This morning I was getting ready, but I had the strange urge to go digging.
I had to go trough all my old things, as if I had to hunt for something.
A cat chasing a mouse, but then I did not know really what I was hunting for.
I just had this strange and mysterious urge.
I climb up the ladder, the narrow flimsy ladder that leads up the attic
filled with boxes. I open them and find books - so many books!
I don't even remember reading them.
Although, when I would hold one of the books I would often feel something,
or see something. As if there was a shadow, an imprint of a feeling,
left somewhere in my soul from having read those books.
Things like that make you think twice about what you decide to expose yourself to.
Deep down in one of the boxes I find letters to one of the foster families we
supported when I was little. Foster Parents is great in a way to connect. It opens a doorway
to another world for a child that is living in the inner city. Hearing of towns in forests
and jungles is something hardly imaginable. Nature today is boxed in concrete
Have you ever felt that you had to go dig into your own past?
I found a note to myself and clues to myself left to me by my younger me
in case I would forget.
I still remember opening the book
but where did I put it. Memories sometimes you only have an imprint of a
memory of the memory left. Time is a way to travel, if you have a
memory. If you don't then you are stuck hunting like me I guess.
