...die? she asks, after a short silence.
- I don't know. My grandma says you go to hell or heaven, my religion says you have a pit stop in Purgatory first. But I think heaven is ... tailor made, you know? Like, if you like books, heaven will be a big library. And for guys like me heaven will be this place like Valhalla, but with cars and we'll all meet our friends there and work on our cars and race and have fun.
-So heaven is a tailor made Valhalla? Can I be a shield maiden then?
I have lived my life in the strong conviction that the soul does not survive, that there is no after life, there is no beyond, there is no ocult, there is no spiritual world. But what if the soul does survive? It goes back to where it came from and later on comes back in another body, to live other lives, to taste other strawberries, to touch other thighs?
You know when you look at someone and they feel like "an old soul"? What if they really are an old soul? A soul that has been here before, a soul that always looks at both side og the coin, a soul that finds it easy to step in the shoes of someone else? Not to judge, not to condone. Just to see life in their skin.
- That would mean justice exists - you could live in a world where a wicked soul gets to come back and suffer the consequences of wickedness. You don't seem comfortable in this one, he added.
- Maybe that's the famous balance of the universe. Emotions, boiled down, are just chemistry, right? And chemistry keeps well, if you have a dry storring space at hand. That's why you can sometimes still feel the butterflies of your first kiss, the deep, pit like emptiness of your first depression or the taste of that perfect hummus you ate when you first tried lebanese cuisine at a homely restaurant. All this chemistry, all this essence, does not die. It comes back, in the body of someone else when you die And with each return, you get to choose between bigotry and tolerance, between wickedness and fairness, between chauvinism and not being a dick. You get some of that choice, your environment gets some of that choice, your caregivers get some of that choice.
- Maybe. Or maybe we just die and all that chemistry gets mixed with the rest of the chemistry to make the grass in cemetery green and the wild flowers bloom.
- That would make the theory almost right, she laughed and looked at him again, her eyes focused but not searching.
- Do you think, maybe, you think too much? I mean, you finished school long ago. Normal people don't think about the chemistry of the soul at 4 in the evening.
- What's "too much"? she answers, raising an eyebrow.
-Yeah, you always had a provlem with defining "too much".
- Not when I'm cooking, though, the girls answers with a little laugh.
-Ah, yes. The self deprecating defense. Come here, you silly slug. Let's chemistry some dinner, Madamme "You think too much".
