I read Siddhartha years ago, when I was a kid. I remember nothing about that first reading experience, except these things: I liked it enough to read more by Hermann Hesse (Demien, I think, although I recall nothing of that book either); I also recall that my sister’s friend’s mom saw that I was reading it and told me she had read and liked the book also.

I re-read this book over the weekend and am somewhat incredulous that I had “enjoyed” it before. But perhaps I am selling my adolescent self short.

My yoga teacher, Rosie, once said that if we practice yoga in this life, it’s because we practiced yoga before in a previous life. If that’s so, then that may explain the interest I had in my initial reading.