At the end of this week (Dec, 2011), I will be crossing
over.
I've lost count of the number of times that I’ve crossed
over and experienced my reincarnation. I’ve been reborn so many times that I
pity the entity which births me, their stretch marks.
Clearly, I’m not talking about your typical reincarnation,
or a John Edward style ‘crossing over’. I plan on being alive and kicking for a
good many….hours? days? weeks? months? years? decades? Barring, of course, the
usual twists of Fate, be they being run over by a bus while crossing the
street; being the unfortunate passenger in a derailed train carriage; clumsily slipping
in the shower and cracking my head open, only to slowly bleed my life down the
drain with the neighbours only realising something is wrong when the stench
becomes overpowering. No, the re-birthing I’m talking about is of the vocational
kind: the slipping into ‘white light’ of terminating one job and coming to
term, kicking and screaming, full of life, anticipation and excitement into a
new one.
Usually, the term of gestation between jobs is only a couple
of days, or no more than a week, as I am generally someone who has my afterlife
already pre-planned and arranged. No need to bury me with my court advisors
(Buffy, Angel, House, Star Fleet), my preciously scribed tombs (Clive Cussler,
Stephen King, Dean Koontz….and newest addition to the court, Matthew Reilly) or
my chariots to see me through the journey (a dead Daewoo and a living Giant).
Not normally. My passage through the darkened corridor is swift and my immortal
soul barely skips a heart-beat. Normally.
While my departures from all employment existences (bar one)
are due to acceptance of my time and at my own hand, with the approaching
journey, limbo and/or purgatory aren’t looking quite the holiday they usually
are. This time, the lighted tunnel is looking longer. This time, my fate is
less certain. I’ve taken the plunge and left one job without the assurance of
another.
Even when I was younger, bolder (not by much) and brasher
(hardly ever, really), as dictated by my parents, I would always endeavour to
have another job lined up before I left the current one. In my younger days,
there wasn’t so much the worry of securing my next case of serfdom, as there
weren’t that many commitments to attend to. These days, however, as I hobble my
way over the threshold of middle age, I’m exceedingly aware of the not so
youthful spring in my step. But in my usual style of always trying to see both
sides of the coin (cross-eyed again), what I’ve lost in agility, I’ve gained in
experience. Now it’s just a case of hoping to find somewhere to slip my
experience into, and hope that it’s a good fit! (Otherwise, it’ll be hari kari for
lunch, once again!)
While I’m feeling the nerves and a slight edge of worry, I’ve
also got traces of a calming peace of mind that I’m on the right path this
time. Destination: unknown, but that’s not a bad thing.