Buddhists believe in reincarnation.

Karma.

Things many in the secular realm don’t think much of.

But I do. Ever since one night in ’94. It was that of a dream unlike all other dreams.

It was of a beautiful man driving a beautiful car with me sitting beautifully beside him. It was hot, air so still that even as we drove, engine revving and radio howling, the night was quiet. But we were together, oh yes. Looking into his eyes, I was right there. Nowhere else. And he was right there too. I recall thinking in that moment who is this person? I do not know him, but I love him. As if I were consciously in the dream as myself, somewhere deep in the mind of the one sitting beside him, yet in another body. He looked at me. Our stare was intimate. Is that even possible? I thought. He knew my thoughts as if they were his own, as I knew his. It was a closeness in a moment. A moment in time. But what time?

He propelled us forward along the empty Arizona road while cupping my hand upon the classic shifter. It was love, aw yes, real love. But I think the Buddhists have it right. Reincarnation. This was a different time. Not too long ago of a time, but a different time for sure. For I know that this life is not like that other. And our consequences in one lifetime, as Buddhists would say, create the next. I suppose I wasn’t considering that at the moment. No, not at all. After all, he needed me and I was as true of love as true love could be.

When the man in the car with the flashing lights and piercing siren stopped us, he had not done anything wrong. He had just been enjoying the flat stretch of road a bit too much and fast. We had both been enjoying it too much to know we shouldn’t have been. He listened though. He got out. He did what he was supposed to. But the ’60s were upon us and I sensed he took the idea of civilian rights to heart. When that man tried to get him to obey, he decided not to. I saw it all.

I saw the man repeat his instructions. I saw him refuse. Again. I was out of the car moving to his side. Not to calm him, but to defend him. I saw him reach behind his back. I saw the man in the navy, double-breasted uniform aim and fire. I saw him fall.

Then I was right there.

My eyes locked onto the man in the navy uniform. My hand reached behind my back. His aim focused on me next. As he squeezed the trigger, my hand remained steady as I shot the man in his chest, not doubting my aim for a moment, nor him doubting his.

Death had to be placed upon the one delivering death to him after all. Decisions had to be made. Consequences followed. That which we were in life, we were in death. Loved. Buddhists have it right. They say Karma crosses lifetimes, not just within. And reincarnation can propel us forward or backward depending upon prior consequences and lessons to be learned. For the next life, love is evasive. Hard to catch, like a fast car on a warm, stretch of road.

I awoke, my body shocked into my current time with a jolt and a word.

“Jimmy!”

It was a dream. That it was. Karma sure is a bitch.