Memories

My earliest memories were those of travelling, literally wherever my mind wondered, I remember soaring through buildings, which remarkably were not solid. The journey was predestined but the underlying purpose was somehow hidden from me. No words were uttered, but surprisingly there was no need to accumulate knowledge or seek any explanation. My identity was minuscule, name, gender, possessions were not relevant. There was perhaps a rawness in my feelings which could be mistaken for innocence. Unlike dreams there was an awareness that this was indeed a higher reality. If I could have gazed into a mirror at that time, it is unlikely I would have recognised myself.

This other me was simpler but not in an immature way, it was just pure sensation. I remember the task of trying to understand what was happening around me, being bereft of any language to engage with anyone or anything. Ironically, I sense that birth and death are simply different sides of the same coin, and that birth in many ways is more traumatic, on entering an unknown and possible hostile environment; death for many will be returning Home. It is strange that these memories have in recent times become more prominent, perhaps suggesting that my own demise is not far away. It is with such thoughts that you realise that you do NOT own your own life but that it was simply loaned out to us; to be honest we all could have done so much more. We may worry if God’s love is strong enough to save us and then we recall the feelings we have towards our own loved ones and understand how superficial our own love is compared to His.