Chaotic Gibberish

I haven’t always been who I am today. It’s a surreal experience when you realize, that moment you changed, that moment you transformed and recreated yourself has already passed. Perhaps it’s not a moment, but more likely a process taken over a long period of time. That sounds more realistic. I’m not so sure though. When I look back and think about where I was a year ago, I find a cheeky grin slowly taking over my face. Who was that girl? She masquerades as me, yet I don’t recognize her. Are they still called memories if all you’re left with are a string of images but none of the feelings associated or attached to them? It’s like watching a foreign film with the wrong subtitles. Gibberish. Chaotic gibberish. That’s what these memories are to me.

Who is that girl? She seems lost. I know why, but I can’t seem to remember that feeling anymore. I want to know what that felt like. I want to remember. I never want to forget. I can find myself caught in the rain; drenched, but I don’t feel wet. I don’t feel the cold. Is it weird that I want to be able to feel that pain again? That I want that association? That connection with the seemingly empty muted hollow reflections of my past.

Who is that girl? I want to know her. If I’m thirsty enough and I dig deep enough, will I find spring water? If I find her, will I know how to handle her? What if I never find her again? A constant elephant in the room. Although she finds home in my heart, I just can’t figure out which damn room. Maybe she hides, or maybe she’s constantly on the move.  Sometimes it’s hard to know whether there’s still something buried and boiling underneath it all or whether it no longer exists because you've evolved and overcome. I can’t assume one or the other. I can’t afford too. It’s easy to roll with it and not look back but just run ecstatically when you’re on a particularly good high. I’m not getting off this ride; I’m just stopping to ask for directions and to make sure I have enough fuel to keep me going. I will not be lost and I won’t be stranded. Happiness isn't something I chose, I felt happy. I continue to feel this way and I choose to stay on this path.

 But I want to know her. I feel like we can and should use our past, not lock it up and leave it behind. We are continuous, we are ongoing. We don't stop or stand still and start over, we are endlessly ever changing. We accumulate. We are all hoarders of our own thoughts, desires, fears, memories, experiences. You're not who you were or who you will be or even who you are right now; you just are. You are fluid. You are a stream and your rivers run deep.

I need to know her. There won't be any surprises on this trip; no blind spots or loose ends. I want the control.

Who is that girl? I don't just want to see you, I want to feel you.

Chaotic gibberish. 

_______________________________________________________

“Oh soul,
you worry too much.

You have seen your own strength.

You have seen your own beauty.

You have seen your golden wings.

Of anything less,

why do you worry?

You are in truth

the soul, of the soul, of the soul.” 

- Rumi