Life fades. The normal course is not to have things ripped away. Trauma comes in ripping, but the fading leaves quietly without notice. In peaceful moments, I often mark time with the thought: This is life... my life.
True and not true. It is, and it isn't.
For, Experience reminds me that I can no more hold onto the present than I can grasp falling water. Passing over fingertips, effects are felt, but don't remain. Every present is a part, a series of weavings that one day… Continue