I believe in reincarnation. How else to explain that sense of déjà-vu? How else to explain the dreams of childhood that came each and every night like never ending reruns of some television show? How else to explain the meeting of those dreams in reality years later?
As a child I had recurring dreams, some scary, some reassuring, all puzzling for they were of places beyond my farm yard experience. Rooms with wooden slatted doors: I’d never seen one of those in real life. Vast high roofed buildings with wide open staircases; we surely had none of those on the farm.
When I encountered the doors as an adult, when I climbed that stairway in the new airport as a teen, I knew I had lived before. Nothing else could explain the clarity of the dream, the exact match of that dream image to reality.