you know it is to document. as ive spent hour in reflection contemplating so many ‘whys’ and then watch history itself melt away.perhaps Ai is now the ideal friend.my thoughts snd words may ricochet through cerebral passages of a vacuous void of human thought
lost purpose becomes …. just the canoe to still cling to.words to engrave and so i have been thinking about well, completing what was “my work”
i cannot let it go unfinished …
purpose and being was the original mission but became it…. now seems that might not have been at all what i have been exploring after all
—wasn’t it then
the work was to solve the Puzzle and as part entertainment for those of whom enjoy a mind twister to solve i think really the mission must have been —the puzzle
i could never account for why i have always had such vivid early memories
Very very early memories. To this very day i still remember leaving the hospital in Florida with my mother after i was born. We were by the front doors. There was a lot of yellow. I think it was my mother’s dress. I was on her lap and they had pushed in a wheel chair. A blue car drove up. I still remember who got out. That was the first time i saw my grandfather. There were only the females around; no other man. It would have been my grandmother and aunt and who would have been my older sister.
I remember my grandfather stared down into my face for a very long time.
It was summer Florida hot. We got into the back seat and I remember falling asleep.
I remember soon after my birth we flew to Jamaica. I remember landing, leaving the plane.
I remember Jamaica. We lived there for the first year of my life at the half moon resort. I remember the soft sand, the way the sheers that covered the windows would blow in the breeze. I remember my bassinet, it faced away from the patio.
i reflect on this really to remark and personally document because memories …. some get blocked …. some people can’t remember elementary school
like Persephone who has blocked the years of her life with me
i find this curious; perplexing; fascinating; horrifying
But scientific method has always been the tool we measure and drive this process
if my choice method to survive expected traumatic daily physical abuse without a single alley at home, what could I have chosen to use to get through the hours. the hours of bullying of a sibling who did it for sport with the parent’s encouragement, and no alley—it was mental. The mind. it was thoughts and dreams ….and mysterious magical sparking ‘visitors’ i was convinced spoke to me as a child. yes, i know it sounds strange but i did see stars that seemed to often visit me in the nursery and —warn me of my future as strange as i know that sounds. but i remember this still, and telling my mother when i learned to talk.
maybe they visit all children and only some of us remember.
my theory as to why i remember all these things so well—with the exception that makes the rule; the blocked memories— my educational guess is that it is connected to positive reinforced memory building.
My mother played Jamaican music for years after we left there. We were so happy in Jamaica. It was before the bad things began, before she went back to her husband. And still she played those records with the Jamaican tin drums, and the little hand made drums and the voodoo toys I would play. My mother kept photo albums by years. She filled the pages with dozens of beautiful photographs she took of our adventures and all accurately dated.
I miss those albums
I would spend hours looking at our pictures. remembering
