Reincarnation is meant to end somewhere. In Hinduism, it’s called moshka, the shedding of ego. Every action we take in one life banks or loses karma in the spiritual change purse, paying for the next form we assume when the cycle repeats. To be painless and truly divine, you have to nurture three responsibilities to your morality, pleasure and environmental freedom. Only then can you leave the world behind. That’s transcendence – never even thinking you’re above anything at all. But if you told Kanye West, he’d only call his new sneaks Moshkas, the better to stamp all over that idea.
As far as karma goes, Kanye may have run out at last – siding with abusers, pissing on Grammy awards, bashing Billie Eilish, fudging a record that hinted at a return to his creative peak but ended up somewhere near the bottom. A slice of his fans turns away, disgusted or bored. Others cling on. Leading alleged female torture artist Marylin Manson to the porch of your deceased mother’s house isn’t smart, and toughens your sell. So does baiting your ex’s new boyfriend, calling him “garbage” for little reason other than God isn’t taking your calls for a reconciliation meal.
