“Although odd, clear memories of infancy are not extremely rare.”
— Paramhansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi (Chapter 1)
Balloons and Beginnings
My earliest memory is simple. I am four years old, standing with my brother and cousin, blowing balloons. The house is buzzing with excitement — a newborn cousin is coming home from the hospital. I can still hear our laughter as the balloons slipped out of our hands, whirling across the room.
It is ordinary, but it lingers. A frame that says: this is where I begin.
Pause for a moment.
What is your earliest memory? A sound, a smell, a picture in time? Which moment does your mind carry as your “first”?
Memories That Don’t Fit the Frame
And yet, sometimes memory doesn’t fit neatly into the frame of this life.
I have felt it in sudden, powerful déjà vu — walking into a place I had never been, yet sensing, I know this corner. I’ve stood here before. Or in dreams that feel less like imagination and more like recollection.
Often I dream I am a warrior — fighting wild animals, moving through forests and battlefields. The dreams carry a strange familiarity, as though I am remembering rather than inventing.
Have you ever felt that? A dream, a déjà vu, a moment that felt older than the life you can account for?
Yogananda’s Memories
Yogananda begins his autobiography not with toys or games, but with memory that stretches beyond his present lifetime. He writes:
“Clear recollections came to me of a distant life, a yogi amidst the Himalayan snows.”
He does not claim this as extraordinary. Instead, he adds:
“My far-reaching memories are not unique. Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from ‘life’ and ‘death.’”
Here is the gentle revolution of his words: consciousness is not born with the body, nor does it end with it. Memory is not just brain; it is soul.
The Akashic Library of the Soul
Mystics across traditions speak of the Akashic Records — a subtle field where every thought, act, and experience is inscribed. To brush against it is to feel déjà vu, to dream vividly of a past you never lived in this body, to sense echoes of lives you cannot explain.
Science may not name it this way, but we know how memory surprises us. A smell can transport us to childhood. A song can unlock tears we didn’t know we were carrying. If memory leaps across years in one life, why not across lifetimes in the soul?
Perhaps what we call uncanny, or even “creepy” when a child says, “I used to live in another house before I was born,” is not fantasy but truth — the Akashic library opening its pages.
More Than Numbers
I’m reminded of W. H. Auden’s poem “The Unknown Citizen,” which describes a man known only by a bureaucratic number, measured entirely by external facts:
“Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.”
Society reduces us to data. But Yogananda reminds us that beyond the statistics, beyond the labels, lies a consciousness that remembers, travels, continues.
Which feels closer to reality: the number, or the river of awareness that carries your laughter, your dreams, your warrior battles across time?
Kalpavriksha: The Tree We Carry Within
In Indian tradition, there is the Kalpavriksha — the wish-fulfilling tree. Whatever you imagine beneath its branches, it manifests.
If consciousness extends beyond a single life, then perhaps we each carry a Kalpavriksha within. Our thoughts and desires are seeds, planted in the soil of eternity. Over lifetimes, they sprout into experiences, lessons, and paths.
My balloon memory is one seed. My warrior dreams are another. What seeds are you planting daily in your soul’s soil? Fear or love? Anger or compassion? Limitation or boundlessness?
Reflections for You
Pause here, and ask yourself gently:
- What is my earliest memory — and what does it say about who I am?
- Have I ever felt déjà vu so strong it seemed like remembrance?
- Do my recurring dreams carry whispers of another time?
- If consciousness continues without interruption, how does that change the way I see my choices today?
Don’t rush the answers. Let the questions themselves stretch your awareness.
Living With This Awareness
This isn’t only about past lives. It’s about how you live today:
In Conflict – Remember: this page is one chapter in a much larger book. Do you want this chapter to end with resentment, or with understanding?
In Fear – When you face endings, remind yourself: you are more than the end. Consciousness flows forward, like a traveler exchanging clothes.
In Wonder – Let déjà vu be not dismissed, but honored. Let it remind you: you have walked this road before; you are older than this moment.
In Intention – Each night, ask: What seed did I plant today in my soul’s record? Choose tomorrow’s seed with care.
Closing the Circle
Yogananda wrote:
“Clear recollections came to me of a distant life, a yogi amidst the Himalayan snows.”
“Although odd, clear memories of infancy are not extremely rare.”
“Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from ‘life’ and ‘death.’”
My first memory — balloons and laughter — grounds me in this life. My dreams and déjà vu whisper of others. The Akashic Records remind me nothing is ever lost. The Kalpavriksha tells me that what I plant today will bloom in the tomorrows of the soul.
We are not numbers. We are not statistics. We are not bound by one fleeting lifetime.
We are eternal travelers, sowing seeds beneath a wish-fulfilling tree, leaving footprints in the sky.
So tonight, before you sleep, recall your first memory. Then bring to mind a dream or a déjà vu that has always stayed with you. Hold them side by side and ask:
Who is it that remembers all this?
Sit with the question, not for an answer, but for the stillness it awakens.
And if you ever long for companionship on this inner journey, let the first chapter of Autobiography of a Yogi rest beside you. Yogananda’s words are not just his story — they may be a mirror, gently opening the door to your own.
