I have come to believe that before we are born into this world, and forget most of what we really are, we are cognizant beings who longingly press our noses against the glass of Earth’s atmosphere and say to ourselves “Doesn’t that look fun?”
It’s strange to think that not only did we want to be born into a war-torn country or a third-world nation, or even a stilted picket-fence neighborhood in a stuffy white-bread suburb, but that we affirmatively chose this world. Why would we do that?
I believe it’s all about contrast. War-heroes come from war-torn countries. Ghandi and Mandela rose from humble beginnings. Brilliant artists, authors, speakers and scientists too numerous to mention had their origins in the suburbs. The way I see it, if you’ve been floating around in the non-physical ether long enough – possessing the ability to go, do, see, have or be anything anywhere at any time – you’ll probably start to think “man, this is too easy.”
It’s like eating only mashed-potatoes. Sure, you could spice up your spuds a little with chives, bacon bits, what have you, but it’s all ultimately cosmic, outside-of-time, 5D mashed potatoes. So when we saddle up to go Earthbound, I imagine we’re good and ready for something different on the menu. A spirit swaggers in to the restaurant of its choice, and orders up a heaping serving of whatever looks fun. Some go to McLife and order from the dollar menu. Others go to Tavern on the Guff and order the most expensive thing they’ve got (“I’ll have the Oil-Baron-Fillet with your finest bottle of Inherited Wealth.”) Seems like a lot of us go into a mid-level chain like Outback Life House and order something popular, telling them to go easy on the contrast.
Jen’s spirit didn’t do that. Her soul is the adventurous type. I’m pretty sure it sidled up to some chic cosmic sushi-bar where they give you the itemized menu-slip with checkboxes and a little pencil, and you start checking off the items and quantities you want. She was in a wicked mood when she placed her order, and she picked some of the spiciest stuff they had.
“Hmm, let’s see, I think I’ll take a couple of parental-betrayal-rolls with some wasabi-creepy-incestuous-family on the side. Ooh, some media-driven-body-shame-sashimi should go nicely with that. Of course, I have to have a few black-bean-childhood-traumas (I always get those when I come here), and I’ll wash it down with a carafe of artistic-temperament-sake. ”
I imagine my soul was there with her, feeling intimidated, knowing that it couldn’t possibly hang. It probably said something like “I’ll just have the teriyaki-untimely-parental-death with a side of tempura-eldest-child-paternalistic-guilt” in a lame attempt to impress her. Certainly, my spirit partook in a shot or two of artistic-temperament-sake, but didn’t get wasted.
So as we brave the hardships of this life together, we find immense comfort in the idea that the greater parts of us actually chose this. Even under the worst circumstances we can have a laugh at the thought of our swaggering mashed-potato-worn spirits bellying up to the bar and slapping down the cash for an unforgettable meal. Unforgettable, that is, until next time. (I’m personally hoping for a reservation at Tavern on the Guff).