Sometimes I feel weighted down by so many memories of things and people known only between us. Many are now a secret that only I carry, special only in my own knowing. If I had amnesia, it would be so easy to be in the moment. But would the moment have any meaning without all those deep and hued textures? Maybe it would be all the more livable for its total blankness. A fine point in the present. Only full of now. So much less pressure to feel the echoes of similar experiences, no accompanying waves of feeling or storylines that ended. How can stories end but still somehow be alive in life, in knowing? Is that what the heart is for? To carry that energy? Is mine so full it burst?
My life has been dense and rich. I have had such liveliness, wholely sweet and bitter and all-flavorful in its human sensualities. A synesthetic’s dream. Balanced in horrors, and tragedies, dramas, synchronicities, signs, metaphors, wide horizons, oddities, singularity, dewy beauty, knowledge and gravel. Even scars tell their stories. Tattoos in our lives. Marks of experiences lived. Wrinkles as roadmaps. Twinkling in their depth. Some of the oldest canyons are the deepest, right? What does age mean if not closer to the core, the gooey dynamic molten plasma-filled, spun sugar center of the earth…the concentrated hot spot of the potential, the pure and essential and honed and authentic.
Just remember to stretch. Feel your space, not just your body. Coast in the moment. Let your edges be mutable and loose, after all, you have a molten core, yet you are all elements and directions. Drink merrily in, even if sips of seconds. Be conduit and flow.
PJ's life review 