I’ve been thinking about incarnations a lot lately.
Perhaps it is the spark from launching this new branch of myself here— "the.1978.one"— redefining and remodeling what I’ve built over the previous thirty-four years… or maybe it is a higher portion of mySelf whispering down the line to me as I attempt to gain perspective on the present darkness of this incarnation.
Whichever it be, I am undeniably aware that I am more than just this Lloyd character, this sitcom cast member rolling in the deep.
And that being so— what does it matter?
What does any of this matter?
This is not my first life.
This is not my last life.
When this body is gone, what will be left behind, and what then does any of this matter?
Such importance… such seriousness is iced on to this brief case of mistaken identity and all tasks handed to it….
What is the point?
All are out for themselves.
All only want want want.
All have no idea what they are doing.
What then is real life?
To dance and sing with my precious daughter?
To write and paint, creating as the image of God?
To fall into nature and merge with those Gods?
To Love and Love and Love and Love?
To work and pay bills and walk the eggshells thereof?
Yet even within a single incarnation are multiple incarnations… a character changes so drastically, so many times, the past lives are unrecognizable, or at the very least vaguely familiar, as if they were a dream…
And what is in between each incarnation?
Formless floating, processing, imagining what sort of carnation to manifest for ourselves next?
Perhaps that is where I stand now.