The endless dig
A conversation with John #9,277.
There is a village in the center of my heart where 19,128 former me’s live.
Each night when I go to sleep, the current me is retired and sent there to live and makes room for the new me to move into my skin.
Here in the real world, I am alive one day at a time.
Yet, inside the village of my heart I have lived thousands of lives. Each morning reincarnation is 99% similar to the life I just lived ~ but there are always a few noticeable changes to my exterior. My wildly growing eyebrows give it all away. Every dawn they look a little more like children-eating creatures from a Grimm Fairytale than they did the day before. . There are also a few new creases in my skin and aches in my bones that my former life didn’t have to deal with.
The hints of my daily reincarnation aren’t just coming from my aging vessel I am born into. They exist in the way each of my souls interacts differently with the world.
This is probably why it takes the current me forever to get out of bed each morning. We all have to orientate ourselves to the situation we find ourselves in.
I wake to so many questions:
“Wait, what?! I am not Matt Damon?”
“Why do my toenails look like the aliens from Starship Troopers?”
“How come my phone is sending me alerts that I am about to overdraft my bank account. Wait…am I not super rich either?”
“Is it normal that I already have tears in my eyes before even lifting my head off of the pillow.”
Every morning is the weirdests surprise party to a life that I am trying to remember I, and my army of past selves are responsible for creating.
But for for today ~ I am not going to worry about this version of me.
Before I get out of bed, I want to spend time in the village inside of my heart where all of my former lives go to live once their mayfly existence is over.
The first thing I notice is that the village has no gate or towering walls. Based on the introvert I am, I had expected some sort of check in point or at least some sort of moat that helps keep anyone from the outside from coming in. There is nothing that signifies any kind of border. Just a stretch of rich farmland on the outskirts of the village where a couple hundred of former me’s have obviously been cultivating for decades.
As I walk down the road of fine dirt, I see a past life of mine working in a field. I stand and watch them work. I look like I am about 25. I am furiously digging in the dark soil with a shovel that is way too large for my small hands. The hole they are digging is about three feet deep. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of similar holes all over the field. Some are shallow. Some much deeper. Looks like a lot of physical labor is taking place here. So unlike me.
After a few minutes the me I’m gawking at looks up from the hole they are working on and notice me. They make the shovel loose in his grip, revealing their hands covered in calluses.
I look way too tired for being so young.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi, yourself,” I replied to me without any tone.
I can already tell that I am annoying myself.
“I’m John,” I say and immediately regret how dumb I sounded.
“Big surprise,” I reply to me. “That’s my name too. I am John 9,278.”
I hated how he answered that. I fucking hated it.
“What are you doing?” I ask me, pointing out to the field of holes he is digging.
