The adolescent poet no longer

“ ‘I wonder how it comes to this,’
The ex-adolescent poet mused,
Then turned away,
As something inside his head began to
Whisper.”

We all experience flash backs to earlier moments in our lives. Words and scenes can pop into our heads without warning, or as H.M. told his college counselor, “without warning, introduction or permission.”

We keep and value our photographs as management tools that we can use when we want to remember certain fun times with friends.

One of the many constant questions that kept H.M. company concerned the relationship between flash back, premonition, and time. If time was functionally linear, then of course, memory made sense. But was memory as reflex different from memory as habit? And weren’t they both different from deliberate musing? Or were they just variations? Either way it was strictly personal.

But how was premonition explained within the context of linearity and individual personhood? ‘If I walk, step by step’, he thought, ‘I can see where the sidewalk comes to an end, and I can turn at the corner to the left or to the right. But if I have no logical destination in mind, nowhere any plan of mine directs me to go, what decides which turn I take? And what sometimes causes me to be apprehensive about one direction or another? And not just in walking, but in everyday life, in stopping to see one thing or another, or one person or another…and what about the opposite, when I feel drawn in one direction or another. Those feelings can’t be explained by any stretch of sequential logic.

‘Logic twists itself to suit it own purpose,’ he thought, staring out of his dorm room window. ‘But logic can’t have a purpose. And it certainly can’t twist itself.’ He had not yet met the Mobius Strip that was knocking on the door of his mind.

“Can a descendant ascend?
Does that simply depend?
Is there always a beginning before
The beginning,
Does time ever end, or does it just bend?

We learn to be taught
And the lessons are fraught
With dangers unspoken
And promises broken.

Dimensions are lies
But spectrums are true.
Now return to the beginning,
Just me, and
Just you.
Adjust your dear mirror
To get the true view.”

(the next blog begins The Painted Mirror sequence)

 

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