Revised article published on 26 September 2025.
Preface
This series began with a restlessness I couldn’t shake. Why do our souls choose to forget? Why is it that we arrive in this life stripped of the stories that shaped us before? Somewhere between the rat race and the silence of meditation, I kept circling this question until it demanded to be written down.
What follows are not revelations, nor the words of a guru. I am not a preacher, nor do I claim any special authority. These are the ruminations of a middle-aged man – an ordinary traveller, trying to make sense of the fragments that rise unbidden: déjà vu, compulsions, sudden affinities, the deep hunger for meaning.
As I wrote, I stumbled into old maps – Greek myths, Buddhist teachings, other Indian philosophies. I found mirrors in Freud and Jung, and even in the language of trauma and neuroscience. And sometimes the body itself spoke in metaphor – the placenta, the umbilical cord, the stem cell – as if flesh had been carrying truths the mind had long forgotten.
I did not set out to be comprehensive or conclusive. I wrote simply to see more clearly, to catch the signal beneath the static. If these essays do anything, I hope they remind you that the cord was never cut. We are tethered, sustained, carried – even in our forgetting. And in the quiet moments when the noise recedes, you may hear it too.
