My Forgotten LIves

Reincarnation still remains a wide enigma throughout the course of humankind; some have considered it as a ratings game. The interpretation that I currently understand is that of an idealist feature of changing lives with the irrelevance of its’ gender. Once the first given existence is completed; one supposedly proceeds accordingly with the successions onto the next life span. This process would depend on how did the individual’s behaviour and personality got along with humanity in the previous one. This continuous of flow of linked humanities in Time that would be considered some kind of renewable amount of stepping stones in order to possibly reach an ultimate existence of veracity. After being passed on from one life to another; is this a regenerated agent of rebirth that grants one a better comprehension for each human continuance? Is it a mortal transition that consists of inheriting our prior human characteristics such as: talents, traits, fears, faults, strengths and weaknesses in order to adjust to future obstacles?

If history is predestined to repeat itself; why has no one seems to notice? Does human arrogance has always subconsciously taken everything for granted. Either we refuse to learn and heed from out past or we are eternally and utterly senseless to compelled in repeating. Will we be ever able to achieve the necessary skills and wisdom to seize and succeed a welcomed opportunity to overcoming barriers? Or is it society’s elusively stranded in a reluctant vacuum of fear because no one has ever figured out how to break this vicious cycle? Our careless practices don’t seem to become ceaseless; let alone to ask ourselves: Are we too comfortable within the very same formalities which can be preventing us from getting it right the first time? Do we find ourselves either morally or emotionally obliged to ameliorate and sharpen all of these previous skills to become better humans than the former existence? Would these improved tasks make us a more healthier beings or somehow earn us to reach some mystical afterlife reward of eternal happiness that is approved from an unknown superior existence that no one can attain by our five senses ???

This perpetual, yet moderating interval has been transforming soul lineages that has been inexplicably created either by an unknown supreme power where everyone is to be considered helpless and ignorant and is convinced to look upon this being for guidance and assistance only because we see ourselves to be are innocently ignorant.. Whatever this perplexing power has compelled me to reinvent itself; my only question: Is it someone’s cruel sense of entertainment? Yet, are the several of the acquire distant skills and mannerisms are often unexpectedly returned as a clear reminder of one’s initial awarded capabilities and logic for them to be properly managed in the very next lifetime?

This acquired wisdom may possess a chain-like feature by involuntarily inter-linking one life to another. Would this be a continuous lineage: one right after the other? Is this a random perpetuity or is it some kind of clandestine dynamism to recreate itself over specific intervals of time? Or was it some kind of sadistic anomaly that enjoys someone else’s continuous agony?

Each passing lifetime had never possessed the same amount of duration, gender, status, region or demise as another. It would be some kind of theoretical meaning for I have inadvertently chosen to recall the possibility of nine of my past lifetimes, including the present one. Most memories had become quite vague with such uncertainty while others had been clearly and brilliantly remembered as if they just freshly occurred, yesterday.

............................My most recent speculating recollection of my last life subsistence was being a late 19^th century teamster worker living near the old Fort Garry settlement. Being riddled with boredom and insufficient happiness with life; I was internally seeking a doorway out of my misery into a world of excitement in order to escape my daily tedium. Once that I had publicly heard that the British Government were calling out for volunteers to fight in South Africa - I had decided to enlist in the Winnipeg Contingency. Thinking this would be a golden opportunity for me to be relieved of a heaving–bearing existence; it would grant me an education that I was never able to attain in the past.. This chance would give me the rationale to travel outside the country and learn more about life, elsewhere. The Canadian militia was my ticket out of a wearisome situation. To fight in the South African Boer war had sounded exciting, wonderful and filled with heroic glory. Well, I was ‘ half-right ’ about this experience. War is certainly hellish, yet I was glad to have the ability to travel the world. During one ambush, I was galloping tremendously fast trying to avoid being killed by stray bullets. Suddenly, a bullet had instantly struck and killed off my horse from underneath me. It had made my mount immediately collapse under me and throwing me off several feet in the air to gravely land hard on the dry ground. While hitting the ground on my right side, my shoulder had been critically damaged and my right ankle had been broken. This horrible incident was also fortunately witnessed by a fellow soldier from a British different detachment. He saw me struggling on the desert floor with an incapacitated foot. Once this fellow soldier had been vehemently assisting me, as I was hobbling onto his saddle; I was looking back for a last scene of my fallen mount and for any sight of the attacking enemy. Once I was seated on the back of his steed; he galloped towards the nearest military post.

