happened to the great thinkers of the past, even as it would happen to those teachers who came after them, they died.

The funny thing about life on this world is that everything must always change. And this is especially true for humans from any and all generations. Change happens, and that which was truth become fiction, and fiction will become fact, and fact will become truth until it too is supplanted by a newer, more seemingly eternal Truth. But there is no such thing as eternal Truth, because, as I said earlier, everything always changes. Further, one can control his or her ideas, thoughts and wisdom from the grave. Once dead, always dead. No?

No. The wisdom might be gone from “samsara,” the physical world, as far as the death-on-Earth of the thinker in question, but it is not gone from the universe.

Where, then, is it gone to? In my opinion/belief system, It is gone to a wisdom bank of sorts, a place I originally thought was the universe in total, but on a different plane of existence, the plane of the Spirit of Origin. But as of this moment, since I cannot tell if it is ego or spirit that is doing the thinking, my gut feeling is that there are a great number of wisdom banks which have a certain number of spirits attached to them, but that number depends on how many spirits are on Earth or elsewhere in the universe at any given time. And the reason I think this is because I feel like I have been connected to my wisdom bank for hundreds or thousands of millennia…

( I actually think these banks were not for collecting wisdom at the start of life in our universe, because there was no such thing as wisdom in the early stages of life from the single cell onward until life reached the macro-multicellular stage where life began to think, rather than allowing instinct to be the only guide that a being could follow. It is at that time when life realized there were three raison d’être for life, which had ezisted since the dawn of physical life: live as long as you can, procreate as much as you can, and progress in some fashion as far as you can. These were not rules or directives or anything like that. How they even developed I cannot imagine, but somehow they did, And they drove life to continue, to multiply, and especially to develop better and better ways of improving something or someone or somehow between the physical doors of birth and death. I know, for myself, it was the banks that saved the improvements through the process of spiritual reincarnation.)

…And it is the number of incarnations connected to my wisdom bank that leads people to sense something in me that makes them feel and say the things they do.

In Buddhism it is said the physical body is connected to an Overself by a silver cord, which is basically the equivalent of my wisdom bank. Twice in my life I have had Near-Life Experiences, as opposed to near-death experiences. Both times my consciousness, be it my spirit or my mind or some other piece of the me that excludes my ego, travelled up a long shining tunnel that could be described as silverish. The destination I arrived at was incredibly beautiful, not only in sight, but also in sound, Each time I write about these experiences, I pull out my memory of that beauty, and it never fails to amaze me in its connecting electrified coloured lines of light, bobbing and weaving over, under and around each other, all musical notes corresponding with different colours, chords being represented by different weaves of colours, the music sounding closest to classical, and a definite feeling of home, but like on the veranda with an open door in front of me.

The first time I was there, a voice sounded in my head, speaking a language I did not understand, but still instantly translated into English for me, an instant echo booming in my head. “You are here before your time! You must choose to stay or go back.” I made an instant decision, basing that decision on two things: first, I did not want to leave my body a vegetable. Now I knew how so many others were turned into vegetables, still alive but no one home to direct what the body did or said; second, I had always thought I was born to do something important, and now I knew what it was. I would be my responsibility to tell the world about this experience. I was so close to entering the door, but then I was flying back through the silver tunnel at twenty times the speed I had travelled to get there. And I did get back, just like in the movies, with no time to spare. I looked ahead and imagined seeing bricklayers closing up the hole into my head where the silver tunnel emptied into the brain. I dived through just as the last brick was about to be placed, and I felt my spirit filling up my squishy flesh again. I opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and over two hours had passed since I last saw that clock. In my mind, it was barely seconds.

I soon fell asleep, which I had never done while high on acid ever, but I didn’t seem to suffer for that. But I did wake up exhausted the next day, wondering, but knowing that it was all true. One thing for sure, I didn’t feel anything like the same person who had woke up yesterday morning in this very bed.

How was I different that day. It’s not easy to remember almost 50 years later, but I can still close my eyes and see those beautiful lights, but I cannot hear the music that controlled them. To the best of my knowledge, Youtube.com has nothing like them, because I’m not sure the experience can be reproduced by even the most sophisticated computer imaginable, because it would take the mind of a software genius who has been “there” to even know where to start. And while I have been there, I am not a software genius. And if a software genius did go there, and return to tell the tale, it would only be written in the spaces between the seconds of measured time because in the seconds between spaces there would be no interest in repeating what had already been experienced.

