It is on bended knee that I approach my blog with what nearly a century of living has taught. With what I have learned of our holographic universe, acknowledging talents given at birth or contracted for I must speak my experience.
It is a linear world we live in to help us learn. It can be counted on being. It is also a prime example that all time is simultaneous. The past is still happening, the future has already happened and we in the present race to catch up with it. The following was one of the first posts I wrote 6 years ago when I first blogged. My life has stood me in good stead. It has been all of a piece and I would be foolish to deny it.
September, 2011. . . . It is a trying thing we do. We want to understand what we remember of a specific time when all we have are bits of memories and what historians say went on at the time. But we cannot take as fact all that we read or hear. Everything written cannot be taken as gospel. Everything heard cannot be taken without question. What we have in our memory bank we get in snatches and try to make as much sense out of them as we can.
For when we try to do more than this, we are playing a guessing game. It is also a guess when we are not certain whose memories we are jousting with. Are they our memories of this life or perhaps other lives of ours as more of the world believes or perhaps even of distant or ancient ancestors written into our DNA? Are we responsible for unfulfilled talents or love not returned? Can we or should we put to rest our ancestors’ anguish?
And what about all the historians’ views of history? How much of it is conjecture? How much of it is piecing what bits can be garnered to fill in the spaces when the times themselves have left no record? There is much that can be retrieved through concerted research. But retrieved also must be the long lost habit of conversation with aging persons. There is much that oral history will reveal that written history has neglected to mention.
It is a hard work we do to find a putting place for memories. But it is one way to find out who holds the candle for each of us.
Peace-d. . .
The numbers are few
who can share in this journey
that takes a lifetime
to get to the heart of oneself.
One learns to walk through
the warm woods of one’s empty house
to find the communion
with invisible friends
when a soul across the table is not.
The immediate pressure of voices
long gone have ears aching
but there is a conversation of saints
and the company of good minds
commingling; kindred spirits housed in thought.
Confrontation of points hidden within centuries
of genetic history has one acutely conscious
of love freely given and healing accomplished.
As we are given the capacity to love,
Spirit within gives that capacity also to the Other.
And pieces of The All That Is will be peace-d.
(poem written March, 2016)