Ok, so the video isn't the best start for some po flo reminiscing. This, like so many other things, reminds me of my mom. I'm literally going to fall apart over the mere mention of her name. I could never talk about her enough. If, as I channeled her periphrastic ways, I spoke her until my voice gave out, I would not adequately describe what is to me, goodness. But these memories are actually of another sort. These are the past brought to the present. And the way I was was good.
I've talked to many people since joining FB that I had no realistic hope of talking to again. And there is a common thread. These friends, for they are friends, like me for me. Though they may not recognize the ashes that I have become, they encourage me to be the beauty that will come from these ashes. Without fail, these friends have encouraged me to be me. Looking back on the fun and loving child, and being able to see a kernel of him in this faulted man brings me life.
It has been a point of pride, of sorts, that I am immature. Or youthfully playful. Even as I am prepared to discard those things from the past, I'm shown that they don't have to be fully discarded. In this drama, what good is it to lose your soul for other profits? I like my soul. And it sings. Even with the faults, and through the pain, I realize that this nature has allowed me to deal with monumental tragedy with little porosity. Time to turn the page? Absolutely. But this book is good. And going to get better.