Reincarnation!

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.