It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal

nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless

death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body

was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

 

And that's when you met me.

 

"What... what happened?" You asked. "Where am I?"

 

"You died," I said, matter-of-factly. "No point in mincing words."

 

"There was a... a truck and it was skidding..."

 

"Yup," I said.

 

"I... I died?"

 

"Yup. But don't feel bad about it. Everyone dies," I said.

 

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. "What is

this place?" You asked. "Is this the afterlife?"

 

"More or less," I said.

 

"Are you God?" You asked.

 

"Yup," I replied. "I'm God."

 

"My kids... my wife," you said.

 

"What about them?"

 

"Will they be all right?"

 

"That's what I like to see," I said. "You just died and your main  

concern is for your family. That's good stuff right there."

 

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn't look like God. I

just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority

figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

 

"Don't worry," I said. "They'll be fine. Your kids will remember  

you as perfect in every way. They didn't have time to grow

contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be

secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If

it's any consolation, she'll feel very guilty for feeling relieved."

 

"Oh," you said. "So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or

something?"

 

"Neither," I said. "You'll be reincarnated."

 

"Ah," you said. "So the Hindus were right,"

 

"All religions are right in their own way," I said. "Walk with me."

 

You followed along as we strode through the void. "Where are we

going?"

 

"Nowhere in particular," I said. "It's just nice to walk while we talk."

 

"So what's the point, then?" You asked. "When I get reborn,

I'll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and

everything I did in this life won't matter."

 

"Not so!" I said. "You have within you all the knowledge and

experiences of all your past lives. You just don't remember them right

now."

 

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. "Your soul is more

magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A

human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It's like

sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it's hot or cold.

 

You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it

back out, you've gained all the experiences it had.

 

"You've been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven't

stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we

hung out here for long enough, you'd start remembering everything. But

there's no point to doing that between each life."

 

"How many times have I been reincarnated, then?"

 

"Oh lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives." I said.

 

"This time around, you'll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD."

 

"Wait, what?" You stammered. "You're sending me back in time?"

 

"Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your

universe. Things are different where I come from."

 

"Where you come from?" You said.

 

"Oh sure," I explained "I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And

there are others like me. I know you'll want to know what it's like

there, but honestly you wouldn't understand."

 

"Oh," you said, a little let down. "But wait. If I get reincarnated to  

other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point."

 

"Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their

own lifespan you don't even know it's happening."

 

"So what's the point of it all?"

 

"Seriously?" I asked. "Seriously? You're asking me for the meaning of  

life? Isn't that a little stereotypical?"

 

"Well it's a reasonable question," you persisted.

 

I looked you in the eye. "The meaning of life, the reason I made this

whole universe, is for you to mature."

 

"You mean mankind? You want us to mature?"

 

"No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life

you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect."

 

"Just me? What about everyone else?"

 

"There is no one else," I said. "In this universe, there's just you and me."

 

You stared blankly at me. "But all the people on earth..."

 

"All you. Different incarnations of you."

 

"Wait. I'm everyone!?"

 

"Now you're getting it," I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

 

"I'm every human being who ever lived?"

 

"Or who will ever live, yes."

 

"I'm Abraham Lincoln?"

 

"And you're John Wilkes Booth, too," I added.

 

"I'm Hitler?" You said, appalled.

 

"And you're the millions he killed."

 

"I'm Jesus?"

 

"And you're everyone who followed him."

 

You fell silent.

 

"Every time you victimized someone," I said, "you were victimizing

yourself. Every act of kindness you've done, you've done to yourself.  

Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was,

or will be, experienced by you."

 

You thought for a long time.

 

"Why?" You asked me. "Why do all this?"

 

"Because someday, you will become like me. Because that's what you

are. You're one of my kind. You're my child."

 

"Whoa," you said, incredulous. "You mean I'm a God?"

 

"No. Not yet. You're a fetus. You're still growing. Once you've lived  

every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough

to be born."

 

"So the whole universe," you said, "it's just..."

 

"An egg." I answered. "Now it's time for you to move on to your

next life."

 

And I sent you on your way.