Posted by: Ron DuBour | May 25, 2018

Experience is invaluable (..change is the only constant)~by Mary Gosling


 

 

Experience is invaluable (..change is the only constant)

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There was a time when smiling about it, about him, when this bittersweet nostalgic tug at her heart would have seemed impossible, when the thoughts, like heavy weights, pulled her down, pinned her to an ever moving, unstable ground, where, knowing meant knowing nothing at all, where confusion bred even more smog, and the whole world turned into a minefield.
And before that…well, before, that’s history, as they say,with yesterday’s pain, today’s lesson, nothing more, nothing less, significant in itself, to her, and her alone, and utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A satisfactory, peaceful, and yes, loving point of view, she came to feel as the months went by, and the distance grew between them.
Growth, a new line at the corner of her mouth, a few strands of silver in her hair, a deeper curve when the eyes smiled, a lighter touch on the soul, for a while, until the fine dust settled on those memories moved from her heart, and stashed safely in the attic of her mind, made it all worthwhile, for a tigress wears her stripes with pride, it’s her history, it’s her character that’s on display, her journey, and she was at peace with that.
Time turned out to be a healer, and she used it wisely, she mourned every cut, not because they hurt..oh, how he misunderstood her tears..they didn’t hurt, there were others before him who cut her heart in the same places…there were others before him..no, she cried because he turned out to be one of them, always one of the others, not better, not worse, not different. Scenes played out inside her eyes before they even happened with him, because they have happened with others, already, in another life, it felt, although it could have been this one, but she has travelled far away since, she lived not even a remotely reminiscent life of what it was, of cuts, and hurts, and mournings, so when it happened again, it felt more a deja vu, then a surprise.
“Fool…don’t say that..don’t do it..you’re killing the possibility of us..” she wanted to tell him back then, everytime he went a little further. Instead she watched how far he’d go, if allowed, if given power. She wanted to see, would he be aware of the potential damage done to another? would he be responsible enough to own up, if made aware? would he be emotionally mature enough to make amends? She got her answers, in the end.
Look at that, she thought, history truly has a beautiful and a horrible quality to itself. It already happened. It’s gone, whatever was, whether we loved it or not, whether we learnt from it or not, whether we preserved it, or not, we’re freed from the moment, to live others, hopefully pleasant, hopefully constructive, hopefully alive, and that was all that mattered in the end..everything she thought she’d lost, she was recovering slowly, her motivation, her privacy, her body, her mind, her means, her wholenessness.
Nothing, nothing is ever lost, she rejoyced, as she came to find pieces of herself in every corner of her consciousness. Gathering them, like flowers in a basket, to build her beautiful bouquet, again, became a new adventure, in which every day is bringing new oportunities to show up, bravely, and charter another piece of the great beyond, guided by her torch, a lit up bundle of experience, for which, she was,very grateful.

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