Lacking a seer’s knowingness, we’d be forced to trudge for clues into the far horizons of reincarnation, and sift the karmic sands of countless past lives.
Teilhard de Chardin’s idea that we are “spiritual beings immersed in a human experience,” hardly explains Mozart composing music at age three.
Or why Julia, at twenty-four years old, would opt to spend a dangerous two years alone atop a giant redwood, protecting it from angry, clear-cutting loggers.
We all sport a convincing sense of individual identity. This is the “I am I” consciousness, and is our immortal soul that hovers, hawk-like — silently and all-seeing — above the Salton Sea of each new personality.
Trauma patients with memory loss are convinced of their egoity, even if they don’t know exactly who they might be. Amnesiacs may forget their own name, family, email, and favorite movie — but their sense of ‘I’ persists.