Sometime in my early twenties I had a strange epiphany. My consciousness felt way, way older than the 23 or so years it had been around. It felt, in fact, timeless. The feeling I discovered back then continues to this day. I don’t remember anything that happened before birth, but it feels like the same sort of lack of remembrance I have for what I had for lunch 3 years ago on this date.
The idea of past lives rests on the overfocus on the physical. We identify with our bodies, so we think that to exist we need one. But I think existence is perfectly possible without them. Hard for me to know for sure, right now anyway, but I suspect I spend much more time without a body than I do with one.
Consciousness slowly evolves over time. It can evolve faster or slower. It evolves faster when you’re invested in whatever it is you’re doing. Without a body, all of existence happens mentally. This naturally slows down growth, as without any reason to focus on any given direction, you’re less invested.
So we jump into bodies in order to grow faster. Like anyone else of a spiritual bent I’ve considered what a past life of mine might have been, and what I came up with is a minor French nobleman in the 17–1800s, with enough of an inheritance in order to live comfortably. Who knows if it’s really true, but does kinda fit my current personality.
A few hundred years would have passed between then and my current life, that sounds like about how much time it would take me to get bored of exploring non-materiality.
Now, I don’t know that I’d ever want to destroy my identity and history again. There’s just so much to explore and look at and do. I mean, I’m not afraid to do it, but just because I wouldn’t miss my car all that much if someone stole it doesn’t mean I would just give it away.
The big question I have for my life is just how much I’ve grown since my last life. Was I doing crazy amounts of mysticism then too? I imagine so. Did I get as far as I did in this life? I don’t really think so.