If I Stopped Writing For You…

I am locked out of an old email address and I can’t decide how I feel about it.

There are some important messages there, important and meaningful but I can’t get access to them because I can’t remember the password.

I used it as one of my primary emails for a while and then decided I had too many and shifted away from it.

Moved some of the messages elsewhere, but not all…

Never thought I would forget the password or that AT&T would make it so damn difficult to reset.

This is not new, been fighting to get back in there on and off for several years and maybe I’ll yet figure it out. Maybe that Texas 2007 folder is stashed elsewhere and or maybe I’ll remember what I used a decade ago to lock it down.

Hard not to look back and think about how it chronicled some of the life changing decisions and hard not to shrug my shoulders because I absolutely haven’t lost everything.

And given I haven’t seen it in quite some time there might be more duplication of content than I recall.

Memories don’t die because of lack of direct access to records, there is an oral history too.

If I Stopped Writing For You…

Had a dream I was speaking with Brother Pablo about a poem I wrote called If I stopped writing for you.

He told me if you have never been vulnerable enough to feel like a woman could destroy you then you haven’t lived.

In the dream I nodded and said I understood and he asked who she is and who she was.

I smiled and said “if I stopped writing for you Brother Pablo you be disappointed but if I stopped writing for her, she’d feel anguish about missed opportunities.”

He said I ought not to wish that upon her and I said I didn’t and commented time is short.

When I woke I knew the dream contained far more dialogue and material than shared here but couldn’t remember what it was.

Even now these words are fragments of a faint recollection and potentially hold all of the accuracy of a dream partially seen and remembered.

Are these fragments of fiction or of experiences. Are they pieces of a puzzle lived or fantasy of a life once dreamt of.

Don’t know, can’t say.

Sometimes it is better to weave the word into the quilt upon the page and accept the gift they give of story with special thanks to artistic license.

Raise The Sails

Made a mental list of accomplishments and reminded myself of the gifts that were given and those earned.

Much gratitude granted for both as in many ways there is so much progress that I couldn’t have imagined before.

Pointed-and-clicked my way through Facebook and saw more pictures of the sons and daughters of people I know traversing through the holy land.

Some of these kids are absolutely passing each other on Masada, in Hezekiah’s Tunnel or on the street in Jerusalem.

Reminded me I have never been to Israel and not run into people I knew from different times and places in my life and figured these kids are doing the same.

Maybe I should have been braver and jumped at a few choices back then and in between the time that was and now is.

Maybe the maps on the table are enough to confirm that we have left the dock and are sailing towards new adventures and opportunities.

There is no doubt the change is upon us and the time is here to reach out for the brass ring.

The bells are ringing and the people are shouting about opportunity. Can’t close my eyes or plug my ears, can’t ignore and I won’t.