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March 03, 2018
Circles of people touch each life according to intenseness. Some are barely tangent. Some are exceptional. Deep touches leave emotion in hearts for an entire life. How can each different life cross us like railroad tracks? What power has whom?
Flies time in no straight arrow flight. More like a wheel, different gears meshing, releasing and meshing again at some other time. What crossword puzzles flinch into existence marking each puzzle in ink?
Once written no eraser can remove such lives crossed in minute detail or a whisper of life, perhaps a cold breath in winter never breathed again. Odd striking moments remembered years later, wonders why this memory and not another? I.E.; sitting at the magazine rack watching dad walk out the door, no second thought for a youngest son reading comics.
Never angry at this forgotten moment, only a wonderment of absence. We all have them. Some bring them to a forehead and bash the negligent committer of this dead deed. Let it go.
It has become apparent some lives will always cross us. Others, like birds migrating, are seasonal in appearance and will eventually fade with the season and dissipate with time and distance, for earth turnings tilt and change. Celebrate those lives which return, even if late life embraces each. There is meaning we may not fathom then or now.
Some lives burn like quick silver melting young though in the process forge a weight of memory in the light of their quick fire. No names please. We all have them. A brother, a sister, a friend hammered out in one breath, and gone in the next though never released completely.
All in this space of time known as our lives. How quickly traveled we are. How slow too this realization crystalizes, and then gone in a sunset.
This changing season grabs a curtain, pulls the shades up and down according to sun position. Too bright at noon, though soft and warm early light and late. We all have them. Recollections of friends, families moving through our memories, gone lives like marbles in the ring hoping no cat’s eye bumps us out of the circle.
Eventually all die. What can we say of our lives? Whom have we helped? Whom have we hindered? What kindness was shared? or withheld and why?
365 24/7. Each measured moment eventually pulled into a dust bunny of time, fragile, irreplaceable, though unique for everyone. Fingerprints, DNA, snowflakes melting in sunlight. It is a mystery of the universe. Ever solved, or always never known completely.
Circles of people intersecting all of us at different times, brushing our lives with scents, skin touched smooth or perhaps ruffled in dresses we cannot dance harmoniously together. Will we ever come full circle with those initially fashioned at our beginnings? It has no importance. How each of us took our need of the other and what have we done with those moments has importance.
Did we scuff, laugh, and abandon those touches? Or has every contact wrought our shape into a semblance of kindness? All it means is this: what have we learned, and have we practiced our lessons to a meaningful end?
I am grateful for your visit. Thank you.