Memories, the need to know, why and for who? Me? Does it matter? That is my question today, does it really matter and will it change who I am right now... Will it influence my life positively? Will it help me discover parts of myself that are deeply buried or is it someone elses memory given to me?
I keep hearing the song from Hocus Pocus where Whinny (the eldest witch sister) is trying to recall a spell and her other sisters are singing/chanting to her "Remember, whinny, remember" and I substitute my name: "remember, Janet, remember"... Hummm, still it is not coming. The memory belongs to someone else. I don't even feel attached to it, no cellular memory what so ever of the event that has been revealed to me by another.
I see the world like this: We are all in our own universe that we create, like a bubble from a child's bubble machine, large enough to fit ourselves and all of our life experiences. And then I think of this memory and wonder if I don't have it because it is in someone elses bubble, and did I immerse myself in their bubble and then expell into another, and another, morphing into others universes until I don't have my own bubble per se...
Where is the energy of Janet, not my name but my being ME. Labels and names being put in a neat little box and then up on a shelf or being like a dandelion and having someone else hold it and blow~watching the seeds catch the wind and spread and scatter... pieces of me that I need to call home. Parts that need to come home, looked at, loved, and then melted into the me that is today. Yes, that feels right. Particles floating around the universe coming home to roost. And as I write this I hear the rooster reminding me its morning, another new day, another new beginning another awakening and another chance to be the best me I can be!
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