Infantile choices

I’m reblogging this post for a certain someone. You know who you are.

Shouts from the Abyss

Heaven road turn into clouds This baby goes from joy to despair in six seconds

Some people think that you can choose your parents*. This morning, for some reason, I woke up thinking about this idea.

What would it really mean to make a choice like that?

And, if you could choose your parents, what else would you be choosing? How much information would you be given when making such a choice?

What might the process of this choosing look like?

Putting it into context (in other words, “me”) this is one possible imagining…

There I was floating in time and space. I didn’t know if it was heaven or hell. Maybe it was neither.

I was aware of my sense of self. I knew I was an incorporeal form.

Drifting, I ended up at a structure that looked like a car dealership. I made my way inside.

Before me there were choices…

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One response

  1. I got common sense knocked into me, not out of me. I learned the value of respect and trust. Learned how to stand up for the underdog, take chances and keep my head held high. Found that I could roll with the bumps, go with the flow and still keep my chit together. I could make major mistakes, be thrown into the gutter and washed clean by the rain. I learned how to Stand, to Believe, to Act. Instead of running from something that frightens me, I should run toward the center of it’s universe to understand its weakness.
    Trade my parents? You’ve got to be kidding! I got here by earning my entry fee.


Bringeth forth thy pith and vinegar

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