Dinosaur Past

I've been thinking a lot about my little sister lately. I catch myself worrying about her, wondering how she's coping, if she's managing, how she's dealing with such change and uncertainty in her life. If she's able to laugh and play and find peace. If she even wants peace.

I found this poem that I wrote her last October. I found it amongst old pieces of my past - letters, pictures, mementos. I have one small box of my last 34 years. Is that enough? Should I carry more with me? Is that external substance going to give me more? Or is what I can carry in my heart enough. Is what fills my soul all that I need? I wrestle with this. I used to be someone that needed to keep everything, lest I forgot. I still forgot. I still found joy in the moment. So do I really need any of it?

And yet, this morning, when I cracked open the rubber maid container labeled "For Mike" I had this dizzy sense of unearthing me. Of being an archaeologist and rediscovering my old bones, my old skin, dusting off parts of me that I had forgotten. Is this a constructive exercise? Is this something that I need to do every few years? Or is this journey going to bring to surface my forgotten sadness, pain, anxiety, disgust? Am I ready for it? I wonder.

Anyhow - to Lisa - wherever you are. This is for you. And for me.

"I came to the mountains to heal me
to connect with nature
and find some strength in the trees
that have been standing for hundreds of years
buffeted by the winds of time
to find some peace in the mountains
who have softened and mellowed, rounded themselves
carved out by water and tears.
to remind myself that there is a cycle
of life
and that in there, somewhere, I fit. And so do you.
And that maybe with my inadequate hand
I can reach for you and you can grasp me."

-lml oct 2006