To Whom it May Concern

To Whom It May Concern

It’s a wonderful notion, is it not, to think we don’t really die, but simply pass into another dimension only to reappear, as a new born baby, in another time and place, in the future?

Tibetan Buddhism teaches about reincarnation and how the search for a new Dalai Lama entails gathering up some of his former possessions and laying them, together with other random items, at the feet of the child suspected to be the reincarnation. If the child favours the items of the former Dalai Lama over the other random items, some chosen for their enticing characteristics, then the child is believed to be the next incarnation.

You hear anecdotal evidence of similar stories from all over the world. Children declaring to their parents of memories of people and places they could not have known or witnessed in their present situation. Adults and past life regression you can write off as an over active imagination or buried memories of books read or movies seen. But children? That’s a different ball game.

So I figured I would devise a plan to leave evidence behind that I would find in a future life to prove to myself that I had indeed lived before and that death was far from the final frontier. 

But how to go about it? And what format to choose? How would I recognise that it was even from myself? Would it be a letter hidden, or a book written, or an artefact on display with a secret code that only I would recognise?

And why would I even recognise it? Obviously, when we are born, memories of past lives are wiped from our internal data base. So why do some of those memories get through to a few individuals and not to everyone? Has it to do with the intensity of one’s life just before death? And how would I, me, ordinary everyday, Jo Blow in the street me, attain that intensity? If the preacher prays for too long I fall asleep. If he waffles too much in his sermon I’m counting the bricks on the side wall. When I try meditating my snoring drowns out the recording of the monks chanting.

How was I going to create a little intensity in my life that would carry a memory over to my next incarnation? And yet, the project was beginning to whet my appetite.

Let me spare you the days, weeks, months, um …, maybe a year or two, spent reading self improvement books, watching YouTube videos from spiritually enlightened gurus, attending weekend workshops and Yoga classes, filling my humble flat with crystals and soothing candles. I had turned my mobile phone off and stopped going to church, although I must admit, the more I learned about living in the moment and creating positive Karma, the more the parables of Jesus were starting to make sense. My friends had written me off as a fruit cake, but I didn’t care. I was on a mission to create an intensity in my life that would carry a memory forward for me to recognise in a future incarnation.

Suck it up, Blues Brothers!

And now, intense me, don’t come too close, was going to create some lasting clue that would attract the future me and point to evidence I had lived before. This was going to be extremely difficult in face of the last three months spent in deep meditation completely eradicating a false sense of self, ego and duality.

Did my non-dual self even need to reincarnate? I was one with the world around me living in the now but still intensely aware of existence. Would I not simply, like the raindrop, merge with the mighty ocean of infinity? Um!

Just give me one shot at it, please.

It would need to be something to stand the test of time, like the Bible or some famous piece of literature, which, seeing I failed English Lit at High School, seemed a bit out of my reach. I was no good with my hands, couldn’t even hammer a nail in straight, so a famous sculpture or piece of artwork was also out of the question. With computer technology changing exponentially while we speak, anything on a hard drive or memory stick, could be hieroglyphics to a new operating system, so that was out. My options were beginning to run out, but I must find something.

I finally decided on a letter addressed to my future self, enclosed in a sealed envelope and hidden in a famous manuscript or book deep within the bowels of some reference library. Would that work? Who would I address it to? How are letters normally addressed when the recipient’s name is unknown?

I know. “To Whom It May Concern?”

Yes! I think that’s it. It would need to contain high lights of my life, things that had impacted me so much, they were virtually etched on my soul. I was not sure, but it was all I had, so I started composing a letter.

The next week I took a train to the capital, reasoning it would give me time to think, in reasonable comfort, without having to worry about parking and time zones.

The library was renown for its reference section and even had a section on antiquities which you could apply to enter, providing you wore white cotton gloves and were careful with handling the exhibits, the process being carefully monitored by staff and security personnel.

 I had decided to specialise in Tibet, reasoning that my future self, my intense future self, would be looking for clues about past lives and recognising that Tibetan Buddhism had many books, translated into English, on the subject, it would be the place my future self would look. I had no idea what sort of books the library would carry but as long it had some books about Tibet, some reference, surely, would be made about the religion and reincarnation. So I had requested to see some of the books the library carried on Tibet, particularly those translated into English and in book form, hopefully giving me somewhere to hide my letter.

I was given a table where a selection of books had already been placed and, wearing my white cotton gloves, proceeded to open and investigate. They were dated from the early 1800’s and appeared to cover the first exploration of Tibet and the Himalayas by British, American and European explorers. I picked up something quite substantial with a cover that may be loose enough for me to slip my letter inside.

I made a display of being profoundly absorbed in the volume while keeping an eye on the staff and the security guard waiting for the opportunity to slip my letter inside the cover. When the coast was clear I lifted the book slightly to expose a slight space between the cover and the rear leather bound back piece, and as I did so, with one hand inside my jacket to retrieve my letter, something slipped out and landed at my feet.

I froze and checked that no one else had seen it and discreetly reached down and brought up what I thought was a rectangular piece of cardboard. “Weird!” I thought and turned it over to get a closer look using the pile of books in front of me as a cover.

It had the feel of hand made paper about it and felt as though it could be an envelope and contain something inside. It was definitely very old and as I turned it over I observed there was something written on the other side. It was faded and appeared to be done with a nib pen and ink in fancy handwriting. I could barely read it as I held it up to get a better look. It said,

“To Whom it May Concern”.