‘Why do you want to go to this town — this Edenbridge?’ he asked before I could question him.
‘To see my family, of course! My wife, my daughter — to let them know I’m not dead!’
He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘But you are dead.’
The shock almost stopped my racing heart. ‘I’m not. How can you say that? I’m alive — not as a man, but as a dog. I’m in a dog’s body!’
‘No. The man you were is dead. The man your wife and daughter knew is dead. You’d only be a dog to them.’
‘Why?’ I howled. ‘How did I become like this? Why am I a dog?’
‘A dog? You could have become any one of a multitude of creatures — it depended largely on your former life.’
I shook my body in frustration and moaned, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Do you believe in reincarnation, Fluke?’ the badger asked.
‘Reincarnation? Living again as someone else, in another time? I don’t know. I don’t think I do.’
‘You’re living proof to yourself.’
‘No, there must be another explanation.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’ve no idea. But why should we come back as someone or something — else?
‘What would be the point of just one existence on this earth?’
‘What would be the point of two?’ I countered.
‘Or three, or four? Man has to learn, Fluke, and he could never learn in one lifetime. Many man religions advocate this, and many accept reincarnation in the form of animals. Man has to learn from all levels.’
‘Learn what?’
‘Acceptance.’
‘Why? Why should he learn acceptance? What for?’
‘So he can go on to the next stage.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t reached it. It’s good, I believe. I feel that.’
‘So how do you know this much? What makes you special?’
‘I’ve been around for a long time, Fluke. I’ve observed, I’ve learned, I’ve lived many lives. And I think I’m here to help those like you.’
His words were soft and strangely comforting, but I fought against them. ‘Look,’ I said, Tm confused. Are you saying I have to accept being a dog?’
‘You have to accept whatever life gives you — and I mean accept. You have to learn humility, Fluke, and that comes only with acceptance. Then will you be ready for the next level.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, taking on a new tact out of desperation. ‘We all become animals when we die?’
He nodded. ‘Nearly all. Birds, fishes, mammals, insects — there are no rules as to which species we’re born into.’
‘But there must be billions upon billions of living creatures in the world today. They can’t all be reincarnated humans, our civilisation just hasn’t been going that long.’
The badger chuckled. ‘Yes, you’re right. There are at least a million known animal species, over three quarters of which are insects — the more advanced of us.’
‘Insects are the more advanced?’ I asked in a flat tone.
‘That’s right. But let me answer your first point. This planet of ours is very old and it’s been washed clean many times so that life can start all over again, a constant cycle of evolvement which allows us to learn a little more each time. Our civilisation, as you call it, has not been the first by any means.’
‘And these… these people are still coming back, still… learning?’
‘Oh yes. Much of our progress owes itself to race memory, not inspiration.’
‘But no matter how long ago it all began, man evolved from animals, didn’t he? How could animals have been reincarnated humans if they were here first?’
He just laughed at that.
You can imagine the state I was in by now: half of me wanted to believe him because I needed answers (and he spoke in such a soothing, matter-of-fact way), and the other half wondered if he was demented.
‘You said insects were more advanced… ‘ I prompted.
‘Yes, they accept their lives, which are shorter and perhaps more arduous. A female fruit-fly completes her whole lifecycle in ten days, whereas a turtle, for instance, can live for three hundred years.’
‘I dread to think of what the turtle has been up to in his previous life to deserve such a long penance,’ I said dryly.
‘Penance. Yes, that’s a good way of putting it,’ he said thoughtfully.
I groaned inwardly and was startled when the badger laughed out loud. ‘All too much for you, is it?’ he said. ‘Well, that’s understandable. But think about it: Why are certain creatures so repugnant to man? Why are they trodden on, mistreated or killed, or just plain reviled? Could these creatures have been so vile in their past lives that the malignancy lingers on? Is this their punishment for past crimes? The snake spends his life crawling on his belly, the spider is invariably crushed whenever he comes into contact with man. The worm is despised, the slug makes humans shudder. Even the poor old lobster is boiled alive. But their death comes as a blessing, a relief from their horrible existence. It’s nature’s way that their lives should be short, and man’s instinct that makes him want to crush these creatures. It’s not just abhorrence of them, you see, but compassion also, a desire to put an end to their misery. These creatures have paid their price.
‘And there are many more, Fluke, many, many more creatures below the earth’s surface. Beings that no human ever laid eyes on; bugs who live in fires near the earth’s core. What evil have they done to earn such an existence? Have you ever wondered why humans think of hell as an inferno, why its direction is always "down there"? And why do we look skywards when we speak of "Heaven"? Do we have an instinct born in us about such things?
‘Why do many fear death, while others welcome it? Do we already know it’s only an enforced hibernation, that we live on in another form, that our wrongdoings have to be accounted for? No wonder those who have lived peaceful lives are less afraid.’
The badger paused at that point, either to regain his breath or to give me time to catch up with him.
‘How do you explain ghosts, then? I know they exist, I’ve seen them — I keep seeing them,’ I said. ‘Why haven’t they been born again as animals, or have they passed that stage? Is that the level we’re reaching for? If it is, I’m not so sure I want it.’
‘No, no. They haven’t even reached our stage of development, I’m afraid, Fluke. They’re closer to our world though than their previous one — that’s why it’s easier for us to see them — but they’re lost, you see. That’s why there’s such an aura of sadness about them. Confused and lost. They find their way eventually with a little help. They get born again.’
Born again. The words struck me. Was this why my vision, the colours I could see, was so incredible? Was this why I could appreciate scents — the most delicate and the most pungent — so fully? Was it because I’d been born again yet still retained vague memories? I had past senses to compare with the new! A newborn baby sees freshly but quickly learns to adapt his vision, to mute colours, to organise shapes — he learns not to accept. That’s why you’re nearly blind at birth; it would be too much for you otherwise. Your brain has to sort things out first, then let you in on it gradually. My own sight was now nowhere as clear or unprejudiced as it had been when I was a young pup. Nor was my hearing. My brain which had been born with the ability to appreciate my senses was now organising them so they were acceptable to it, so they no longer dazzled it as much as before.