Reincarnation is not something that happens at the end of a lifetime; it happens numerous times during the course of a lifetime. Things we once identified with, we no longer do. What we once were, we no longer are.
Well, no. Character comes from the Greek word for stamped or engraved. It’s a man’s distinctive mark, that which specifically does not change. Today, character is used interchangeably with personality, referring to that hogs wallop of preferences and inclinations. These don’t change either. These, too, are fixed. They can be dropped, died to, abandoned, but not fixed. A man cannot know this without having had his bell rung.
Pleasure confirms the status quo, swaddles our habits and histories, leaves us satiated and soporific. Pain hauls us from our slumbers, slaps us into consciousness, indelicately indicates that it’s time for a change.
We are not changed, healed or transformed by making an effort. Even as a concept, efforting-ing is exhausted. Change happens when we drop the conceit of doer-ship, expunge ambition and welcome what happens.
Blue plummets into red, indigo arises. Call that what it is: a miracle.