Thursday, February 10, 2011


I've been debating something over the past few days.

Let me start out by saying that my religious views vary. I find some sort of truth in nearly every faith...yet I find myself without one true religion (much to my family's dismay). I believe in a form of Higher Being, but I will leave it at that.

Because I don't know what really happens after death (none of us really do) I chose to lay my faith in the Buddhist belief in reincarnation...that when we die, we are reborn into a new form. While I don't agree with the grasshopper, fish, gorilla, or human idea of it...I do think that part of us comes from others.

Remember how in my first posting, I explained that I tend to have a different obsession every few months? Well, there is one particular point in history that I feel is an intimate part of me. More than just a simple interest...but rather like somewhere, in the deep crevices of my mind, I know that I've been there.

The Holocaust.

There's always been something so eerily familiar about that whole portion of WWII that has always struck a chord with me. I devoured books about this subject for years when I was younger. Even now I find myself being sucked into these tales. One particular reason that I believe what I do is because of a simple quote.

For years, I thought I had read it on the back of a book cover. It's a macabre scene of Nazi soldiers laughing at a group of children...their parents now departed. For years, I searched for this book. I went to every bookstore, and scoured the shelves of anything having to do for WWII. I went to the library and checked out nearly every book. But I could not find it. It's been more than 10 years and still nothing.

The scene is so ingrained in my memory that I feel positive that it had to have happened.

And what if I didn't imagine it it? That's the question that's been nagging at me all this time. What if that was my memory?

I understand that I sound crazy. For all I know, I am.

But I have other points to ponder about. They always say that we are affected by those in our lives and that they make up a big part of who we are.

With that being said, I must also explain that my last remaining grandmother passed away two days ago. Before the condolences begin...I have to say that I am devoid of emotion on the subject. For the past 5 or 6 years, she has suffered from strokes, dementia, various forms of cancer, infections, disease, malnutrition, and terrible hospice care. She has had many close encounters with death. I learned to let go about 3 years ago when I stopped visiting her. Now she's finally out of pain.

My family is saying that I'm not upset because I didn't know her that well. But that's not really true. I did know her, even if it wasn't as well as the rest of my family. I think that she's truly affected my life, whether or not I realize it or not. She's now with the aunt I never met (due to her untimely death at age 13) and her own mother. Women who affected her life.

They are a part of me. Everything, whether or not we realize it or not, is a part of me. Perhaps I'm the reincarnation of Anne Frank (not that I try to sound egotistical). Perhaps the revival of my long departed aunt who had such a bright future ahead of her. Maybe a million different people are inside of me, effecting every movement I make. I am them and they are me.

I feel like I'm supposed to make a difference in this world. That something great it going to happen. I'm sure that many people feel that way, but I earnestly believe it. Some way or other, I'm meant to have the bright future of the people who were not able to live theirs out--like Anne and my aunt.

Perhaps that is what true reincarnation is: Not letting those who have passed down.


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