Reincarnation:What is the most terrifying theory known to humankind?
This is a beautifully crafted, fear-inducing narrative that prompts deep reflection. It is, by far, the most unique interpretation of the cosmos and human existence that I have encountered.
Egg:
You met your demise on the way home.
It was a fatal car accident. While nothing stood out as particularly noteworthy, its consequences were dire. You left behind a wife and two children. The passing was painless. Despite the paramedics’ best efforts, it was futile. Your body lay shattered, and believe me, you were in a better state than when alive.
And so, our paths crossed.
“What… what happened?” you inquired. “Where am I?”
“You’re deceased,” I stated matter-of-factly. Let’s not sugarcoat it.
“The truck skidded…”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“So, I’m… I’m dead?”
“Yes. But don’t despair. After all, everyone faces mortality eventually,” I consoled.
You surveyed the surroundings. A void enveloped us. Just you and me. “Where is this?” you probed.
“Well, in a way,” I responded.
“Are you God?” you ventured.
“Yes,” I affirmed. “I am God.”
“My children… my wife,” you remembered.
“Are they alright?”
“That’s what I aim to ascertain,” I expressed. “Your recent demise, yet your primary concern is family. Admirable.”
You scrutinized me with interest. I likely didn’t appear godlike, more akin to an ambiguous authoritative figure, perhaps a mentor.
“Don’t fret,” I reassured. “They’re fine. Your offspring reveres you as flawless. No contempt harbored. Your spouse may outwardly mourn but finds solace inwardly. Frankly, your marriage was crumbling. If it brings solace, she’ll wrestle with guilt over her relief.”
“Oh,” you acknowledged. “So, what’s next? Heaven or hell?”
“Neither,” I disclosed. “You’ll reincarnate.”
“Ah,” you absorbed. “The Hindus were onto something.”
“All religions hold truths,” I acknowledged. “Walking and talking aids, please accompany.”
We traversed the void. “Where to?” you inquired.
“Nowhere specific,” I admitted. “Conversation during walks is pleasant.”
“So, the point?” you sought.
“Misconception,” I corrected. “You retain all past life knowledge. Just not consciously.”
I paused, grasping your shoulder. “Your soul surpasses imagination. Human minds grasp a fraction. It’s like dipping a finger into water, gaining vessel experiences upon retrieval.
For 48 human years, you’ve barely glimpsed your vast consciousness. Extensive here, memories resurface. Pointless between lives.”
“How often reincarnated?” you wondered.
“Countless times,” I stated. “Now, a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Time travel?” you pondered.
“Technically yes. Time’s subjective; here differs,” I elaborated.
“Your realm?” you pressed.
“Yes,” I disclosed. “I hail elsewhere. Others like me exist. Intrigued, but understanding eludes.”
“Oh,” you mused, disappointed. “Meeting past selves, interaction possible?”
“Frequent. Lives unaware, unaware of coexistence,” I clarified.
“So, essence?” you probed.
“Seriously?” I challenged. “Life’s meaning, a tad cliché?”
“Reasonable query,” you insisted.
I locked eyes. “Life’s meaning, your maturation.”
“For humanity?” you speculated.
“No, solely you. Universe tailored. Each life, growth toward superior intellect.”
“Just me? Others?” you probed.
“Nonexistent. Just us,” I confirmed.
Your gaze lingered. “Earth’s populace…”
“Extensions of you. Varied lives,” I detailed.
Silence followed.
“So, everyone’s me!?”
“Sinking in,” I acknowledged.
“All human lives ever lived?”
“And those to come,” I supplemented.
Silence again.
“Lincoln?”
“Booth too,” I responded.
“Hitler?”
“And his victims,” I noted.
“Jesus?”
“And followers,” I concluded.
You fell silent.
“Your cruelty, self-inflicted. Kindness, self-bestowed. All human joy, sorrow, yours, future.”
Contemplation ensued.
“Why?” you queried. “Purpose?”
“Someday, resembling me. Species part. My child.”
“Wow,” you marveled. “Deity?”
“No, unborn deity. Growing. Omniscient at cycle’s end.”
“So, universe’s purpose?”
“An egg,” I disclosed. “Next life beckons.”
And thus, you departed.