Recycled Souls

This isn’t my first time here and it won’t be my last, although sometimes I’d like it to be. I know this with a certainty that can only mean it’s true. I am a recycled soul. And I am tired.

The human life feels too long at times, as would a wandering existence on the search for meaning. So I’ve stopped looking. I’ll find the meaning in another life, just not this one. This life is meant for thinking and creating, for disassembling and reconstructing. For forgetting what my past self wished I’d remember and for projecting my own wishes onto whoever I am in the future. This life is for accepting that I will never feel the entirety of what I am meant to know. 

Because no one truly dies and no one truly lives. 

A part of us is always missing and we mistake this void for a lack of purpose, direction, meaning, reason, however we choose to describe it. But we all feel it. 

What if we don’t feel full until we are reunited with the sky? For life on earth is a series of trials of which there is no defined end, where our last unifying experience is the threat of the final breath, and we realize our pursuit to fill the emptiness was something we did to stay occupied. We simply were never whole to begin with. 

What if the purpose is to return as a star? For once we return to the sky we reconnect with all the lives we’ve lived before. We would give our human life grace for living with the unknown truth, for trying so hard, for feeling the cellular lack of purpose compared to the celestial life of ancient living and remembering in the universe. 

And perhaps the single existence of a star isn’t meant to be complete on its own, but rather, the entire existence of reoccurring life is the greater meaning. But we forget this as we return to earth again in a new body, and we can only hope that our recycled soul will someday remember the eternal life of stars.