One gets sometimes affected by reading a book radically. One such book was Brian Weiss’s “Many lives, many masters.” I mean how can you ever reconcile with the fact that you were a mongolian foot-soldier, or an african concubine , or an Arab slave in your last birth.
I mean if the powers-that-be intended us to remember all that, wouldn’t it give rise to identity crises, (in this birth) of gargantuan proportions?
I hope my hyper-sensitive children do not read this book, else they have resolute delusions of grandeur. I can already see the younger one at the dining table, with her feet resting where the mat should, and back-answering me. “What? Me? Set the table?No way! I am His Highness the Marcus Aurelius reborn…”
I mean if the powers-that-be intended us to remember all that, wouldn’t it give rise to identity crises, (in this birth) of gargantuan proportions?
I hope my hyper-sensitive children do not read this book, else they have resolute delusions of grandeur. I can already see the younger one at the dining table, with her feet resting where the mat should, and back-answering me. “What? Me? Set the table?No way! I am His Highness the Marcus Aurelius reborn…”