There was once a group of wanderers who ended up wandering too far into the future in order to mend the past. As a punishment, they were forever stuck in the future until they figured out it’s correlated mystery to their many past lives.
This pained them deeply, as they found the future to be bleak, cold an unbearable in relation to their past. They only felt this on rainy days, when their bones would tremble at high velocity, or on the sunniest of days, when the wind would blow through the trees like subtle whispers.
They were reminded of their past lives through these moments that Nature brought them, as they, like the rest of mankind, were cursed at birth in not having the brain capacity to remember previous lifetimes. As nature began to reveal itself more and more frequently, they began to wonder…
I’m miserable; I’m a wreck; a waste of life; Why was I put here? Am I being punished for deeds committed in a past life? Am I in so much pain because this is my final turn on the big wheel? Or do I keep ending up in pain because I’m destined to repeat this life? And on and on until the circle is finally complete…
Then one day a member of this tribe, a true schizophrenic but shaman none the less, had a dream about stars. He said that every time a person died, a new star fell from the sky and someone else was born. Since all stars we know of typically make up constellations, this star that fell would fall from one of these constellations, and roughly determine the person’s birth. As a new person is born, and their star falls, the dying person’s star is sent back up to the sky, to replace the fallen one. This is why shooting stars should be wished upon, as this is essentially a soul being sent down into a human body.
A member of the tribe pondered, “But there seems to be more people in the world then there are stars in the sky.”
The shaman replied, “Maybe in the case of the stars we can see. But some souls do die, and when the light goes out, it goes out forever. The souls that fall from the sky and go back to their home in the clouds after death, are the souls that live forever. These souls aren’t necessarily good or bad; in fact, they are both. They are the souls that have been around since the beginning of time. As for the souls that do die, we do not know for which reasons they do. Some stars that don’t return to the clouds end up becoming souls in the human wasteland; ghosts lost in the dark without a candle. These are the souls that need to tie up loose ends with their course of fate on Earth, before finding their place in the clouds. Perhaps some people are unfortunate enough to never have been born with a soul.”
In unison, the wanderers looked up above them at the blanket of stars. One member mentally noted Cassiopeia’s Chair. One woman, who had been standing with feet spread and arms open to feel the wind, tilted her head to face forward, and thought about how similar stars were to humans. From dust to dust. One person couldn’t help but wonder how many souls did die in this world, and he felt for them, since their death would be no wonder or mystery, but a simple black hole.
That night, he had a dream that time was non-existent, and thought that perhaps this future life was actually a past life. No matter what the case, the only thing time did for him was make him forget more and more each day what was real and what was unreal. Time is no straight line, and maybe it’s not a circle either. He imagined himself as an alchemist, or a tribal warrior who passed the test of the White Buffalo Woman. He imagined riches of the heart, riches of the soul, and riches that made him no longer ask questions about the universe. Then he imagined darkness. And although he thought himself to be dreaming, he saw a lucid shooting star.
He closed his physical eyes and made a wish.