May I tell you a wonderful truth about your dog?... In our religion, we believe in reincarnation. We live many times, you see, always seeking to be wiser and more virtuous. If we eventually lead a blameless life, a perfect life, we leave this world and need not endure it again. Between our human lives, we may be reincarnated as other creatures. Sometimes, when someone has led a nearly perfect life but is not yet worthy of nirvana, that person is reincarnated as a very beautiful dog. When the life as the dog comes to an end, the person is reincarnated one last time as a human being, and lives a perfect life. Your dog is a person who has almost arrived at complete enlightenment and will in the next life be perfect and blameless, a very great person. You have been given stewardship of what you in your faith might call a holy soul.
I just wonder what it would be like to be reincarnated in an animal whose species had been so reduced in numbers than it was in danger of extinction. What would be its feelings toward the human species whose population explosion had denied it somewhere to exist. I must confess that I am tempted to ask for reincarnation as a particularly deadly virus.
If you had a personal trainer, you would probably eat him. I know that in every fat person, there's a skinny person inside, but you could have all the season's contestants of America's Next Top Model in you. I hope I get reincarnated as your feet. That way, you'd never see my face again... Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have insulted you. Because in my country, cows are sacred.
My parents didn't raise me to be religious. The closest we come to worship is the Trinity of Visa, Mastercard, and American Express. I think the Merryweather cheerleaders confuse me because I missed out on Sunday School. It has to be a miracle. There is no other explanation. How else could they sleep with the football team on Saturday night and be reincarnated as virginal goddesses on Monday?
Laurie Halse Anderson
Great soul of Gandhi, cover your ears. You will not want to hear this! Listen, you inbred piece of Ku Klux Krap! You white people love to be racist, but the only races you can tell apart are Indianapolis and Daytona. I hope I am reincarnated as toothpaste, so I never have to see you again. Now take your twelve-pack of wife-beating juice and get the park out of my store!
My name was given to me. I didn't just decide to change it one day. But I ran with it to reflect a more peaceful and positive attitude for my new Reincarnated project. The Snoop Dogg name is so connected to hip-hop, and I didn't want to change that. Hip-hop raised me, and I would never turn my back on it.
I want an avowed atheist in the White House. When time comes to push that button, I want whoever's making the decision to understand that once it's pushed, it's over. Finito. They're not gonna have lunch with Jesus. Won't be deflowering 72 virgins on the great shag carpet of eternity, or reincarnated as a cow. I want someone making that decision who believes life on this Earth isn't just a dress rehearsal for something better - but the only shot we get.
Quentin R. Bufogle
[On scientist Carl Friedrich Gauss] [Carl Friedrich] Gauss told his friend Rudolf Wagner, a professor of biology at Gottingen University, that he did not believe in the Bible but that he had meditated a great deal on the future of the human soul and speculated on the possibility of the soul being reincarnated on another planet. Evidently, Gauss was a Deist with a good deal of skepticism concerning religion.
They say you fly when you die. Basically, when you die, your spirit leaves your body. Actually, at first you can see all your life, like, reflected in a magic mirror. Then you start floating like a ghost. You can see anything happening around you, you can hear everything, but you can't communicate with the world of the living. Then you see these lights, all these different lights, of all different colors. These lights are the doors that pull you into other planes of existence, but most people actually like this world so much that they don't want to be taken away... So the whole thing turns into a bad trip and the only way out is to get reincarnated. It's funny you know, DMT only lasts for six minutes but it really seems like eternity. It's the same chemical that your brain receives when you die. It's a little bit like, dying would be the ultimate trip.
In Mongolia, when a dog dies, he is buried high in the hills so people cannot walk on his grave. The dog's master whispers in the dog's ear his wishes that the dog will return as a man in his next life. Then his tail is cut off and put beneath his head, and a piece of meat of fat is cut off and placed in his mouth to sustain his soul for its journey; before he is reincarnated, the dog's soul is freed to travel the land, to run across the high desert plains for as long as it would like. I learned that from a program on the National Geographic Channel, so I believe it is true. Not all dogs return as men, they say; only those who are ready. I am ready.
Voicemail #1: 'Hi, Isabel Culpeper. I am lying in my bed, looking at the ceiling. I am mostly naked. I am thinking of ... your mother. Call me.' Voicemail #2: The first minute and thirty seconds of 'I've Gotta Get a Message to You' by the Bee Gees. Voicemail #3: 'I'm bored. I need to be entertained. Sam is moping. I may kill him with his own guitar. It would give me something to do and also make him say something. Two birds with one stone! I find all these old expressions unnecessarily violent. Like, ring around the rosy. That's about the plague, did you know? Of course you did. The plague is, like, your older cousin. Hey, does Sam talk to you? He says jack shit to me. God, I'm bored. Call me.' Voicemail #4: 'Hotel California' by the Eagles, in its entirety, with every instance of the word California replaced with Minnesota. Voicemail #5: 'Hi, this is Cole St. Clair. Want to know two true things? One, you're never picking up this phone. Two, I'm never going to stop leaving long messages. It's like therapy. Gotta talk to someone. Hey, you know what I figured out today? Victor's dead. I figured it out yesterday, too. Every day I figure it out again. I don't know what I'm doing here. I feel like there's no one I can -' Voicemail #6: 'So, yeah, I'm sorry. That last message went a little pear-shaped. You like that expression? Sam said it the other day. Hey, try this theory on for size: I think he's a dead British housewife reincarnated into a Beatle's body. You know, I used to know this band that put on fake British accents for their shows. Boy, did they suck, aside from being assholes. I can't remember their name now. I'm either getting senile or I've done enough to my brain that stuff's falling out. Not so fair of me to make this one-sided, is it? I'm always talking about myself in these things. So, how are you, Isabel Rosemary Culpeper? Smile lately? Hot Toddies. That was the name of the band. The Hot Toddies.' Voicemail #20: 'I wish you'd answer.