An Egg
September 1, 2012
It was a car accident. Nothing
particularly remarkable, but fatal
nonetheless. You left behind a wife
and two children. It was a quick
passing. The EMTs tried their best to
save you, but to no avail ...
An Egg
Strange and Unexplained / 5 minutes of reading
Estimated reading time — 4 minutes
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but
EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail.
You’re so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You passed,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words.
“There was a…a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup.” I said
“I… I’m gone?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone passes.” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me.
“What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“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 alright?”
“That what I like to see,” I said.
“You just passed and your main concern is for your family.
That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like a God.
Some vague authority figure. “Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine.
Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t
have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside
but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart.
If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to the afterlife or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
You followed along as we strolled in 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?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right?
A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives.
You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful
and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are.
It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part or yourself into the vessel
and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.”
“You’ve been a human for the last 34 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness.
If we stay out here for longer, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh, lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 A.D.”
“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 come from.”
You pondered. “But wait. If i get reincarnated to other places in time, could I have interacted with myself at some point?”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own timespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
I looked in your eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No. just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature, and become a larger and 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 all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“I’m every human who ever lived?”
“Or whom will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too.” I added.
“I’m a criminal?” you said, appalled.
“And you’re the victims, too.”
“I’m a leader?”
“And you’re everyone who followed you.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “You were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself.
Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like 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 as 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 of sorts.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And with that, I sent you on your way.
Credit: Andy Weir