“I think you were a knight in a previous lifetime,” my friend Sonja said, looking at a photograph of me on a horse. I felt bubbles of pleasure rise in me. 

Someone had miraculously caught a glimpse of my soul, I felt. Astonishingly seen beyond the mere skin and bones and facts of my being. Someone had gleaned something about me that had no basis in reality, but which nevertheless roused passionate satisfaction in me. 

Yes I’d been a knight, I beamed.

Me riding a horse in Corfu

“What rubbish,” an errant voice smirked, “past lives, future lives, continuum of lives, such fashionable nonsense!” 

I’m not particularly interested in the notion of past lives, not curious to definitively declare the idea true or hocus pocus. Not really interested. Nevertheless, at some spot way under my skin, where my idiosyncratic inner logic prevails, Sonja had connected some dots that felt on point to me. And the on pointness was filling me with inexplicable joy.