I wasn’t planning to write. I don’t know what I would write but I read something. I read something about being alive, being here, right now, in this moment. Part of being alive, for me, is writing: it’s where I remember, where I feel, where I unfold. Unfolding is slow, sometimes painstakingly slow. Something I haven’t allowed myself. Ancient Peoples set up physical remembrances: a pile of stones here, a carved tree there, each commemorating a significance, something they and the others shouldn’t forget. Today, I pile these words, on this page, my remembrance. When I pass by I’ll remember: Unfold.
Unfolding, and its slowness, reminds me of watching Bertha break through the north-end of her tunnel she’s been digging. One inch per minute. Painstakingly slow, but over time, stuff gets done! Wonderful reminder for me today. Thank you for writing.
YeaH! Undfolding! Love! Writing! Living! Hugs and kisses, food, laughs, tears! Yeee haaaaw!