Stream

Breaking out into a wild dance of joy. Thumping desks, mouth wide open in silent laughter. Hair in disarray, the theme is picked up, mutated and carried on. Dreams that won’t stop, reality that goes on. Waves wash a distant shore and the roar in a shell is ignored.  Eyes meet across new media, seas of soup separate. Recognition is fear. Each search leads to shunya, but the quest is a path in itself. Why seek outside yourself? March on, and leaves on trees remain as in August.

Legacy

We are the patches of our parents, teachers, heroes, villains. We’re the quirks we picked up from old friends, habits we learned from family. We’re a little bit of everyone we meet, by being what they want or being what they don’t. We’re touched and moulded and changed by every little thing, some more than others.

Beneath this all there is a pattern to our absorbtion, the things we choose to be. There are influences that are stronger than others, are there not?

We are patterns. We are a legacy of a life lived and a journey undertaken, the final product of an unfolding story.

Neruda

I’m a bit lost, a bit adrift
Straying along the galaxy
Sleep deprived a little
Working overtime. Yes.

Wondering about loss and pain
and what they mean, really.

How very unfair it is that

some few can drive daggers into hearts &
some have and some lose, but all hurt

What does it matter anyhow?

Nothing is to stay, and maybe just maybe neruda was too full of pain and bitterness to see:
He had her once. He’ll never forget. And for those moments she was only his. You can’t control or be sure of what will happen. Or what happened before. And if ownership is a concept real, then to have had is to have, because you’ll never lose your past unless you choose to.

Or you forget.