 

Rethinking Reincarnation

Memoirs of a Hippie

I am writing this off the top of my head, so even I don’t know where it will take me. For years I have believed that reincarnation works as I described it in an earlier blog called “Experimenting with Reincarnation.” I never doubted that I was wrong, or even could be wrong. The Buddhists talk about releasing themselves from the world of “samsara,” meaning the physical world in which our bodies live and act between birth and death. They also talk about freeing themselves from “ego,” which I think is the same thing, only using the living language of English as opposed to the almost dead language of “Sanskrit.” Latin is to us and our ancestors mainly a language of science and religion, so that while it is dead it is still being used today in very strict ways, but no one speaks it as an everyday language. In the Middle East, throughout the Indian subcontinent, and encroaching into the Far East, meaning Afghanistan, Tajikistan, India, Tibet, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan, Myanmar, and possibly even Sri Lanka, Sanskrit was the language of trade and economy of many peoples, thus affecting many Indo-European languages to the point it’s descendant languages were spoken by more people than those who spoke Latin-based languages, the languages that grew out of ancient Rome. And equally as Latin is still the language of science and religion, Sanskrit is still the language of scienceand religion in that area, but is also the language of philosophy, and even some of the spoken or written arts in subcontinental India and surrounding nations. Unlike Latin, however, Sanskrit is slowly being revived in certain areas, I would suggest possibly because Sanskrit is a more precise language, whereas, like English and other languages, words are becoming confusing, having more than one meaning through common usage.

So much for the history lesson, I just wish I could write in Sanskrit so I could be more precise in why I might be changing my mind about how reincarnation really works. Certainly, beyond death, there is or are (a) bank(s) or (a) reservoir(s) of collected wisdom that incarnating spirits bring to the physical world inside them. This wisdom doesn’t show up right away, of course, but as a child grows into a teen their personalities generally change to some extent, a change that becomes more and more apparent as the teen become a young adult, and beyond until we end up with people who all started out the same way at birth (knowing nothing) becoming older adults with such different characteristics it is unable to be explained by nature (DNA) or nurture (how they were raised) WITHOUT the colour of the background of reincarnation. I am not going to even try to rule out nature or nurture, because that would be foolish. Your DNA affects you physically, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. Your nurture can affect you mentally, being brought up in a good home by loving parents or brought up surrounded by physical, mental, or sexual abuse including any combination of those three factors. Then there are the problems of the early death of a parent or sibling, entering the children’s services system where any kind of happiness or hell is possible, having good and loving friends or friends who are just using you for something you probably would not even realize until years later, if ever. That is what life is like in our modern society where parents own their children until they prove totally incapable of parenting a child or children.  Such children can very easily turn into adults with all kinds of neuroses or psychoses, just as children can who are born into rich families where the parents have no time for their children and they lavish them with money instead of love. All these conditions and many more can adversely affect how children become adults, if they ever grow beyond mentally remaining a child for life. And what of the children who grow up in a loving family, that is still no guarantee that they will become good people when they grow up? Most of these children will grow up to be good people, but not all of them. Some of the world’s most famous psychopaths or sociopaths were the product of good and loving parents and homes.  Conversely, not all people who grow up with physical problems and/or abusive parents or friends, or illnesses of the mind will become bad people. Who can know why? Not our psychologists and psychiatrists, that is for sure, because they aren’t allowed to even think reincarnation is real, or might have a hand in whether people grow up nice or not.

Here I offer myself as an example of a child who grew up with an abusive father, and a weak mother who died early of cancer, leaving my devil of a father to raise ten children alone. He sexually abused my three sisters, and physically and/or mentally abused all ten of us kids, even my little brother who was born with Downs Syndrome. Being the one with the “brains” of the family, I was probably the brunt of my father’s rage as he accused me more than once of “stealing my little brother’s brains.” I’m not going to say I didn’t have lots of medical and mental problems as I grew up and some that have lasted to today, as I sit here a 67 year-old man, living with a woman much younger than I (close to 20 years, and six cats) and with a complete litany of medical conditions. But in spite of all that, and other things that I did or had happen to me in life, I have a smile on my face and a Bachelor of Social Work in my pocket after finally graduating university at the ripe young age of 57. The other thing I have is a VERY STRONG sense of spirituality that I did not realize was so strong until many many years ago when an acquaintance (we didn’t know each other well enough to be friends) told me that I was alive way before my time, that I had an innate wisdom that far exceeded his mother and father put together. But not so much wisdom that when I was approached by a Buddhist monk about a year later, he looked deep deep deep into my eyes and said these words to me, and they were the only words spoken between us in that single meeting, “You’re not ready yet.” And with that he turned on his heel and virtually disappeared out the door of a restaurant where I was having a late snack before heading for home in an abandoned house in East Vancouver.

