once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away

Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away...

Memories... They are darkness, they are countless... They are like echoes, and the overwhelming majority of them are barely perceptible... They knock, asking to come in, oh these chaotic stirrings... Pleasant and vile... The pull to go back, paired with the impossibility of doing so...

Go back where? And where does such a desire even come from? Is it because the order inside has been disrupted? Or because something precious has been lost, as if shattered into pieces, giving rise to a feeling of loss and separation from the whole? What is so hard about remembering? What keeps you from pulling yourself together? And would that even be enough to restore the lost fullness of the moment?

Blinders, blinders on the heart — it is the heart that plays the key role here, without the heart, remembering becomes a dry recitation of facts... That notorious here and now, that beauty of the moment... Without acceptance, without truly penetrating the memory, it is impossible to connect with the whole. And memories never left you — they were always here, where else could they go? They don't have legs to walk, they aren't even material... Do memories even exist? Or is this just a way of talking about the past?

Something else has been lost, and it is not memories at all... It is the feeling of home, which is that very heartfelt presence in the moment... It is you who left, and you who erected this fence — you, the renegade, who traded the true and eternal hearth for cowardice and endless wandering in an unconscious search for a surrogate, a copy, a fake... You have things to hide, to defend, to protect... Coward... Fugitive... Liar...

To remember means to bear responsibility for what happened to you then and continues now... Yes, all of this happened to you. The light of the divine source — which is Nature in all conceivable and inconceivable senses — poured into you, and you lacked the strength to conduct it, to merge with it, to become one with it.

You did not carry the beauty of the moment, and now it smolders within lonely walls... You are a greedy inquisitor of music... You occupied the beautiful, depriving it of air... You chose to build a wall and move into yet another bubble of perception, utterly forgetting who you are and WHAT YOU ARE...

Accept yourself, then, o wanderer!
Your home awaits you...
Come home
and you will
no longer have
to run...

A conversation with myself (from the journals).

Arthur O'Harra.