Ahh, distant sister from across the sea, apparently we share certain memories.
It’s hard to tell the dead that you love them -
But then again…
When I die
Will you miss me when I die?
When the earth and the grass cover me over;
when the sun and the moon take turns
proving me no more?
Never cry,
Don’t mourn.
I am the Robin and the worm,
The Heron and the fish.
The earth that covers me,
is nothing less than me,
and the stars, just my soul,
reflecting life
in the dark night sky.
Life shares more than one flesh,
and like moss,
I grow on
the nearest stone.
Shaded, by the trees,
I reach across
time.
I am one with the rain,
and need no tears.
…and so the abstraction continued: until days became weeks,
and weeks became months, and months became years: until a decade was reached,
and the ten years they spoke of was now a reality!
I came to understand that their non-chalance about it
was due to the ten years having no effect upon their being, but on mine alone,
and on those who shared a similar dilemma to the one that presented itself to me.
And guilt I feel for closing on this elegy on loss, some say never look back with regret, par example, the half century that only now to mind,
Coming you to unvail the pretence of presence birthright made inglorious by this waning moon,
It is not simply singularly focused, nor manyform to touch for then,
Young we were and a recourse would manifest on a shadow of blur,
At once satisfying defense that both have lost, that the future then was already apparently prefigured.
So I double down, and then double again, from an impoverished .minimum, the least of which is that:
the threshold of a curious whom-to the only opportune payback , is its reflexive possibility: the awe generating the greatful humility: in the face off.
With some professionally-suitable CBT/physio program, to help me cope with and ultimately accept my chronic illness, I have ceased grieving for the old me… and with it, the past.
My little buddy will always be in my heart, but not necessarily my mind.
If we have a soul, we don’t forget at all.
But if we have some luck, the powers of the present do outshine the memories.
And so memories build and the temple of our being is carved out in which they finally come free and dance.
“Get over it”
We may get on top of it. But we never forget.
My little bud and I are in constant reoccurring communication, and although his IQ can be questioned, his egoless state, not, only its source questionable, whether it emanates from genes, karma, or necessary practice, the hindrances are grossly underestimated by him. But to return to norm is out of the question.
Its becoming daily more and more emphatic and he tells me he’s been this way do to no conscious episodal incidence.
But its not an all about him phenomenon, since he was as well touched , before.
There is much sadness to that year. In 97 things culminated, in 98 everything/one, was dead or changed. Me, my world was uprooted by a loss, and I still live in that wrecked ground, but after 20 years Im more capable than 10 years ago of not just doing things but also being things, or a thing. I just, as I am, first had to find out how that works, being.
In 96 they really culminated, 95 was a heavenly place, 94 and 93 pure myth of innocence, 92… still political, Yelstsin fresh on the mind… 91 - beyond that, all was Cold War.
It was really different then. Colder, and cozier.
So the early nineties had both the warmth of freedom or whatever and the coziness that still remained in how we saw things. American, good.
But then.
The Matrix signifies the descent of man into nihilism.