The Egg

~ You would think that one would stop being amazed at the universal energies and how they manifest in our life, yet I swear, the smallest of things still make me smile in great awe of a child on Christmas morning. The other night I was meeting at Starbucks with an incredibly enlightened and gifted man. As we sat there I watched the sparkle of “the light energy” (god energy) dance in his eyes while we shared our tales of life and our growth. At one point he distanced his presence, focused on his phone, tapped a few keys, asked me what email he should send a story to and made it happen. Today, after a day of following the signs , breathing in the direction of 2012 and realizing I need a sail boat for the year of the water dragon (so that I can fully grasp my own personal exploration), I found a time to read what he had sent. Below is a copy of the story.

My amazement comes from the depth of connection I felt as I read the final few lines. Why the connection? It threw me back to being a child of 4 years or so sitting on the toilet in my family home bathroom that was being renovated. LOL Funny thing, but as a small child I found great guidance coming from the conversations I would have with my “imaginary friend” who always shared stories and what seemed as wisdom to me while I took care of my business. The ending of this story The Egg, was one such tale that was a running theme coming from my “Imaginary friend,” Seth.

I hope you enjoy the tale and look forward to hearing your feedback and thoughts/opinions on it.  Namaste’ ~

 

The Egg

By: Andy Weir

“Wildy surreal landscape by Vladimir Kush. “

 

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothingparticularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and twochildren. It was a painless death. The EMTs triedtheir best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered youwere better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked.“Where am I?”

“You died,” I said,matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it wasskidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it.Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There wasnothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this theafterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” Isaid. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s goodstuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination.To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly awoman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacherthan the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll befine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t havetime to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will besecretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s anyconsolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happensnow? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll bereincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hinduswere right,”

“All religions are right in theirown way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strodethrough the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said.“It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” Youasked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all myexperiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have withinyou all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’tremember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you bythe shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than youcan possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what youare. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot orcold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring itback out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for thelast 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of yourimmense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d startremembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I beenreincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in tolots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinesepeasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered.“You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time,as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I comefrom.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I comefrom somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’llwant to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down.“But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could haveinteracted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. Andwith both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’shappening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously?You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,”you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “Themeaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us tomature?”

“No, just you. I made this wholeuniverse for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a largerand greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said.“In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But allthe people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnationsof you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said,with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who everlived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth,too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions hekilled.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followedhim.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimizedsomeone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’vedone, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced byany human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do allthis?”

“Because someday, you will becomelike me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous.“You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus.You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time,you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said,“it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’stime for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.