It turns out there is such a thing as reincarnation. I know this because I’ve been reincarnated as a cactus.
It sounds like a joke, which is fitting, because reincarnation certainly sounded like a joke to me in my former life. In my forties, certain friends – recently divorced or getting over drug habits – began to follow paths of spiritual enlightenment, filling their dreary suburban homes with joss sticks and carefully placed crystals, and one or two spoke to me about reincarnation as though it was no more shocking a prospect than Christmas, or a second cup of coffee. Personally, I never gave the idea serious thought except as a child when the subject came up in a school assembly, and I briefly considered the benefits of coming back as a rock star or world leader. I never entertained the possibility that one might return as flora. Perhaps this is