But, what happens after we die?

reincarnation

we're blessed a new life,

with no past life memories,

we'll have a rebirth.

heaven & hell

those with virtue fly,

and who carries sin falls down,

there's no in-between.

darkness

sometimes its nothing,

just night and oblivion,

not even a dream.

ghosts & spirits

so much left undone,

or cursed with a lively soul,

we're here-but not quite.

resurrection

the world still wants you,

there's still so much left for you,

come back as before.

So, do you really want to know?

Particles surround me as I ride on the back of a bicycle. I know the rider, but I can't see his face, can't find his name in the jumble of words that is my mind. We ride along pastures anew, cattle grazing on the side, as the fine dust particles stick to every inch of my body; from my hair to my slipper-clad toes. I can taste it, all of its granular, gritty, and violent details. It rubs me the wrong way. Why am I donned in a sari from the old days? Not draped over my left shoulder like my mother wore it, but tucked in the front over my right. My hair slicked back in a low bun, now rough to the touch and greasy due to the journey. We ride along thatched huts, coal smoking in the fire pits, men walking home from the mines, their faces slackened and dirty, dusty. The womenfolk swatting away flies, the little pests, as they languidly land on the chapatis, rubbing their limbs together as if preparing for an appetising meal. We ride to what appears to be a dark cave, we are at the entrance and something looms. We halt, he dismounts and I jump to save myself from falling, but I fall. I can no longer see his back, I fall. Inside the cave, darkness surrounds me as I fall. My heart jumps in my throat, I can no longer breathe, I see nothing. I wake up with a jolt. I was there, behind him. On his bicycle. I no longer remember. I don't remember his face, I don't recall his name. Like dust, the memory fades.

The chains, the fear, the weary strife

I left them all behind, somewhere in a past life

They lurk like shadows, always behind me,

Death comes to life, and visions remind me

And haunt me in my sleepless hours,

And kill me in the dark alleys

I'd sell my soul to arcane powers

If that were sure to set me free

But no peace can be found,

Nor can I ransom my soul,

For my sins drag me down,

And return in the cold

I ran away from everything, but everything ran after me,

And now I don't know where to go to turn the nightmare to a dream

All those things, the woman who was once my wife,

I left them all behind, Somewhere in a past life

And everytime I try to forget,

The memories come to life,

And haunt me in my sleepless hours,

Walking with me on the streets.

I see them every night and day,

The helpless children I betrayed,

And left their mother all alone,

To wander off away from home,

But all those things are dead to me, and though it cuts me like a knife,

I left them all behind, somewhere in a past life

The prison sentence was too long for me to ever hope to return,

And though it was no fault but my own, I know I'll never learn

And though I hope to start anew, so little can I hope

That to my mind all that is gone,

Somewhere in a past life

Weird to think that I'm so certain about my best friend going on mission.

We're only 18 and I have not spent even a breath of it on devotion to anything beyond my sensory perception, while she's spent each and every one of those years dedicating herself to the church and Jesus Christ.

In school we learned about ways of knowing. Of course we used most of them all of the time; where I prefered memory and emotion, she used reason and language but that's not to say that I don't use logic or she can't remember things. The only place our profficieny differed was faith, which makes a lot of sense. She was raised religious and there was only 1 paragraph for me to read about faith as a way of knowing in the curriculum material.

How could I use it if I was never taught how?

I'm just as uneducated in practicing faith as ever, I don't know how to turn belief or trust into faith, or how to find belief and trust in old books written and used by orginizations with so many major flaws. I've learned a little about how to believe in a higher power, something more abstract than God, illdefined but meeting techinical qualifications for descriptions such as "divine"; I still have no idea how anyone can believe in Jesus Christ, as their Lord and Savior no less.

Yet,

Yet, I know without a shred or shadow of doubt that mission is right for Sam: that shipping off to some unknown corner of the world for 18 months and not being allowed to talk to me 6 out of 7 days a week and living in a modern day version of hermitage for almost 2 years is the right choice for her now.

Yet, when the person I have talked to every. single. day. for. three. years. asked if I thought mission would be right for her at all, I said don't worry about graduating in 4 years, or the loans, or anything other than making sure you have cultivated the right skills and midset to have a successful mission.

Yet, when the most devout person I have ever known asked me, an atheiest and recovering "Fuck God And You For Believing In Him" enthusiast, if she should dedicate her entire life to God, Jesus Christ, and the Gospel (of a religion I will never join), I said yes. Yes, she should.

