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Finding Past Lives in the Present

How my soulmates accidentally taught me that we all straddle multiple existences at once.

I have an eidetic memory. Not as eidetic as this famous case, but eidetic enough that I was able to skate through school, acing tests on my rich recall. I used to assume that everybody remembered things as movies, too—not just the event or activity and relevant cast of characters, but also the wardrobe; weather; seating arrangements; date or day of the week; food selection (if applicable); dialogue; and even the songs that played in the background. Having an eidetic memory makes life easier in lots of ways, and it’s beautiful to be able to revisit favorite moments in detail. I hold this gift with a loose sense of wonder, a sense of “appreciate it while it’s here”—because a head injury, a medical accident, or even simple old age might corrupt or erase it.

Hence, while I can, I write memoir.

In recent years, though, I’ve begun to wonder just how far memory can go. Even when we’re not aware of our memories as memories. Even when our memories happened before we were “us,” and they emerge disguised as dreams, habits, and emotions that move through our lives, the way a pond ripples well beyond the place where someone, far away and unseen, has tossed a pebble into it. You don’t know what…