This is only a Test

           
            Harold sat next to the window in his attic, pondering his life, and of course, his untimely death. Miles, Harold’s faithful packrat friend, sat on his lap, scratching his ear.

“I think,” said Miles, “that for humans, this dimension of reality is only a test. Fail the test, and a human comes back again as a human, to try and learn whatever lesson they need to learn, again. Unfortunately, from what I’ve been able to ascertain, plenty of humans seem to be doomed to an eternity, a veritable recycling of their spirit, as a human. It’s really very sad.”

“That’s like, totally depressing,” Harold said.
Miles took his reading glasses off and scratched his nose. He had to agree with Harold--as far as he was concerned, the whole human condition was a bit of a fiasco.

“Well, I’m just a not so very big packrat,” Miles replied. “And in the mean time, human beings are given numerous gifts: the ability to create, a voice to sing, the hands to build and play instruments. Really, it’s not such a bad thing, hmmm?”

“But what comes after,” Harold asked, looking ridiculously childish in the pink bathrobe he had managed to apparate on his bony frame. Although Harold’s ghostly prowess had vastly improved, he still wasn’t color coordinated, and really, Miles thought Harold should add a thin layer of muscle or fat on to his skeleton frame. But Miles, aware of how easily frustrated Harold became, and how quickly Harold could fade, falling backwards in his behavior, had long ago decided not to chide Harold or critique him on his wardrobe.

“Well, packrats get to come back as a packrat after they’ve lived a succession of 7 lives. I’m on number 7, and if I continue to be a worthy and noble packrat, I can choose to return as a packrat or as my favorite animal, the horse.”

Harold looked like Socrates contemplating the universerse. “And if you’re bad?”

“If I’m bad, I have to return as a human to learn whatever lesson I need to learn, and possibly become stuck in the human soul treadmill.”

Harold and Miles both shuddered.

“So why I am stuck in this cabin,” Harold asked, shifting his view from the window to the tip of Miles' nose.

“From the research I’ve conducted, I have concluded that you haven’t completed whatever needs to be finished, or you haven’t faced up to the facts of your death.”
Harold scratched the top of his head, relishing the sensory perception of solid, warm, skin.

“And what will happen to me when I’ve completed whatever it is I'm supposed to complete?”
Miles looked out the window, mesmerized by the tufts of grass blowing in the wind. It reminded Miles of sailing in a sea of green.

“Oh, Harold. I’ve never served a sentence as a human. But what I like to believe is that you are on the cusp of something very big. I think that you have been given the time and the grace to figure out whatever you need to figure out. Why Harold, I think that for you, the possibilities are positive and infinite.”