The Memory of a Murder

While I was sleeping, I remembered the murder I had committed unwittingly and without thinking.

I was ashamed.

I gulped back the tears.

I felt blue.

How could I have done such a thing?

My chest grew heavy and I sobbed in my sleep so much that my wet pillow woke me up.

When I killed that person, I was not present at this time or have this character.  I was myself, but in a different body or personality a long time ago. So why do I still feel the pain in my chest?

Why do I recall that a long time ago I was a murderer? Why do I still have to be tortured by the guilt?

Perhaps that’s why they say some sins have an eternal punishment. For me, this is the case. Every now and then, the pain visits me when I’m asleep or awake. My brain has a recollection of me as a murderer but it’s unable to hark back to it. Nonetheless, my soul has to carry the weight of this torment forever like a long chain.  I used to be a baker in the past; I used to be a doctor. I even remember living in nature. These are all in my memories kept in an old box behind a thick and black curtain. Despite this, I can hear it or feel it. I know it’s there somewhere but only sometimes it shows itself to me like a naughty little girl who shows her tongue to me…

I used to be a soldier and a warrior. I can recall it.

I was once a mother who was spending all her money on her children. I remember well that I was a lazy woman who did not have the patience to work out of the house, and only took care of the children in the house and knitted clothes during the winter. I know that once I was a professional athlete, that’s how I earned my living. I remember once I was God…

I did not expect anything from anyone.

I loved all beings. I felt everything was not mine but part of me.

I knew that everything was in its place and there was no need to worry.

I was once an absolute peace.

And today, whatever I am, I will be part of the dark memory of another character and I will remember myself again…

November 1st, 2017