If this life were part of a series of reincarnated experiences, why would it matter at all in mankind’s search for purpose if we can’t remember them from one existence to the next? Where does it all go when you’re dead and buried? In the next 85-90 years another entirely new crop of humans will populate the earth, while nearly 8 billion purported “meanings” and “purposes” of life are lucky to be remembered after 1 generation.
From my former religiously stained fingers—death is the great escape into peace. Not by living again, but by offering exactly the same “freedom from care” that we experienced before we were born. What was lost—peace, is once again found only to be unknown—again.
We have risen to life, now against the odds of inevitable aging and death we hope to carry on, realizing some form or potential. Would we settle to be a meadow of wild grass or a meandering brook, only to prolong any semblance of physical experience? All this searching for meaning over a brief flicker from past lives feign to recall (or sleep paralysis) or merely an active, imaginative brain inventing?
The desire to live forever is a notion implanted—a wishful potential of an ideal—yet death will reunite us to our past”.
Certainly there are things I enjoy now—things that I would miss, while others disdain—if I were aware to see it.
“Such is the audacity of man, that he hath learned to counterfeit nature, yea, and is so bold as to challenge her in her work”—Pliny the Elder
All of these experiences seem a little futile if you can’t remember them when in the physical realms where they are useful to us. If reincarnation were real, what good is finding out purpose in this life if we don’t remember it coming or going?
Is it so hard to live in the present? Are we just hamster-wheeling for nought?
The crooked trail into our wilderness.