What Secrets Do My Past Lives Hold About Who I Am Today?

I want to feel what life was like when I was a stone—a hard mineral mass colliding with millions of other stones, swept by storms of particles, flowing down the mountains. Patted by the waves of rivers, cursed by the short, shiny grass, I must have endured. Did I have emotions for my mother when I was just a mass of minerals?

I want to understand what it felt like when I lived submerged in deep water—as a fish, a lobster, or a single-celled creature in one of my lives. It was dimly lit everywhere, perhaps absolute darkness, and I must have learned to swim faster and hide often to save my life. What were my personality traits then? What were my beliefs? I am terrified of the idea of deep water now—I can barely swim in a pool, even after a fortnight of lessons. How did fatigue affect me in those lives? What did terror feel like—the fear of being caught by predators higher in the food chain?

When dinosaurs ruled the planet, they roared, flew, and hunted. I must have been somewhere among them. I want to know my ancestry from that era. I am in awe of their might. Whether I was a dormant dinosaur or an active one, I want to find out. What was the world like then, and what kept me busy? Did I have attachments to my family, if I had one? What worried me, consoled me, shattered me, or made me smile—if dinosaurs could smile? I realize that laughter is a mysterious emotion, and perhaps I was not accustomed to it then. What did a normal day look like? How was I perceived by my peers or society? How badly did my enemies want me dead, and how powerful were they? I wonder, but I find no answers.

I want to travel through interplanetary space, to land on Saturn or Venus and feel what it is like there. To sit still and perform japa, meditating on the Goddess. I want to witness the genesis of life on other celestial bodies, step by step, from primitive to modern. But do I have the stamina to bear all that I might see? I wonder how my instincts would guide me as I explored the unexplored corners of the universe, where the void seems endless, and the evidence of energy feels alive. I want to glow brightly on dark nights, humming magnetic tunes no one has heard before.

I want to feel what a mother feels. I want to feel what a toddler or a newborn feels. I want to be close to my creator—so close that I feel the super-consciousness flow through every cell of my being. What was the first color ever perceived by a living being? I want to experience every emotion my mother felt for me while carrying me in her womb and after my birth. True motherhood is immense, and I want to feel it to honor and respect my late mother.

I want to feel what life was like when I was a star, hanging in fixed space, staring at the wide galaxy without an inkling of what lay beyond or what might happen tomorrow. In that time-space fabric, there may have been no concept of tomorrow. Was I amused, perplexed, or haunted by the geometrical array of celestial bodies around me? Did I feel clueless or purposeless? Did I believe I was an orphan in the vastness of space? Did symmetry bother me? Was I too stupefied to question the need to rotate for existence?

I want to revisit my life when I lived among sages. I want to remember what I learned in those lives. Did I perform penance in the hills? Did I make friends with a wandering mountain lion or a squirrel? What kinds of penances did I undertake, and what difficulties did I endure?

I want to revisit my life as a tree, covered with rough, thick bark. I had no control over which birds perched on my branches, which flies swarmed my fruits, or which ants crawled up to suck the sap from my freshly plucked tendrils. Did I love the arrival of night as a tree? I must have witnessed many events I would have wanted to avoid if given a choice, but being a tree might have been a helpless existence.

I want to visit only the good memories, not the bad ones. But I know I cannot be selective. Memories have a life and will of their own. What if I come across a life filled only with destruction and darkness? It could shatter me, and I know that being shattered is not just a mental experience—our body responds physically, too. Am I ready to take that hit? I don’t think I am ready to face deeply unpleasant memories beyond a "5" on a scale of 1 to 10. Perhaps one day I will be able to face the haunting memories of my past lives. I know they serve a purpose, a profound one. That’s why I crave to revisit them.