We’ve been held hostages of our memories for far too long.
Far more, way longer than what I’d care to remember, to be honest… Every now and then an image of a familiar situation pops up into my mind, and that drags with me a little bit more than just my attention. It also does drag my intention, together with some wishful thinking that by some sort of magic we could render the past back up again.
Truth is: we couldn’t.
And even then if we did it, somehow by some sort of miracle, it doubtfully would ever feel the same, or look the same. But then, we do like to reminisce, to expect that, in some way, shape or form the fantasies we have been conjuring inside of our own minds do look indeed better than the stuff we have today.
Maybe at some point we had that. Now, then, not anymore.
Just then previously, I can think of a few situations where that makes sense, people we’ve met, people we’ve hanged together with, even had intimate relationships with. All of this, sometimes, comes up convoluting inside my memories somehow.
And I still do wish for them.
Even though they are and will never come to reality (I’ve made a previous post also tackling this matter). But the fact of the matter in here, is not so much that those will never come in any way, but far worse…
It is that those, somehow, seem to never leave us away, anyway.
It comes back, again, and again, and again, yet again. Memories brought to life, little pieces of our past, things that made us think upon our values or choices, or even our vices which we just refuse to let go.
Locked…. inside…. this cage… again…
Artillery - Infected Mushroom
It is just like that. With us, getting locked, over and over again into these cages of insatiable longings. Trying to find some way, a way to fix the present by coming back to the past (or back to the future), just because the present, as it is, doesn’t really seem to satisfy us, that much.
And, a funny thing to consider, is that, if we point this line of thought into that direction (the direction of the past that is) the reciprocal is also true. The past did maybe, satisfy us just as much, or even less. The same things that we fault our present for, our past is also guilt of it.
Not giving enough.
But for some sort of ludicrous lunacy upon our part, we like to believe that it did. That it always did, in such a way…
But… if it ever did accomplish such a feat, then… Tell me, my fellow reader, I beg you to just fucking tell me… Would it then have sufficed up to now? If it had, indeed been sufficient as our mind likes to trick us into believing… Would that have lasted up to now, and we then in the meanwhile wouldn’t even dare or need to reminisce the very past from which we begrudge it could have satisfied us so much with?
That is how, in some part, how our (or at least my) mind operates. But when we point some sort of consideration upon it, it just doesn’t ring true.
Oh mind… You liar.
Deceiver of sorts.
Breaking us into thinking that things would have any sort of everlasting experience.
That the past would hold such an essence capable of … fulfilling us.
But instead, we are just left wishing.
We are just left being hostages of our own very past.
Hostages of our memories.
Oh, well, that is some thoughts for me to consider.
I guess that is enough for today, my friend.
I wish to see you soon.
Thanks for leaving this space open to bring me some sort of reflection.
Have a good one.
Paece.