OUR FALLEN LEAVES   

 

Far into the undergrowth of our memories, the vegetation of our pasts, beneath the event trees of our lives, lie, like fallen leaves, residual memories of our happenings. Most are curled up and dry, husks of what they once were. Some have been blown so far and wide they may be impossible to recall. Some are of such mystery that they may not even be truly ours. Most are spasms of random imagination once infused with life. Some are residues of our current thoughts regarding the day’s happenings.

 

We may have among them tales and commentaries, efforts of ours that imbued the floating shards in our mind with the living juice of life. Sometimes they  came alive, have breath, and show the true colors they had, may have had, could have had, at the instants of their being. We cannot guarantee that these memories of our pasts will in future always have exactly the same shape and size, or even the same shade, given the vagaries of  memory. If we remember them again, they have a new kind of life, even a different kind of life. Will they still have value? Should we be examining them regularly in our constant search for value? Are there still others interested in examining the detritus of our minds?

 

This could be our story at any stage. Aren’t we always eager to have someone interested in what’s going on, has gone on, in our lives? Do we always want to share? When we are in mid-stride we may have more to hide than we have later, with so many of our things just in the ripening stage. Yet we are sometimes interested in sharing, just because we are looking for good advice without ever asking. When we are younger there may be not that much on the ground in the fallen leaves department, but whatever is there is O so relevant for the content of what may be of future importance.

 

Now that we are older, don’t we still wish we could tell those stories to those around us who might still be interested? Those we hope they might still be interested! We have all heard the stories about old curmudgeons and their eternal mumblings about stuff we have not the least interest in. Is that where some of us are, running off at the mouth about stuff no-one has the least interest in? Didn’t we think that was O so sad when we were the victims of others’ attention? Is that where we are currently at?

 

Are we still cogent enough to transmit messages that might capture the interest of a random listener? Do we have something to tell that might be useful to someone? Can we extract something useful from our pasts that might offer a learning experience for others? A tough question for us to answer when beauty lies only in the eyes of the beholders. We can’t but be ego-driven, a state not necessarily offering us an environment for a cool judgment. Shall we let the chips fall where they may and blurt out our offerings? Maybe we should let others ask the questions. That might be a measure of the level of interest in our fallen leaves.

 

Any questions?