Sometimes I get this overwhelming feeling around existence, and everything that has ever been seems to rush up inside me like molten rock driven out of the earth. All the people who have waved their hand through the waters of my journey are brought forward in full light. It terrifies me some times that we can so easily pass each other on the street, not seeing the other, no more than a mailbox on the side walk, a backdrop to each others world. And for the ones we stop for, that we can and often do, forget each other like an old telephone number, and that its possible to not ever really share or experience another because it is so finite and intangible. The places that we occupy are infinite and the window to those worlds as seen by the other is a pin prick on the sun. There are those blessed and rare moments when all of that is understood and we over flow with all the love that has ever been, all the fear, and all of the pain. It’s a heart racing calm, a joyous tear, a new born babies genius and then it passes, leaving us in its golden wake only for maintenance and repetition sneak back in. Maintenance as the up keep of the body, and repetition of the behaviors we wear like armor.
And now I long to honor and hold that place of infinite self of us all. I write you now because, I know we don’t speak anymore and that’s ok, for as we arrive for what moments they may be to each other we also fade away in that ever flowing cycle of life, taking with us what will, souvenirs for the soul.
I write you this because I love who I am, feeling that as the mighty oak feels the soil, it’s to everything that has come before. This is a love letter to everything and to everyone, with no limitations even on its source, where “I” take no personal claim for “it”. I’m not playing with, “oh let's write each other, and ‘catch up'”, because it’s so much more than that, I don’t want to scoop down into that banal world where words hang like heavy drapes hiding what we long to see. I relax and let my mind guide itself back through the up welling of memories, to where and when we were and how in that moment, we did our part, to shape the universe.