Recalling

Every time I recall an experience in my life, I am always there to tarnish the memory. If I could only get out of the way of my memories, I am sure that I could recall a few good ones. Memories that would cause me to feel good about myself and not fill me with self-disappointment and regrets.

All day long I live with myself, and the nights have no place of escape for me, but I cannot think of anyone else that I would rather be on this temporal of orbiting death. Everyone carry their own set of weights and measures, and I know that many are more burdensome than mine. Not that knowing this makes me feel better about myself, but it helps me to be realistic and not waste allot of time weeping all over myself for myself.

A frog jumped into a pond and would have drowned had not another frog jumped into the pond and rescued it. As the years have passed the frog that nearly drowned often ponders of how much foolishness, hurt, and feelings of inadequacy would have been alleviated had not the frog on shore decided to be a hero. As the frog was drowning it first experienced terror and then a great sense of peace. Enveloped in this sense of peace the frog begin to recall episodes in its life. Nothing but good did the frog recall while reliving only memories harmonizing with the sense of peace that it felt, only to be plucked out of the water by the paragon of heroism and set on shore very embarrassed.

One good point amid a thousand blunders overwhelms every recall. A smile blurred by the continuation of thoughts. Shutting down the processes of recall as an escape technique from remorse. What is that reflection looking back at me from the plain glass window, and does it have any memories of life experiences? How easily it is distorted and even goes away with so little effort while reflecting the surface of the shell and not it’s memories.

If I choose to, I could make every effort to recall only the good points in my life but to do so I would not be honest with my life experiences and would restrict the learning process. Yet who am I to think about myself as the window will not open and the door is falling from the hinges? Who am I to recall anything when I am one cough away from death on an orb that is so heavily contaminated?

Every time I remember I do my best to shake those thoughts away, knowing that they will only lead to a feeling of shame and remorse. Shame and remorse of things I cannot change and moments I cannot relive. Denial of my past is not my intent because I want to be my most fervent witness against myself both bad and good.

It is just that the little good in my life is so overwhelmed by the not so good in my life that it makes recall painful and there is no way to manipulate that equation. My only hope is that in another sphere of consciousness, or dimension if you want, I have fared much better than in this realm of consciousness. If not, oh well.