Why? How could I be so certain? How could I know? There are so many scary, terrible, miserable sounding, and intimidating things that go along with mission, why would I support her in it? Why would I encourage her to put me through something that will be so miserable for so long?

Her reasoning, and her faith, say that this was the Holy Ghost speaking through me, some form of divine intent. However, one of the few hills of conviction I will die on is that these bone deep certainties and intuitions are my own, they are from me and apart of me, but this knowledge didn't come from nowhere.

I believe in very little--- past lives, circular time, ressurection, heaven, the Holy Ghost--- but some part of me that exists beyond the here and now, that knows how to listen to the cosmos around me, and understands constants like time very differently than the rest of me knows how to believe. And if theres anything in this world worth believing in, its myself.

Tomorrow begins in tragedy. I know this, but I can’t do anything about it.

That sounds weak, a cop-out, but it’s the truth. Don’t you think I’ve tried?

I’ve tried so many times. I tried to stop it myself once. That didn’t end so well. Another time, I told those with the power to do something, but they didn’t believe me. When it happened like I said, they thought I planned it.

I tried to help. It ruined my life and didn’t save anyone.

I can’t do anything, so stop worrying. Stop thinking about it. Keep my head down and act shocked with everyone else tomorrow. Sink into despair with the rest of the world. Mourn. Flow with the way everything changes. Believe them when they say it’s to keep everyone safe.

Do we all do this, or is it just me? Live, die, and start over right where we began, forgetting we’ve already played this game? Why do I remember how it went? Hundreds, maybe thousands of times. I’ve lost count.

I’ve changed things, sometimes even big things. One slight variance can have a ripple effect, but nothing I’ve ever done has prevented tomorrow’s massacre.

Headlines flash in my brain. News anchors cloaked in calm concern tell the story. No one else in this gas station convenient store has any idea. Don’t let it show on my face. They’ll think I’m crazy.

Coffee. That liquid black hole will drown this useless worry. Stay steady, feet. Not too fast. Hold the cup like an adult. Don’t fidget while waiting in line to pay. Think nice thoughts.

That job interview went well today, just like last time.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

If only I could have told them the truth. I’ll work there for the next fifteen years, and my face will cover the employee-of-the-month wall.

Instead, I watched their fake smiles turn genuine as I said exactly what I needed to reel them in. Took me several lifetimes to figure out what that was, but the lines are old at this point.

This coffee is so expensive, but that’s fine. I’ll have a job soon. It pays well and is fun. No matter what happens in the morning, life goes on. It always does, and it’s not my fault. I couldn’t and can’t do anything to change it, so stop thinking about it.

Maybe I’ll change my name. Haven’t done that in a while. I always end up being born Joe again, but there are too many Joes in this world. We even call this black magic drink a cup of joe.

I’ve had lovely successes as a Xavier, exotic but still recognizable. I’ve always wanted to try being a Pierre. Yeah, I’ll do that. Just got to get back to my car and—

“Oh, I am so sorry. I’ll buy you another coffee.” Her soft, quick voice mimics the beat of a hummingbird’s wings and rings as sweet as the nectar they drink.

Don’t stare, or she’ll think I’m a creep, but why does she need to buy me another coffee?

Oh, she spilled the one I had. Its heat seeps through my shirt and drips down my chest. I should probably get a napkin or something. It burns.

I really should stop staring, and I definitely shouldn’t follow her, but I’ve never seen this woman before, not in a thousand lifetimes. Not in this store, not any—

Wait, what time is it? I know what happens next. A bell will jangle as the door opens, and beneath that innocent, hollow metal tube will stand a man dressed in a long, black vest that looks like it got caught in the wheels of his motorcycle a few too many times. A navy-blue rag covers his head, and opaque shades shield his eyes, though today is by no means sunny.

Frozen, I watch the scene in my memory and in real-time. His every step is a power chord at a rock concert, grout loosening under the soles of massive boots. Chains hiss like snakes. He’ll go over to the peanuts and—

This time, he doesn’t make it to the nut display. Only halfway there, he crashes into my mysterious lady as she hurries to pay for my second cup of coffee. She spills this one, too.

I’m there the moment the light hits the blade of his switch knife. Each time I witness this scene, he stabs the first person he interacts with, then pulls out the gun tucked in the back of his belt, takes everyone hostage, and empties the cash drawers. It always ends in a shootout with the cops.

