The wind had stopped. Now there was silence, and as the ash settled I saw what had happened.
Every trace - every little trace of the place was gone, exploded into nothingness. And for a moment in that dazed silence, with no sound apart from the ringing in my ears, and this ambiance in the air, I felt new again.
That place was gone, but I wasn’t. I wept.
And at that moment I looked towards the heavens. I don’t know what made me do it, but I almost knew something was being given to me. A piece of paper it seemed, floating, whimsically floating down towards the earth, dancing, and then settling so softly down on the ash covered ground. I picked it up and blew.
A photograph. A beautiful windy day. A teenage boy and girl - a couple for sure. I remember as if from another lifetime. The teenager was my best friend - my significant other. The other child, the younger face was my own. I turned the picture over, and on the yellowed paper was written October 1950. I turned it over again and as I did so the memory flooded back to me like water filling a pond, and I was overwhelmed.
That day we were at his mother's house, she was in the house to the side of the picture, she’d made "mokimo". Who took the picture? I don’t remember.
I was happy that day. I was the happiest I had ever been. During that time of my life, like no other, I was absolutely content. And I believe I took a picture in my heart. But, over the years I was robbed of that beauty and innocence. It was stolen and replaced with anguish and gloom.
But now the fields are gone. And with the ash that floated down from the heavens I was returned what was mine.
The wind blew again and for an odd reason, I let the decaying piece of paper go with it and released myself from this place - from these memories.These memories that mean everything in the grand scheme. These are the blueprints of my happiness.
That photograph showed me something: By letting it go it all gets done. That unfulfilled desires are good in the big plan - they let us remember but help us forget.
Every trace - every little trace of the place was gone, exploded into nothingness. And for a moment in that dazed silence, with no sound apart from the ringing in my ears, and this ambiance in the air, I felt new again.
That place was gone, but I wasn’t. I wept.
And at that moment I looked towards the heavens. I don’t know what made me do it, but I almost knew something was being given to me. A piece of paper it seemed, floating, whimsically floating down towards the earth, dancing, and then settling so softly down on the ash covered ground. I picked it up and blew.
A photograph. A beautiful windy day. A teenage boy and girl - a couple for sure. I remember as if from another lifetime. The teenager was my best friend - my significant other. The other child, the younger face was my own. I turned the picture over, and on the yellowed paper was written October 1950. I turned it over again and as I did so the memory flooded back to me like water filling a pond, and I was overwhelmed.
That day we were at his mother's house, she was in the house to the side of the picture, she’d made "mokimo". Who took the picture? I don’t remember.
I was happy that day. I was the happiest I had ever been. During that time of my life, like no other, I was absolutely content. And I believe I took a picture in my heart. But, over the years I was robbed of that beauty and innocence. It was stolen and replaced with anguish and gloom.
But now the fields are gone. And with the ash that floated down from the heavens I was returned what was mine.
The wind blew again and for an odd reason, I let the decaying piece of paper go with it and released myself from this place - from these memories.These memories that mean everything in the grand scheme. These are the blueprints of my happiness.
That photograph showed me something: By letting it go it all gets done. That unfulfilled desires are good in the big plan - they let us remember but help us forget.
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