i am reduced to the ashes of memory.
breathing walls of life's vibrant pictures are consumed
by an endless gut of fiery present.
all that is left is an abstract skeletal frame.
a reminder, an evidence, of something that once was.
a burial, a death, of a life before, and a cold stark monument of rude lines and sketches,
empty and emotionless voids are now forever present.
what happened to my walls of past?
who's pictures of love and beauty and comfort were adorned.
they are reduced to the ashes of memory,
and i am watching them blow out of my hands.
and we curse this present for snuffing out our past.
and we embrace this present for the joys it brings today.
and we love this present and hate this present.
and it is greedy and it is giving.
and it is cruel and it is loving.
"who controls the past, controls the future, who controls the present controls the past"
but what if we can't control the present?
and what good are ashes to anyone?
i wrote this after hearing the troubling news that my childhood home was going to be demolished. this home is a symbol of my childhood happiness. the good times, when my mother and father and i were together.
for this monument and symbol of love and happiness in a home that i grew up in to come crashing down, would be no different to me than a sacred temple being pummeled to the earth.
i visited the place and was saddened to see some of the demolition had already begun....and then i recently heard some great news...the bank wouldn't finance the destruction of the entire property and so, the new owner rather than starting from foundation up, has decided to remodel the interior and leave the exterior.....oh happy day! what a great outcome!
i may not be able to control all the present circumstances that can possibly invade my past life...but perhaps god's ear is to the ground....
"d" is for demolition...
my wall, my writes...when i was about 6 years old i was in the craze of writing/drawing on everything. backs of leather couches, walls in the house, and here is evidence of one of my writings on the foundation of the garage wall.
i love that it has lasted the test of time. (you have to look closely to read "duston", and it may help to enlarge the image to see it better.)
my mom's writing in stone. "alanna" my daughter, is named after my mother "alanna".
my mom wrote this in the cement curbing of the house when they built it back in the 70's.
a tree in the backyard, which has dramatically grown in size since i was there.
a huge yuca plant in the front yard. my mom was a fanatical for the garden and she has since then passed away, plants such as these are an evidence of life she touched while she was here.
a used-to-be dog run.
my daughter playing on the seasaw my dad built and put in the backyard.