Book of days
I lost myself, where am i …..flip back the pages —ti how far back ….? when did we start running? —at go
At go ….I remember going to Disney world with my grandmother and my mother so soon before my grandmother passed away ….it is strange how you can remember a moment from long ago ….I sat in the mad tea cup ride with her and we spun and spun —she was fun, very young even when she was no longer chronologically ….we are in my family ….well. they were
with my mother we went on the Grand Prix race there; I was terrified —she would say “green light to go! Zoom!”
I liked the submarine ride ….
How is this about purpose?
Believe me it is
I remember exact seconds of my life ….like my exact thoughts on a hike I took in Oregon ….looking down at my boot ….I remember the dry and forlorn horizon that was so barren of life and atmosphere and ….this moment I had was ….oh shit, what am I doing here? how will I ever get out of here ….?
shit. fuck ….
if purpose means to ask why we repeat our mistakes ….
then it means we better get the lesson already
and then —apply it to where it was meant to ….bring you; raise you….lift you to the next plain
I write my book of days
as drama …. but it is really meant ….
as something more about the purpose of all human experience —I am just the example at hand
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