A few years ago a friend of mind told me that when he died he didn't want to go to an afterlife no matter how great it might be. He loved this world so much that he wanted to come back again and again. At the time I thought that that was one of the most ridiculous things that I had ever heard. Who in their right mind would want to come back here? Now I can kind of understand where he was coming from, kind of. Ever since I left my parent's home when I was eighteen, I have felt like I have been operating at a deficit. Constantly worrying how I would pay this bill or that bill, and where the money was going to come from to get basic needs met, which doesn't make for a lot of fun.
I have a tremendous need to travel, create artistically, and surround myself with beauty.I feel as if I am standing outside looking in at all of the wonderful experiences that life has to offer. I can't find the key to the door anywhere, who knows the door may be unlocked, but I just can't figure out how to open it. Feeling that the things in life that I yearn for are beyond my reach, makes me reconsider the idea of being reborn into this world. If I could be guaranteed that I would not break any bones, or suffer any serious physical injury then I think I might not mind having another shot at life on Planet Earth. I imagine coming back and living in Italy, or somewhere in the English countryside. Having the means to travel, and finally take a road trip to California. What if I came back and my creativity was unblocked? What if I was a writer, artist, or film maker by profession? What if my life was arranged as such where I could worry about things other than money, if I felt the need to worry at all. I would hope that I would be gregarious in my next life. I would love to be the sort of person that was a great friend and that had many friends.
Last month I happened upon a gorgeous blog by a writer and artist in the UK. Thousands of people visit her blog; she is a highly gifted artist. In one post she writes about her frustration at living hand to mouth. She has pictures of her cottage in Dartmoor: quaint, peaceful, creative environment, her world covered in a blanket of snow. Yet she has struggles terribly financially. Somehow the thought of the beauty that she puts out into the world despite less than optimal financial conditions, provides me with some solace at the moment. It doesn't take money to create beauty and magic.
I still wouldn't mind experiencing a life not bound by money problems. I'm definitely not asking to come back here again, there is always the chance that I might not get the cottage by the sea, or the spur of the moment flights to Paris to attend poetry readings. I suppose that there is still hope in this life to set things right. I just wish it wasn't so damned hard to figure out.