The thing about the Dalai Lama is that reincarnation is a project that is accomplished through years of study. After being picked as the new incarnation, a Lama goes through years of study of the lives of the previous Lamas, learning just what it is he's been up to all these generations (14 now, which is quite a lot of years of history and memories to absorb while also living your own life). Whatever the case is for the infant chosen, the Dalai Lama becomes the Dalai Lama by reading his history as his own history. By appropriating the lives of those who have come before as his own previous lives, the Dalai Lama actually becomes a part of that liniage, and is in fact a continuation of a single entity. If a nation can exist for thousands of years through the lives of many generations, if a nation is a real entity, and hey, if you can exist for decades though the lives of many generations of your own cells, which exist through generations of various molocules, the Dalai Lama is a person that has lived for 14 generations now. In this sense, he is really re-incarnated. Which is knd of neat, really.
Where Joyce comes in is that his novels are such rich pictures of Joyce himself that reading them seems to me to be a little like studying up on the previous Dalai Lama. By reading his novels, we become, bit by bit, a re-incarnation of Joyce. He lives on through our absorption of his thoughts into our own. But this isn't true of just Joyce, he's just what got me thinking about it. It's true of everyone we read, and the music we listen to, and the movies we watch, and the people we interact with, and (Joyce illustrates this wonderfully) this is true for those things as well: they are conglomoratrions, tapestries woven from so many lives that came before them, intermingled with the lives that directly motivated their creation, intermingled with the lives of their viewers and listeners.
The mad man who believes himself to be Napolean Bonaparte is only mad because he thinks that he is more Napolean than anyone else. We are interpenetrated by thousands of lives of other people, living and dead, who were in turn blended with so many lives themselves. We are made of other people and we make up other people.
This also got me thinking that our creations really are our children in a similar way. What we make takes on a life of its own (as a re-incarnation of us, seperate but not seperate as the case might be) as it moves through one mind and into another, bouncing through so many heads as it changes and grows and echos again.

We are the things we create, we are the things we consume, we are the people we know, we are the places we go, we are the movements and the gestures, we are the raindrops on our face and the stars and the ocean and so many sunrises and sunsets, we are our dreams and we are the stories we tell, we are a history, we are a world.
We are another incarnation of so many things.
And so many things are another incarnation of us.
mmhmm.