Monday, February 16, 2004

_______Time now: 21:19. Weather, cool, partly cloudy. In the reconstruction of the life, one finds bits and pieces in the oddest places. In this case, in boxes stowed on the glassed-in porch, in a box marked "Alaska," which also had someone's name, whom I didn't recognize, but which seemed familiar. Ah well, no matter...
_______On little office notepads, with an airline's name and logo, I find written notes, in a style not too different from Papyrus:

The process
of coming to believe
restores me to sanity

Sanity=clean living=wholeness.

=>This belief gives strength
to move into action,
so that I may initiate my
next step on my road to recovery.

_______What one may ask, was I recovering from?

Let me count the things: Catholicism
Mother
Father
anger
depression
Social Democracy
a university fraternity which will remain for now, un-named
a college-era romance gone sour
violence
self-hatred
class hatred
racism
latent memories of genocide
Mother's stories of revolution and exile
underachievers
Judaism hidden within Christianity in order to survive
joblessness
homelessness for 12 years
a deep yearning for love, knowing love

______And so it is, seemingly, ad nauseum, from the surface of the well of memories.

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