But I know how he moves. I know what weapons he has and where. I know what’s coming. I grab his wrist and swing around his side, reaching for the gun.

Just knowing is not enough. My stomach hits the tile. The dirty floor feels cold against the fire in my side. It reeks of ammonia and cow chips, then iron as red replaces the mud streaked off-white. I taste the metal, too.

The screams sound so far away. When did someone lift my head into a lap? These thighs are so soft. The fragrances of baby powder and coffee waft from her pastel blue pencil skirt. Too bad it’s got blood all over it. My fault. That’s my fault. I have to get up. Apologize.

Can’t. None of my limbs report in.

“Hang on,” my mystery woman whispers in my ear. “Help is on the way.”

It’s too late, though. They don’t have the medical expertise to save me yet. I’ve died a thousand deaths. Heart attack. Drowned. Crashed. Shot. Crushed. They’re always different, but there’s always some part that feels the same. The insatiable pit of cold has already opened in my core. I’m not going to make it, but I let her hold my hand anyway. It’s nice. Warm. How great would it be to get to know someone again?

I focus on her, soaking in every detail, but she’s mostly a silhouette. Tight coils of hair form a dark cloud around her petite face. She’s crying.

“Hey.” The word is an exhale. My chest weighs a hundred pounds, my throat two hundred. I can’t feel my tongue. Can barely feel my lips. “What are the instructions on the back of a shampoo bottle?”

She blinks, and tears alight on my cheeks, but I don’t mind. With each flutter of her lashes, the slate green of her eyes strobes. It’s my new favorite color.

“Um, lather, rinse, and repeat?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do, and then, I’ll make sure I find you, alright?”

Her mouth moves, but my ears have already checked out. Death is here for me again. I see him, darkness sweeping from the edges of my vision. Why does he always throw me away, throw me back like a runt of a fish?

This time, when he does, when I’m living this life again, I’ll make sure I meet this coffee-spilling beauty sooner, and I won’t waste a second with her.

For me, tomorrow begins with hope that this time, it’ll go better.

~fin~

The list is always long.

I’ve been waiting decades for my next chance, and tomorrow will finally be the day; I’ve been over the rules, and I’m beyond ready.

There are thousands of babies being born every day, and I knew I just needed to find the right one. I knew I could choose, based on racial preference, nationality, and/or economic status. The hardest part is making sure you end up in the right place to find one of your other soul-circle to connect with, whether as family or as potential mate.

Of course, since our memories are buried behind the new personality, it’s always kind of a crap-shoot, but the whole process is very thrilling.

I know that most of my soul-circle has gone to Italy this time around, so that’s the line I am going to get in. I can’t help but wonder if I get to be a guy or girl in this iteration. Either way, I’ll know tomorrow.

I can hardly wait!

His eyes. I've seen them before, but where? Yes they are simply golden brown, barely noticeable in the dark club we are both in, but I swear they are eyes mine have locked with. My stomach fills with jitters as he approaches, and his plain yet dazzling eyes look me up and down. He tilts his head with me, both of us now lost in a trance of confusion, both having the same feeling. I grab my head; the feeling is almost overwhelming and my own eyes flutter so his features get caught in my daze. His smile. His smile. I would have remembered that smile anywhere. As the corners of his mouth raise, I bite my lip as a result of a sensation I was unaware of. Staring at him, I feel my body fall down, almost fainting with the heat of the club and our concerningly strong connection. He suddenly grabs my body, saving me from the cold floor and I see it all: every memory we shared before this one, every feeling greater than this one. I see us, in this club, only it was a ballroom and we were sharing our first dance as husband and wife, those same eyes following my steps as I lead. I see us, shopping for our first child's baby clothes, us raising a family and growing old together. The memories stop and we share a look, one I must have been familar with. He saw them too. So he grabs me by the hand and we share another dance, hoping to have a future together like we once did years ago.

I have a memory that I can't shake, like a chill creeping up my spine. Every now and then I get some kind of impression that I've been here before, but I know it isn't deja vu. It's like I've found some way to travel from two points in time simultaneously, and somehow keeping my lunch in my stomach. One of me is here, on the side of the shore watching seaguls glide to coarse sand, picking at french fries thrown from the pier, but another is out there, just above water, taking his last breath in a submarine.

