I’m not too sure how my memories are stored, but I can say with almost 100% certainty that it doesn’t involve a filing cabinet. In fact, I’d say any method of organization has been thrown out of the window for the sake of something more reminiscent of the bedroom belonging to a teenager, or a toddler.
(Do bedrooms actually belong to toddlers? I mean, at what point does a child get to say, “This is MY room”? Does the state of ownership ever leave the hands of the parents, or are we merely renting? This is the shit I think about.)
I’m standing inside of a snow globe. As far as I can tell, this is the best, if not only way for me to describe how the inside of my mind feels. My actions, thoughts, words, impulses and memories spend their days zipping around my consciousness like snowflakes, all because somebody or something opted to shake the damn thing around. Right when I’ve got my eyes on one of the flakes, it disappears into the mist of a thousand others.
However, on very rare occasions usually accompanied by disaster, the dust settles down into heaps on the ground and I am free, if only for a moment, to rummage through them for remnants. I have to be quick, though! Who knows when everything will be flipped upside down again?
It’s usually at these times, when we are allowed this small period of time to look at the rubble that surrounds us, that we find out who we really are. Oh, how we wish the flakes would stay still for just a moment longer, so we could arrange them how we wanted. If only we could bring the more beautiful ones to the top, keeping the sad and ugly buried underneath. But before we know it, everything is upside-down once again.
We have zero control over the snow globe, and we should all be thankful for that.
Because the automatic truth is that every single one of those flakes, however hated, is beautiful. Not because of the way it looks, or the way it makes us appear to others or to ourselves, but very simply, because it is there at all. You see, our parents, whether you call them by the names of gods or chemicals, have yet to turn over ownership of this consciousness.
Everything is for rent and we are the borrowers.
We are the chosen.
We are the ever changing.
We are the existent.
We are the flakes inside the snow globe.
So in all our endeavors, no matter the danger or hardship, let’s not forget how beautiful it is to be anything at all.
Listening to: “Scientist,” by SONOIO (Daniel Myer mix)