But it was happening to me. That was incontrovertible.
But how?
All I had left was Jack Haldane and the stranger-than-imaginable universe theory. I looked him up on the Internet. He was a seriously impressive man who had incredible principles, and stuck with them no matter what, for his whole life. And do you know what? There was another quote of his that just resonated with me as soon as I read it on the screen:
It seems to me immensely unlikely that mind is a mere by-product of matter.
He believed in souls, too.
Vladimir claimed he’d lived many lives before and would live again. It’s driven him insane.
Barney remembered a past life.
I remembered another life: Michael’s. But Barney and I have abnormally superb memories. Suppose, just suppose, we really did get reincarnated. Normally, humans didn’t remember that, or it was there haunting the subconscious like a vague dream. Haldane’s strange universe was simply censoring our minds to protect us, because knowing that…you end up like Vladimir. That is true causality. The knowledge is too big for a stupid to cope with. That there is no spiritual afterlife, no heaven or hell. You just keep coming back to live a human life for all eternity.
Oh yes.
Yes!
Because: Consciousness is just a window into time. Who says you have to live your reincarnated lives in a linear fashion? Not this universe.
I used to be Michael Finsen. And when that body died, my soul came back as Julian Costello Proctor.
It’s strange coming back and living in parallel with who you were. Stranger than we can imagine.
But that worked. It fit with what happened. It explained
everything.
I know how the universe works. I’m the smartest person who has ever lived, and lived, and lived…
Mum’s not dead, not really; not her soul. I don’t know where in time she is relative to me now, but she’s somewhen. She always has been, and always will be. That’s such a comfort. It’s a strange feeling, too, knowing what I do. I suppose my biological animal body part must affect my soul, my true self. Is that what existing is all about? To live is to experience. To experience is to live.
That’s the kind of thing Uncle Gordon would say.
After smoking a spinach cigarette.
I was going to go and see Michael and Jyoti at the Chinese restaurant tomorrow. That was the final confirmation. If they were there, physical and real, and doing what I remember, then I was not hallucinating or crazy like Vladimir. It would be an absolute proof.
And besides, I am/was Michael Finsen. I had every right to be there and be told I’m going to be a father.
Chapter 17
The End
I texted Dad at lunchtime.
I got a ticket for the new James Bond, 5:30 showing. It’s over 2 h + 30 min of adverts. I’ll be home about 8:30. OK?
You sure about that?
Dad texted back.
You all right out by yourself at night? I can come and get you when it finishes.
8:30 isn’t night. I’ll be fine.
Well, all right. Any problems, txt me. I’ll come get you.
Thanks.
Enjoy yourself.
I put the phone in my pocket and went to see the film. That way, I’d be able to tell Dad and Rachel all about it when I got back from the Chinese restaurant, and my cover story would remain intact.
I would make a good Secret Service agent. But I still wanted to make the world a better place with smart inventions, and with my super-knowledge I could do that for real now.
After the film, I took the Tube to Leicester Square. Chinatown was just behind it—a long pedestrian road with nothing but Chinese restaurants and Chinese stores. There were these big elaborate colorful gates at the end, and they’d strung lanterns everywhere.
I don’t like Chinese food. First there’s the rice problem, and everything is so slippery. I can’t use chopsticks, either, and it’s embarrassing having to ask for proper cutlery every time.
I didn’t want to go into the restaurant to wait for Michael and Jyoti, because then I’d have to order something. So I stood
But how?
All I had left was Jack Haldane and the stranger-than-imaginable universe theory. I looked him up on the Internet. He was a seriously impressive man who had incredible principles, and stuck with them no matter what, for his whole life. And do you know what? There was another quote of his that just resonated with me as soon as I read it on the screen:
It seems to me immensely unlikely that mind is a mere by-product of matter.
He believed in souls, too.
Vladimir claimed he’d lived many lives before and would live again. It’s driven him insane.
Barney remembered a past life.
I remembered another life: Michael’s. But Barney and I have abnormally superb memories. Suppose, just suppose, we really did get reincarnated. Normally, humans didn’t remember that, or it was there haunting the subconscious like a vague dream. Haldane’s strange universe was simply censoring our minds to protect us, because knowing that…you end up like Vladimir. That is true causality. The knowledge is too big for a stupid to cope with. That there is no spiritual afterlife, no heaven or hell. You just keep coming back to live a human life for all eternity.
Oh yes.
Yes!
Because: Consciousness is just a window into time. Who says you have to live your reincarnated lives in a linear fashion? Not this universe.
I used to be Michael Finsen. And when that body died, my soul came back as Julian Costello Proctor.
It’s strange coming back and living in parallel with who you were. Stranger than we can imagine.
But that worked. It fit with what happened. It explained
everything.
I know how the universe works. I’m the smartest person who has ever lived, and lived, and lived…
Mum’s not dead, not really; not her soul. I don’t know where in time she is relative to me now, but she’s somewhen. She always has been, and always will be. That’s such a comfort. It’s a strange feeling, too, knowing what I do. I suppose my biological animal body part must affect my soul, my true self. Is that what existing is all about? To live is to experience. To experience is to live.
That’s the kind of thing Uncle Gordon would say.
After smoking a spinach cigarette.
I was going to go and see Michael and Jyoti at the Chinese restaurant tomorrow. That was the final confirmation. If they were there, physical and real, and doing what I remember, then I was not hallucinating or crazy like Vladimir. It would be an absolute proof.
And besides, I am/was Michael Finsen. I had every right to be there and be told I’m going to be a father.
Chapter 17
The End
I texted Dad at lunchtime.
I got a ticket for the new James Bond, 5:30 showing. It’s over 2 h + 30 min of adverts. I’ll be home about 8:30. OK?
You sure about that?
Dad texted back.
You all right out by yourself at night? I can come and get you when it finishes.
8:30 isn’t night. I’ll be fine.
Well, all right. Any problems, txt me. I’ll come get you.
Thanks.
Enjoy yourself.
I put the phone in my pocket and went to see the film. That way, I’d be able to tell Dad and Rachel all about it when I got back from the Chinese restaurant, and my cover story would remain intact.
I would make a good Secret Service agent. But I still wanted to make the world a better place with smart inventions, and with my super-knowledge I could do that for real now.
After the film, I took the Tube to Leicester Square. Chinatown was just behind it—a long pedestrian road with nothing but Chinese restaurants and Chinese stores. There were these big elaborate colorful gates at the end, and they’d strung lanterns everywhere.
I don’t like Chinese food. First there’s the rice problem, and everything is so slippery. I can’t use chopsticks, either, and it’s embarrassing having to ask for proper cutlery every time.
I didn’t want to go into the restaurant to wait for Michael and Jyoti, because then I’d have to order something. So I stood
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