Brian and I and our wives (one each) went on a little group date last night – some dinner, some dessert, some discussion of reincarnation.  You know, the usual.

Brian started it.  “I don’t believe in it,” he disclaimered, “but I like reincarnation.” What he likes, it turns out, is the idea that we can start over and over and over with no end to our experience of the human experience.  But, I pointed out, folks don’t remember their past lives.  Experience without recall is a bummer.

And then we recalled Shirley MacLaine and others who have remembered their past lives quite publicly.  And it’s odd, I said, that they all remember being Julius Caesar or Cleopatra or Joan of Arc and no one recalls shoveling fecal matter while working as a stable boy for Julius Caesar or being a snail on a rock for three days before being snuffed out when Cleoptra decided to take a seat one afternoon or being the guy whose second cousin knew a guy who once got turned down for a date by Joan of Arc.  Nope.  Every believer in reincarnation who remembers their past lives seems to only recall the lives in which they were awfully important and awfully comfortable.

Reminded me of something I heard recently.  “My house sold in three weeks!  In this market!  That’s so God!”

Really? That’s so God? What if it didn’t sell? What then?  Is that so not God?

Seems no matter which god we humans believe in, we’re all pretty big believers in Prosperity.