Just thinking some thoughts inspired by the previous poem that I wrote on Valentine's Day. Let me know if this preface to the poem is interesting to you.
The most prominent thought in my head when processing the words below was this: a piece loped violently off the side of the block may may glued back, forced back, or strapped back, but can never be put back. Or restored. Or replaced with equal strength.
The roots of my mind absorbed somewhere along the paths of life the idea that all souls are given a finite amount of substantive material. This may seem far too abstract to even be helpful. Let me explain. The fact that our brains retain information about the past creates an irreversible imprint of the past on the vast walls of our minds. These imprints range in style, size, shape and color from clean and beautiful to dirty, stained, violent and sorrowful. The imprints may be anywhere within the elements of our mind that form the practical impetus for living daily life (both conscious and unconscious); their location is variable. However, their existence is not.
These challenging conclusions about reality naturally bring the thoughtful reader to an emotional corollary: The energy, creativity, and time that we give to others out of love or hate, out of enjoyment or obligation, out of distinction or triviality are not recoverable. These scents cannot be rebottled once they have been wafted into the air and absorbed by others. The scents may affect other people; may move them to action in either positive or negative ways. Yet, they will, for eternity, no longer belong to you.
The most appropriate and visible stage for this scripted play of life is that of love. The romantic kind of love. The love that each seeks with all their heart whether consciously or unconsciously. The love that may always grow to twice the size once previously thought to be its limit.
The opening lines of the stage play read thus:
"Ladies and Gentlemen; what you are about to see is real. The names of the characters have *not* been changed and the innocent have *not* been protected.
Truly, those who give will not get back what was offered up in love. The pieces of their hearts that were given away were traded away forever.
But this is no bad thing.
It is, rather, a testament to the grand adventure of loving another soul.
Remember, however, that pieces of the past will always remain behind. Some will be more influential than others. Some will be more painful than others. One or two special pieces will eclipse many of the bad ones with the light of truth or goodness or beauty.
And this is the element of living that brings so much meaning. It is the weight of these experiences that form the identity of our character."
We cannot be cut off from the past. It remains, but it does not reign over the present.
I am thankful for that truth.
The block may never look the same with a chunk from the side missing. Some blocks are smaller with many pieces missing; some are larger and still rather cube-esque. But their shape has been honed, refined, and crafted into a form of infinite originality and value.