Caruth Conversations

Mother:

 

          The past... what to say about it..? That is a good question. I have found it to be quite a phenomenon. It comes to me at times as a thing of weight. And weight gives it its facade of importance, but yet, seemingly, I can clearly live without it. During most of the days, it is never felt nor thought about. But by golly... it is a sneaky thing, because truly it shows up everywhere. Seemingly weightless, it creeps into my daily life. It is an infiltrating object, a penetrating, obnoxious, persistent entity.  Yep... now that I am writing about it – that is what it feels like: an entity. A faceless image, but with her tentacles touching everything, coloring it with her stubborn substance. I don’t feel, for instance, last year or the year before, or the year before that. But the mirror tells me such a different story, that unfortunately, I have to believe that she, the past... is somewhat of a real thing. Uggh... how annoying. I can’t grab her and tell her to go away... nope, she sticks around and makes herself known in a thousand ways.  The phone rings and I hear a familiar voice, and yes, there she is... she is reminding me of everything that this person has said to me, done to me, what I thought of her last week, last month, last year.., etc., etc., etc. And then here comes any kind of “work” that I need to do, and she (the Past), has engrained her stamps on everything that I perform. A thousand thoughts running through my head, how I should be doing it better..! Better would not exist if “she” (the Past) wasn’t here! I find this an amazing scenario... her cloak covers everything. At closer look, I see that this is unavoidable. And so there has to be a good reason for her existence… nothing is created for nothing, I believe. I decide to have a more gentle approach to her and look for the advantages of her domineering nature. Ah, yes, of course, she also has a teaching in it for me. She reminds me of the pains of the yesterdays, the joys of times gone by, and allows me to see the whole kaleidoscope of stacked up feelings and emotions. As I now dress her up in a lightweight image of a butterfly, I detect a playfulness, and with that, my restrained reaction gives way to the open acceptance of the great potentials that she is actually indicating to me. Instead of rebelling against the remembrance of negative feelings, I see the chance to leave aside the fear of those repeated emotions and openly invite in the brightness of this new moment... aha... this is her true teaching: I can choose anew… I can embrace the one that I have talked to many times, but now see her as a new and fresh person, who also is different from yesterday... and I can embrace the image in the mirror, which is different from yesterday, but totally new today.

        The Past metamorphisized from the dense weight clinging onto me, into the light weight of a sweet reminder that I have choices... I like it... she is welcome.

 

Son:

 

Past

 

What can I say about the past?

I can say that it has passed.

Sometimes slow, sometimes fast.

How much of it can I actually recall?

Just a tiny fraction, hardly anything at all.

Just moments or events at extremes of emotion,

Like waves or eddies on life’s great ocean.

The peaks and valleys of joy or sorrow,

Everything in between, forgotten tomorrow.

There are many things that I miss about being a child.

From my mother’s daily kiss, to my sister’s familiar smile.

In a way, it feels like a more real time.

Fully engrossed in play, more vivid was the mind.

When things hurt, they would hurt much more.

A tender heart exposed to feelings galore.

There was a fullness to this family life,

That now gives me longing for children and wife.

Reliving this past, alas, it has gone.

Who knows what will last, or be the morrow’s dawn.

We want to hold on to what has no handle.

But it lives on like the glow of a burnt out candle.

Time is like a row of endless screens,

We can look in any direction, and choose the scene.

No matter where we choose to focus,

There is something here that we don’t always notice.

There is this place where all time, memories, and connections converge.

Always the same face, infinite discoveries, and reflections to purge.

When I meet you there, more real than anything I’ve known.

Stillness in the air, far beyond what can be shown.

Though memory has its jars of nectar to taste.

This fire of loving presence lays it all to waste.

I wish this for every human to know,

This place of love, this place of flow.

How do we actually set to track

A place that we never truly lack?

Is it a touch of grace, or should we be fearless,

To reveal this place, that we deem so precious?

Maybe it’s both, I don’t really know.

I simply just asked, and it started to show.

Once you get a taste, it would be silly to go back.

That would be a waste, reliving patterns of past.

Love eternal awaits every soul.

Surrender to its call, be made whole.

Asking for help, don’t worry, it’s really ok

Sometimes we need a loving hand to show us the way.

This hand of which I speak, is metaphorical indeed.

It reaches from everywhere, when we seek in need.

Do not fear to look weak, or from the eyes bleed,

For it is the humble and meek, that are unchained and freed.

Be free, be free at last,

Nothing can harm one untethered from past.