shovels, digging up the past.

Digging through the past, successfully finding the now. Shovel load by load over my shoulder, there are many layers to get by. Rip out the weeds, down to the soil, bricks of clay for protection. Dig out the bones of who I once was and putting the gristle of life on them.
I found me again.
I am a friggin’ archeologist of the soul.
If only I wrote when I was a child, full of wonder and daring, looking at everything anew, learning how to walk again, to dance, to speak, to sing, to write.
And then I remember. Just a couple of years ago I couldn’t do any of those things, and had to relearn every. single. one.
Careful what you wish for, yes?

What were we when ‘impossible’ was not an option? The cliffs I used to jump off of into the sea are now closed. Too many injuries, too many deaths. Too much risk.
Too much life, exultation, living.
The dangerously narrow path that we rode on our bikes is now flattened for a private golf course – or was. I haven’t been there in years.
The fences I jumped walking to grade school, the life I lived without any type of helmet or protection on my skateboard, surfboard, and only a crossbar pad on my bike hoping my balls wouldn’t get crushed. Fuck life, protect the balls.
In dirt clod armies I almost lost an eye, cut above and below, the dirt wrapped around sharp cement. The scars are still there in my skin, the laughter in my soul. My right eye will always be a bit more protective.
I have been held under the sea by waves. I learned not to panic, but to open my eyes. Gods, what a beautiful world there. If only I had gills.
BREATHE. I didn’t want to come up – but there was always another wave to catch.

There always will be.

Give in to your passion, give into love, give into your heart. Look at how much you have fought for to bring you here.

I love you.

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