Every night and every day in our mind we replay scenes from the days that are gone. Every new person we meet reminds us of someone else we used to know – either they are so alike, or they are so different. Every dream, every nightmare is a mix of our experiences so far in life. Every new sight reminds us of those that are behind us.
Something I did yesterday.
Something that had happened to me in childhood.
Something my child said when he was two years old.
Something our parents taught us in our teenage.
Something my mother said had happened to her in her childhood.
“I remember the time…”
The past is our reference book, our almanac, our dictionary, our thesaurus, our diary, our handbook, our newspaper.
It is the railings that we hold on to for dear life.
Without it, we cannot go on, we are unable to connect the dots of our present and future.
The present slips so quickly into those pages, adding to the infinite source of our memories, punching another dot in the thread, providing guidance as we travel on…