Late February in Olema, 2012
Much of a truly gratifying experience rests in the remembering. Possibly fifty percent. Perhaps more.
These experiences, the best of them, cannot reach full potential before they are luxuriously looked back upon. And the most special keep giving. I return to them as I would a favorite painting in a museum. I drink them in again and again.
Sometimes I notice myself in the moment, tracing every line of what I see, hear, and feel. Drawing a picture I can return to later.
Nightmares are different. I know I want to leave them behind and I ignore them in hopes of their evaporating, but they beg to be shared. Sleepy and caught off guard, I often accommodate. Sharing the grief upon waking does not help it dissipate, even if the sharing is only with myself. Avoid any form of repetition. It deepens the scar.
But these discomforting dreams, they are persistent. I wake and they demand my attention. They toss colorful pieces of themselves up into the air and taunt my curiosity. Put me together. Make sense of me.