After the war was over, I had never forgotten his momentary generosity; from all of these years, my only regret was that I could never remember his name. Upon my return home: I got married, had children and viewed three more global conflicts in my lifetime: WWI, the Spanish Revolution and WWII. For these following hostilities, I can say that I was no longer qualified to join in these fights, yet I had clearly understood when I had once possessed these same apprehensions and anxieties which these new young adventurers had been up against. In 1949, after 60 years of chain-smoking; I died peacefully at home in an easy chair of lung cancer at the age of 79.

The year is 1813, as a black uneducated female slave; I absolutely had no possibility for any kind of suitable future. In my heart, I had always known aware that my own fate would be one day, horrific. As I got word of a Josiah Henson’s successful route to liberty; I wanted the very same privilege for my family; for my children, especially. I had wondered if this escape was the ‘ Underground Railway ‘ that was being whispered among all of those other instructed black slaves? All my life living in a slave-working state of Mississippi, the only fact that I’ve known are blacks are considered to be property owned by the powerful rich whites. I was very pleased that to find out that someone like us had made it to freedom. As a black female slave; I had very little chance to acquire such a luxury. The thought of hearing stories of escape were false and misleading had it wholly convinced me and assumed it actually existed; this reality had depicted otherwise for some blacks which had successfully fled the slave-owning territories. One night, I was eavesdropping on a conversation which a few other blacks were planning to their break to Canada – this was my only chance to get involved. During that evening, my children had the delight to escape with their lives, north of the border. Being referred as a 32-year-old worthless whore in 1833, according to my master, I was falsely filled with hope by thinking that I could attempt a foolish run to save my remaining children. But, while being unwise of any kind sense of directions, I was swiftly apprehended, shackled and whipped for my unforeseen undertakings. As I was being brutally manhandled; I was ordered to kneel down in front of a shallow grave as I was being shot in the back of the head, execution style. The gleeful white masters had witnessed that I was no longer of any further use to them.; so for their own entertainment; they watched my pathetically limp and bruised body being abruptly lead and fall in a makeshift grave to quickly suffocate me by their heavy burial by happily discarding me like compost.

My earliest memories of being in the late 18^th century France; I was fortunate to witness some of our country’s transitional political alterations. I was raised in an orphanage where I had no idea of who I really was. With no specific identity of my own; I had quickly learned to fend for myself at all cost in order to survive. As an adult,

I became an adventurous cut-throat. Once captured in 1788, I was residing at the Bastille, there was a convicted rotund sex-addict and vocal writer; he was a loud and obnoxious old fool. He had kept shouting obscenities to the raging crowds from his cell window. By the time the prison was destroyed, I had escaped with my life and returned with my former ways to sustain my life. Most fugitives had scattered to various regions without a trace. In late January 1793, I became a gleeful spectator in the viewing audience; I was spitefully laughing at the former King’s pitiful fate. It made me rejoice to see him led to the guillotine like a ‘sacred, yet an obedient cow ‘to a butcher’s table. By cheering on the appointed slayer, absolute no mercy was shown to ‘this spoiled brat’. Thinking how he was outwardly stripped of all his outlandish luxuries while everybody else had scrounged to survive. It was about time that society had gotten revenge on him & his family in showing how the public really lives. As the executioner picked up the decapitated head to show the public; an anticipating feeling revealed through the gathering right up until the blade came down. After the late king’s corpse lay mutilated, a swarm of souvenir-hunters had hastily rushed the scaffold to steal a piece of the fallen monarch. Unbeknownst to me at the age of 62, I was embarrassingly pushed down to the ground onto my face and trampled to death by the rioting frenzy.

The life of 17^th century English armoury worker; being a quick learner really had helped throughout my life. Later on in life, I was promoted to be the royal family’s executioner. I was compelled and possessed a wide displeasure of decapitating my very own employer: King Charles the First as a heretic. Five years under Cromwell’s

administration; a British loyalist had discovered that I was the one who killed the country’s so-called honourable monarch; in 1654 at the age of 56, I was secretly poisoned from drinking a stein of ale at a public function in the nearest village.

Born & bred in Nice, France, the life of sailor had been the only trade that I knew of. At the age of 22, I had signed up to venture westwards to the coast of Portugal and continuing on southwards to Africa to seek out fortunes in gold with a then young unknown 25-year-old weaver and cartographer. While accompanying him upon one of his very troubled sea voyages; the crew that run into some abrasive weather that the western seas had showed us absolutely no mercy. We found ourselves in a violent rainstorm where our ship had been overthrown around like a toy vessel and blown off the initial course. While I was trying to hang on for my life; the rope in my hands had weakened and swiftly snapped off the mast, then I fell into the ocean and quickly drowned. Unlike my unruly fate, the captain; he had survived the turbulent billows by floating on the remnants of his damaged ship and later able to swim eastwards and return safely to the Portuguese shoreline.

