It is important to integrate the volume of thought to the nothingness of being.
I will see then, that the room I live in is more than I thought and greater even than that. There are very soft and quiet things to do that are the opposite of what I have been told to do, which is why life has not been comfortable. Power is not found in effort. There is unlimited power in silence. In my silent mind.
Memories are distinct, they resonate with feeling. There are memories of yesterday and more yesterdays that control my life today. But life is not memory, there is no clutter in the simple Present. Nothing can be done with memory but make me create within its margins. My memories have colored what is new and fresh with what is no more. And maybe never was as I remember. I am told to make memories. So many people say this. They become upset if you don’t agree so I find myself writing gingerly today as if staring down a taboo. How sincere are people. How attached to their minds. How reliant on their memories for a sense of self.
As I stand three paces from my memories, I will always remember what to do. I will follow the natural laws of any world I live in and remain in a safe universe. Memory is for this purpose. I want to use it for this purpose. I know each day begins as an open, unwritten book. The Book of My Life. Each page offers a brightness of possibilities. Each page is a waiting story of curiosity and surprise. My curiosity and my delightful surprise. Why bring in the past as an established and eternal reality? Even a sweet one? Today has a sufficiency untapped.
This morning as I wrote and drank my coffee, I learned that I give memories importance because other people do. And only for that reason.