A past, something by our very existence we all have, but there are so very many of us with pasts that are sometimes best forgotten, or so you think. In 2006, I was at a red traffic light on my motorcycle minding my own, when I was involved in a hit and run, the car hit me from behind at over 160 kilometers an hour. Without getting into it, I was in ICU for a month and while it was touch and go for a while, I made it. There was apparently at the time no head trauma, and I don’t feel any different than before, but for one thing, my memory, seems a little weird. I remember the strangest shit, and lose some of the most important stuff, I can greet a friend by name, and while standing talking to them, try and introduce them to someone else and completely forget their name, but I’m completely of topic here again.
The past is what makes you, it connects you to the very fabric of who and what you are, it’s roots on a tree, from every little one, to every large one, it feeds the person you are, the way you react and behave. Yesterday, a part of my past spent time with me, a good friend, and without even getting into the past, which we did but without much depth, I felt connected again, like a warm blanket being draped over your shoulders on a cold night. There are things I’m proud of in my past, as well as some that I’m not very proud of, and those make me turn my back on my past, and that can’t be good. So I guess this rather deep musing is my way of saying that I’m gonna go face those angels…. and demons and make it all mine again.