Those are the kinds of things that have happened to me in all kinds of circumstances, by people I had never met before.  Once a woman told me I scared her because my eyes were so old. Other people who read my poetry which I was writing in my “I want to become a poet” period, told me there was something in what they read that spoke to the future of life, a future they had never imagined. The most recent such event was only about 6 tears ago when I got into a taxicab in Edmonton, and the East Indian or Pakistani driver turned around to face me at a red light, and said, “You are very wise, you will never return to this world again. This is your last incarnation.” Then the light turned green, he put up the plastic screen between us, and did not say another word to me until the end of the trip, at which point I paid my fare and offered him a tip to which he put out his hand in a “stop” gesture, and said “It was my honour to drive you today.”

What am I to make of all these strange occurrences? The Buddhist monk was the most bewildering event in my life, though I have had many others that would be considered close seconds. However, it was his words that drove me after our very short encounter. I was already into spiritual studies on my own before that, but he inspired me to delve even deeper, and to study Buddhism to the best of my ability in the days before computers and the internet. There were very few books on Eastern religions and philosophies in Canada at that time, the Beatles had not yet travelled as a band to India, though George Harrison had had discussions with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi sometime earlier when he went to India to study the sitar.  After the Beatles went east to study Buddhism there was much more interest in Hinduism, Buddhism, and the Hare Krshna movement than ever before in the West, and it would grow because the Beatles led the way (again). Hinduism and Hare Krshna movements were about as attractive to me as was the Jesus Freak movement that had started on the West Coast around that same time. Young people were falling off the bus joining whatever group would take them in. And then along came Scientology and they were extreme, but that made them all the more magnetic to people who had never had anything. The youth of America had “dropped in, tuned out, and turned on,” so Timothy Leary had said, and they had been becoming hippies and flower children. Suddenly they were becoming desperately religious, but mostly not for the religions of their parents, those were passe and no fun at all. Christian-based religions  called for suffering and eternal damnation, with a slim possibility of reaching heaven if you could stay sinless for the rest of your life. Young people had been eschewing money and material things for drugs and excitement.  Now they were eschewing drugs and excitement for Eastern religions. The Western world was changing, and our beliefs about the world and life on this world were changing too. And one of the biggest changes for those years was the advent of the Buddhist and Hindu philosophies of reincarnation. The idea of reincarnation blew a wide swath through our subculture, affecting different people different ways.

I was (and still am) a hippie, but I was not doing drugs for excitement. I started with smoking marijuana, and after each time I smoked it I began to notice an increase in my ability to think. While I may have been speaking on a normal conversation level, my mind busy listening to what I was saying, and was translating my words inside my head, looking for hidden gems of wisdom that could be garnered from my words. And there were a lot of those, maybe nothing world-changing, but ideas that were changing how I functioned in the world.  At that time I was living off money earned by selling marijuana and hashish to people who wanted it, never to anyone who didn’t approach me.  And that was also the time that I started doing LSD (acid, we called it), the drug that really opened my mind to possibilities so far outside the box of normal thought that I couldn’t even see the box anymore.  Where were all these ideas coming from? I knew they were coming from me, from my mind, but how did they ever get there?

That was also the time that I became more careless in who I was selling drugs to. I was still only selling to people who wanted the drugs I was willing to sell, the list of two drugs I mentioned earlier, but now I was also selling acid, because I believed in it, and I believed it could help others the way it was helping me. Even so, as I said, I was getting careless, and I ended up selling drugs to two undercover RCMP narcotics agents. I was still living in Vancouver at the time, sleeping on the beach at English Bay, or at crash houses some of the more moneyed hippies were setting up. The two undercover agents, using the names of Sunset and Hart, befriended me and let me stay with them for awhile, as long as I turned them on to the dealers that were supplying those of us who sold the drugs on the streets. And I did a fine job of that, not realizing I was leading them to almost all the dealers in the West End of Vancouver, Kitsilano Beach, and even North Vancouver. At first I never clued into the fact that these two “fellow hippies,” who said they were AWOL from the army or something stupid like that, were not selling or using the drugs themselves, but were sending them back to “friends” in Saskatchewan where such drugs were said to be very scarce. I started to get nervous, something wasn’t going right, so one day I bought a bus ticket to Hope, which was all I could afford, and hitchhiked the rest of the way back home to Winnipeg where I started going back to school to finish my Grades 11 and 12. I was still keeping up on any news that came out of Vancouver, and when I heard that a number of people got busted by undercover narcs, and I read some of the names, I knew what had happened and that I was responsible for a lot of those people getting arrested and being sent to prison. I disappeared even deeper into normal society, and thanked my lucky stars that I got out of Vancouver in time. I took a part time job at a local grocery store to help finance my rent and meals while I was in school, and I thought I was safe.

to be continued…