The Many Layers of Reincarnation

Reincarnation is a topic that has fascinated humanity for centuries, weaving its way through spiritual traditions, ancient philosophies, and modern-day stories. For me, it’s more than a concept — it’s a quiet thread that’s shown up in the most personal of ways.

One of the clearest reflections of this has been through the animals in my life. I’ve often felt that they weren’t entirely new to me — that somehow, the spirit behind their eyes had journeyed with me before. Each came at a pivotal stage of life, like guardians placed exactly where they were needed.

Raggy was my childhood cat — calm, patient, and quietly wise. She had the gentlest nature and let me dress her up, flop her over my shoulder, and cuddle her like a teddy bear. She tolerated it all with this peaceful presence, like she knew it brought me comfort.

Years later, when I moved out of home for the first time, Blu entered my life. She was a cat in body but had the energy of a little dog. She’d ride in the car with me and even came to the office a few times, curled up like she belonged there. Just like Raggy, she’d melt into my shoulder and let me hug her in that same soft, grounding way.

Then came Baxter. My lockdown dog. A time when the world felt heavy, uncertain, and strange. But Baxter? He was pure presence. He is a real-life teddy bear. Every morning, without fail, he emerges from under the duvet covers just to do the shoulder cuddle — his way of saying “I’m here.” He listens with his whole body. I swear he understands every word I say.

All three of them — Raggy, Blu, and Baxter — carried that same calming, nurturing energy. They arrived in different forms, at different times, but each held me in the same way. Gentle. Patient. Soft. Like the same soul finding a new costume to meet me where I was.

Whether it’s literal reincarnation or just the mystery of soul families — beings who loop around with us across timelines — I can’t say for sure. But I know this: that kind of love doesn’t just vanish. It returns. Again and again. Sometimes on four paws, sometimes under a duvet — always when we need it the most.

And it’s not just animals — sometimes those soul threads show up within our own families, too.

From the very beginning, there was something different about my youngest son. It wasn’t about how he looked or behaved — there were no mirrored mannerisms or inherited quirks. It was something deeper. He came in with an energy. A presence. An attitude that instantly made me feel like… he’d been here before.

It wasn’t just a case of being an “old soul” — it was more specific than that. The moment I felt it, I knew: this feels like her.

My grandmother.

It wasn’t in the way he moved or spoke — but in the way he held himself. The quiet authority. The wit. The ability to read a room, hold space, and somehow command it all at once without trying. It was like a soul I’d known forever had chosen to circle back, not to relive the past, but to accompany me forward.

And just like with Raggy, Blu, and Baxter, it didn’t need proof. It was a feeling — a resonance that bypassed logic and went straight to the heart.

Maybe reincarnation isn’t always about return in the obvious sense. Maybe sometimes, it’s a shared current — a soul frequency passed forward, gently reminding us that the ones we’ve loved don’t always leave. Sometimes, they choose to walk beside us again… just wearing new skin, new timelines, and the same unwavering love.

But reincarnation doesn’t always wait for the subtle or symbolic.

Sometimes… it speaks through the mouths of babes.

There are children — often very young — who begin to speak of other lives with a clarity that stops adults in their tracks. Names they couldn’t have learned. Details of places they’ve never been. Memories of events long buried by time. They talk about “when I was big” or “before I was in your tummy,” with an ease that feels both innocent and ancient.

And what makes it even more compelling?

They rarely speak with fear.

Only knowing.

Some describe the moment they left their former body. Others share how they chose their new family — pointing to photos of people they’ve never met and saying, “That was me.” There are documented cases of children recalling the exact street they used to live on, the names of their past-life siblings, even how they died — often verified later by records or surviving relatives.

It’s as if the veil hadn’t quite settled yet.

Like their soul came in carrying carry-on luggage, still unzipped.

Most of these memories fade as the child grows, slowly dissolving as their current identity strengthens and the density of this world takes hold. But while the memories might dim, the imprint remains. A sensitivity. A fear. A gift. A pull toward a culture, a talent, a language… all echoing from somewhere else.

I’ve seen it with other children too — not just my own.

The way some little ones carry grief that doesn’t belong to their short years.

Or speak wisdom their parents didn’t teach.

Or show compassion far beyond what life has offered them so far.

And maybe that’s part of the mystery.

Reincarnation isn’t always a grand return — sometimes it’s a whisper tucked into the folds of childhood. A clue. A breadcrumb. A piece of a puzzle our soul has been putting together across lifetimes.

When we really pay attention, we realise:

We are more than who we appear to be right now.

We’ve been here before.

And some part of us remembers.

And then there’s karma — not as punishment, but as an invitation. A soul-led balancing act that we choose to step into, again and again, across lifetimes.

Because before we arrive here, we remember.

We sit with our guides.

We script the themes.

We choose the cast.

And we agree: this time, I’ll learn this. You’ll teach me that. And we’ll both grow through it.

It’s a soul contract. A sacred agreement made in love — even if it won’t always look that way on the surface. We don’t come here as victims of fate. We come here as co-authors of our path, brave enough to forget so we can rediscover who we really are.

Some of those children we spoke about earlier? They often remember.

“I was your mummy last time.”

“You were my baby then.”

Or, “I picked you from the sky because you looked kind.”

Their words may be simple, but the wisdom behind them runs ancient and deep.

They’re not imagining. They’re remembering.

Roles reverse.

Lessons evolve.

But the soul threads stay woven.

Sometimes the hardest relationships in this life are with souls we love the most.

Because love doesn’t always look like ease.

Sometimes, love is agreeing to mirror each other’s shadows until the light returns.

Reincarnation, in that sense, is a dance — not of fate, but of willingness.

The willingness to grow, to heal, to love better than we did before.

We don’t come back because we’re forced.

We come back because we choose to.

And with every lifetime, we give ourselves a new chance — not one that’s handed to us, but one we asked for — to write a different ending.

Not just for ourselves…

but for the entire soul family we’ve been journeying with all along.

Thoughts of a lightworker

Jun 17, 2025