During the mid 13^th century in Cathay I was certainly decreed as one of the several loyal female servants (Tartar) of the Chinese Emperor Kublai Khan. I had the pleasure of once meeting the young eastern Marco Polo when he arrived to court in 1274. He was a very good & generous friend to me along into adulthood right up until his departure in 1295. He was quite revered as an honourable man in the eyes of our great ruler Khan. Once Kublai had died, I was released from my courtly duties and awarded to a private residence of my own among the palace grounds until I had passed away peacefully at the age of 78 in my sleep after an exhausting day’s work.

Growing up within a stately environment; I had learned early in life the manipulative game of Power and Politics. High in the standing of the present aristocracy, I had become one of the most secretive agents in Spartacus Square right up until an ambitious Roman emperor who was a leader of his own legion. His hunger for power became outrageously and abundantly clear. I, like several others didn’t care for this ruthless individual – he was getting out of hand and had to be stopped, quickly. Then I moved up in the ranks as a conniving senator. Someone had to do away with Julius Caesar in one manner or another. As a current member of this conspiracy, we all planned a lucrative slaying in order to elect an assassin, luckily I wasn’t the chosen one, yet my conscious had begun to bother me, greatly. When a culprit was arrested and tried; he had desperately exclaimed that he would call out upon more names of those who planned this conspiracy in order to save his own skin; yet he was quickly executed. Three years later, paranoia and remorse had gotten the very best of me; I was afraid others would possibly include me in this crime, yet to my disappointment of gaining power, myself; one night, I couldn’t bare the guilt any longer, so I decided to commit suicide by hanging myself from a rafter with the remaining bed-clothing.

An Athenian Greek blacksmith since the age of twelve, I was taught the art of moulding, welding and bending all metallic objects. Also, I had the opportunity to witness an Olympic event in 648BC that I didn’t understand the reasons for the demonstrating physical activities. Amidst my vile working conditions and days later, I had succumbed to a breathing virus that had poisoned my lungs – I had mysteriously died of a pneumonia upon my eighteenth year.

Approximately 4200 BC, among as a member of a poor Egyptian Memphis community, I was groomed to be a sculptor at a very young age of 8. I had eventually became a high ranking government engraver until I was falsely accused of an attempted conspiracy of regicide. My similar identity was mistaken for someone else who had committed these crimes. Without any such trials and brutal haste, I was wrongfully convicted, imprisoned and swiftly executed at the age of 44.

As one of many early modern men learning to how to survive in the equatorial region of western Africa; memories are extremely scarce, faint and very disturbing. Besides hunting and fighting; everything else is hazy. Yet, I was around to witness to the very creation of fire. Since I had always avoided this vile warm burning activity; I had feared its’ strange power. I had died as a cripple in my state of frail old age man amidst the surrounding Neanderthal tribes.

Well this is as far that I am able to remember from all of the submitted and acquired knowledge throughout my chronological line of my human history; this is so far the person that I’ve fully become with various accumulated idiosyncrasies and talents. I was beneficial enough to use all the skills which I was offered during all of these several recorded occurrences in history. I would like to think as an evolved human being that I have taken advantage of every past needed and appreciated opportunity which I’ve fortunately encountered. Most importantly, it was proper be for me to correctly utilize, practice and profit from all of my ascertained proficiencies and distinctively learn to heed the essential warnings before regretting the ultimate price.

A multitude of questions are now following once I’ve shuffled off this most recent mortal coil; these are queries which might be answered in another life span. Either way, I have completely no idea where or when I’m going, let alone know what I’m

headed for. I possess no clue or source of premonition to what kind of person that I may become. My remaining query before I finally make a closing: Is there a super-human cosmic power continually leading me around and sending me back to seek out some kind of appropriate human validation before being fully accepted as a member of the Universe? Is it the very human soul that deliberately returns to existence in order to acquire a more convincing aura of happiness that can be within my reach?

Otherwise, IF this whimsical premise of a mystical Karma is in fact a reality; would an individual’s fate or a celestial supremacy ever grant anyone another chance to redeem itself by choosing its’ own form to exist again; I would certainly look forward towards an unforeseen HORIZON and prepare for a new beginning.