It started with a boat ride, innocent, really. I'd never been on a boat, thought it would be interesting to take a ride across the sea like those old sailors in Alaska. I had been swimming in the ocean before, when I first saw the beach. It was like love at first sight. I could scarce believe it to be real. I remember it being warm when the high tide lapped against my toes, and coughing up salt water when I was caught under a wave twice my size. I was lucky it wasn't a riptide, rather one of those pushing waves that sent me straight back to shore, still I was never scared of drowning, despite nearly doing so.

That changed when I stepped onto a small cruising ship about twelve years ago. It felt so unnatural, the swaying. I felt like a leaf caught in a breeze being tossed about, but at least once the leaf hit the floor everything would be still. When I'm in the ocean, I am part of those waves, and I am at peace even when she tosses me like a rag doll in the folds of her blue dress. There I could find no serenity in the water, as if the sea knew there was something man-made on her skin and she did everything she could to scratch it off. The sea was with anything that attempted to tame its waters, and I shared in her nausea at the very thought of being controlled. But it wasn't just the unnaturalness of the waves not being at my feet, it was the thought that this could very well be a metal tomb underneath leagues, crushed, twisted, and cold. Suddenly, I couldn't breath.

Wearing heels and a red dress on unsteady footing wasn't my idea of safety. I needed out. I remember briskly walking past waiters with horderves and champagne. I vaugley recalled a conversation about needing to become accostumed, something about sea-legs, but everything told me it was more than that. Then the vision hit me. As I breathed salted air speeding across the night bay, I was transported back in time watching shining lights not from a distance but right in front of me. A cacophony of smells, noise, language, bombarded my senses, but I couldn't see a thing. Overhead red lights flashed, men crashing into me. I took a breath to slow it all down, to see where I was going, but then I stumbled into three feet of ice cold water. Vision blurry and body aching I continued on to the main boiler room. How I knew it was the boiler room I have no idea, but I knew that maybe if I had released some torpedos, we would have enough boyancey to get back to the surface.

I treaded water all the way through, my captain's voice hoarse and muddy from barking orders at the other boys to seal off whatever leaks they could. Still I carried on, and pried open the hatchway left twisted open by the weight and pressure of the surrounding water bending the hull out of shape. By some miracle, I reached the control panel for the load we carried, and at once began loading whatever torpedoes I could into the chambers, but they were much too heavy for me alone. I tried calling out to the others, but they did not hear me. I had to do something, so I grabbed at the first out of the stack, and with great difficulty, loaded into the chamber and launched it. I reached for the second, hoisting it with my legs braced against its immense weight, and moved as quickly as I could to the second loading chamber, but we were still sinking, and we were gaining pressure. Another indent formed on the hull, jolting the submarine, and causing me to lose my grip on the torpedo. Before I knew it, I was pinned between it and another console. It was the first time in my life that I had ever felt afraid of dying, still I thought, maybe the others would notice I was missing, see on the radar that someone had launched one of our load and come running to me, but that didn't happen.

In a blink another moment of time passed, and I was more than half way underwater, watching the red lights blaring across the ceiling. My eyes were getting tired of blinking away droplets splashing into my face from a leak which sprung next to me a few moments before. I remember thinking, "please, not like this. Not with the ship." I watched as the water came up to my neck, then to my mouth, and knowing this might very well be my final breath, sucked as much air as I could when I could no longer reach my head above water level. I don't remember how much time had passed, perhaps an eternity until the burning in my lungs was too much to bear, and instinct to breathe won out over logic. Despite my best hopes, I sucked in a mouthful of sea, filling my lungs with water. I prayed then that whatever may pass, let my soul rest in the sea.

In an instant I was no longer in a dark submarine, but on the balcony of a ship sailing past Los Angeles coughing up whatever was left of my dinner over the side deck, not knowing how I got there. To this day, I still have no idea what happened in that moment, but I do remember looking up submarine accidents for the next month trying to figure out if what I saw was remotely real. Something kept tugging at my intuition, a class, a time, and a country. C-5, Spain, 1936.

That is what I found. Whether I was living another life, rebirthed, or what have you, this was no fantasy, nor a flashback to some navaltime movie and bad shrimp. It was real and it was terrifying. Ever since then, I have only been on a boat another time, but had no visions of anything. Perhaps it was simply some kind of connection to another time, a ghost wanting to tell its story, or maybe none of those and my addled mind making up stories, but I felt my life go limp, and I don't know what to make of that.