We know who we are, or , at least we should, and any given moment that we do, that knowing is bound in who we were, in the where we have come from.
Now this seems a perilous conundrum, rife with unneeded complexity. Yet when that codex is deciphered, It should yield some understandable clues that we can solve the puzzle of us by and large.
This is not what I speak to now.
I am talking about those times when we Know full well, exactly who we are, but we become so fixed on what that means to us, we read into it again , and again, something else, we literally redefine ourselves in the blindness of our truth, till we are…
not ourselves at all.
The damage is then done… the simulacrum that has replaced that we knew ourselves to be, Stares at us from the mirror of our soul.. surveying the damage to every part of our lives.
“How did we get here” we ask…
There is no one to answer. We have lost the person who could have.
The person we were, before we became that which we came to be.
Never let a certainty of what will be a point no further, become another point you stand amidst your own hurt. for you may hurt all the same, but with time it becomes a memory and not a constant.
I have had much to say, to so many, on the matter of what I have been, when I was another Me.
It seems so strange a thing, to speak in earnest words of how I am not that which I once was, and have them look at me the same. I find, in these moments, a palor of fear and doubt washes over me.
I want to scream ” Cant you see what I am saying!” Take them and shake them, for how can they not know how profound a truth I speak..? Cant they understand.. what I have been through…?
They do not.
I , I must then accept that those who hear nothing of what I have said.. No matter Its eloquence.. It soul shaking honesty… For they have been blessed by the ignorance unstolen by suffering and loss.
I calm… and sigh… and speak anew.. They may never know.
For they themselves can only hear me iF they have first
I can say when I write here, or anywhere, two absolutes are woven onto every word. I write with absolute sincerity of belief that what I say is real to me, and that I give it freely to whoever may read it. My motto
“You can forget me, Just remember what I have said.” If ever this was true, it was when I wrote this.
Each one of us would like to think of ourselves fearless at some point, of something, in the course of lives. It could be something so utterly trivial, like losing to some novice in a game which me have mastered, or a matter of unquestioned certitude, such as the defense of ones child when grave peril shows its face.
These moments, if they have already come upon us, are often indelibly burned into a memory. A fixed point to forever reference so that we might, draw strength from, polish the shelf of it for the sake of nostalgic pride, or to remind us of what we are capable of when we face some great threat.
Then of course, there is the other side of this Boatman’s coin, one of which we will somberly collect through our days. That being those times, and those things in which we knew certain and palpable fear which forever changed our lives and we…
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