Some people tell me, “We choose our parents before we are born..”
The idea behind this is, “stop blaming them and learn the lessons they were meant to teach you, and move on!”
The whole thing seems aimed at the foundational piece of work we call “accountability” – meaning, let go blaming externals for your circumstance, and address the only real changes you can make – changes to your self.
So, all in all, a good call, but a strange belief system to get there.
So, if I can indeed choose my parents before I was born, that implies some kind of “catalog” system, where you can choose from a variety of models. Perhaps, “blond or brunette”? Perhaps, “Hungarian or Australian”? Perhaps “angry, moody, creative vodka-drinkers” as opposed to “camouflaged, repressed, white anglo-saxon protestants”?
It’s amazing what this “catalog of parents” might have looked like. Let’s back up here a bit: there’s many assumptions that would have to be in place to “buy in” to this little belief system, akin to the leap we need to make to “buy in” to any religion.
Since we’re “choosing” our parents, this decision-making process must require some kind of brain activity, such as the ability to perceive, see or sense the choices; then the discernment, judgment or intuition needed to make the correct choice, based on the lessons we need to learn; therefore memory cells that hold the lesson plan as well. So, it seems a “brain” of some kind would be needed, long before conception took place, in order to sift through these possibilities and weigh them out.
Whoa.
So … then … uh … who populates the Parents Catalog, and who decides exactly how many models you have to choose from? I mean, get this, this is a pretty important decision. It could affect the engineering of your character, you emotional template, your coping skills, your strengths and fears: basically, setting the tone for your life-long journey. Wow.
Well, you wouldn’t want just the “mini-catalog” featuring one or two dozen models. You’d want the whole “Sears” or “Ikea” thing, with as many models, accessories, features and faults as possible, to make a good decision. And therefore, some time to ponder. If you had one or two thousand “parent models” to choose from, it could take some time and some brain-numbing wrestling with the assets and liabilities of your potential choices.
And then, throw in nationality, culture and race. Why would I want Chinese parents unless I was an unborn Chinese soul waiting for a body? Likewise, how would a Jewish soul feel, choosing German or Egyptian parents? Or, would a gay soul really want hetero, right-wing Southern Baptist parents? Or would a sensitive, musical genius unborn soul really want tone-deaf, working-class alcoholic parents?
This could get to be a really big catalog. Then, it’s not only one parent you must choose, but two. Do they come in pairs? Can we choose the pairs? Or can we mix and match? What about all the single-parent families these days? Can we choose to have an absent welfare-dad who never shows up and drinks away his welfare check? Can we choose to have a single, lesbian mother with no dysfunctional men in her life?
But, that’s only the beginning.
If your soul is in the “Right Kind Of Heaven” (like the Hindu Heaven where reincarnation is on the main menu), then, of course, choosing your parents is likely an option. But, if you can choose your parents, then why not be able to choose the location of your birth? Then, if you had only India to choose from, that could be a little daunting. “Okay, Hindu parents, but I’d like to live in the south of France, perhaps Marseilles.
And, then, it goes to follow, if parents are an “elective”, then why not food & cuisine as well? Okay, make that Hindu parents, living in the south of France, who happen to like Thai food and Peanut Butter. No problem. Heaven is a Big Place and God is a powerful (wo)man. Therefore, limitless choices.
Ew. Bigger problem.
Ever walked into one of those Ice Cream places that have four hundred and twenty flavors, and the most outrageous ones like lavendar-cayenne and Licorice All-sorts with Pine-nuts? You try 5 or 6 flavors, then you begin to get dizzy with the liberty of choice mixed with the intoxication of taste buds unleashed.
Okay. If I get to choose my parents, I also want to choose my Educational institutions (Montessori Schooling please), my car (Audi, BMW or Jag), and my first house in the suburbs (Arts & Crafts, rustic/mimimal, Navaho colors).
Now, there’s several more catalogs necessary. And a little more time to peruse. The colors of my suburban veranda need to match the interior of the Audi; my mother’s lipstick CAN’T be that Doris-Day red stuff; my father’s tools are Snap-On, and he likes older Scotch and younger women. Okay, progress.
Well, I’m going to stop here. I’m sorry, but this is more complex than I thought. It takes a really big brain, and possibly a fast computer to figure this stuff out. I don’t have either, and I really wonder if my soul had these before my parents met.
To keep life simple, I’m going to stick with what I know, and leave the assumptions and flowery metaphors to the New-Agers and the Born-Again Hindus. Me? I’m sticking to the pure, beautiful and sweet Knowledge of Self. It gives me all I need, right here in the moment, all in the privacy of my own home.
No catalogs, no assumptions, no flowery metaphors, no pundits or plumbers needed to fix the Leaky Faucets of Philosophy.
And since I’m not struggling with choosing my parents, cars, house-pets or winter wardrobe, I get to choose Joy. It’s a no-brainer. And it’s abundant. Free.
And – strangely enough – not listed in any of those catalogs.
