Old Journals and the-way-back-then in the Now

I remember the decades ago of writing every bit of angst that drooled out of me, in journals that I have long since lost.  There is a part of me that would like to see what held me to all that youthful drive and desire of those yesterdays in the way back then.   Handwritten reams of strung together words that laid my life out on paper.  Back then, I didn’t share my journals.  Private, only for my eyes to reread, if I would have ever bothered to.  It was in the process of letting it all roll out on paper, getting IT all out of me in a spew of feelings that found writing a way in and a way out of my life.

This Year finds it closure soon.  A time that reminisce finds a place to linger and gives rise to what has gone before.  Much of that for me, will lay in the corners of what has been written for my eyes only, in the un-shareable stories that I will likely not read ever again;  Tho’ I will ruminate in the heart of them; in the birth, death, life of them, in the joy, sorrow, laughter and tears of them.

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There is no new year only new moments

pressed together one after the other after the other

In moon shine and sunlight, of darkness in the

Light of  all that has been seen as it rolls through and

around in the cycle of life, in the living of the moment

Gone are ‘The Days’ left for the stories to be told

In the history of what was and now is not

What was may have its linger only to hold

The past in some compartment stowaway

For what reason can only be told by the storyteller

Oh how well we hold to the story of a life as it’s been

And a life that might be to forget what IS

In each moment that gives of it’s self again and again

And all that Sunlight and Moonshine, and days

And more days to live this life till the breath of us leaves

And what matters on that last exhale is Love and peace