scattered pictures

Ever drive by your old house, run into an old friend,
or smell something familiar and instantly you are sucked into a vacuum of time?

~ ~ ~

Memories are like airports.

You either can't wait to be taken away by them or you dread the thought of them.

Perhaps you left someone behind.  

Maybe they left you.

For a short while,

for a long while?

Either way, 

there you are - there they are,

being sucked high up into the atmosphere

in a thin metal tube,

in and out of your memory radar.

In an instant, 

loneliness creeps in and aches through your body like a dull heartbeat thud.

WAIT! COME BACK!

Don't go.

Stay right here where it's safe inside my head.

Who cares if you're delayed.

I need you here, delayed,

not there on someone else's good timing.

Of course I love you!

What?

Let you go, then?

Set you free?

Release the suction from my memory capsule?

How do I do that?

How does desperation make room for rationale?

Alright then.

Hold my hand,

sweet memory of mine,

and help me let you go.

If we only have what we remember,

then what would I have left of you?

Can you give me a sign that you're still here,

old memory in my head.

Do you remember me?

I've grown up a little.  A lot.
I was the girl who slept inside your walls,
the teenager who drove you when you were brand new.
The one who appreciated your smell before she knew how to appreciate.
The woman who remembers you.

Your plane is waiting,

right there next to my soul.

You can get on it, 

I understand.

Have a seat near the wing.

Pay attention where you took off

and where you will land.
Hold onto your compass.

And remember me too,

as the one who

held onto you 

even 

when

you

forgot.


~ L ~

if you grow on a vine....

You may not be into wine,

but consider the grape that is....

I am fascinated by the similarity of the wine making process

to that of the nature of a human being,
and to how we keep our souls alive on this Earth.

Alone we are one grape but collectively we are a magical and fascinating science of fermentation, of history, of love.

Consider what makes great wine.

A great chateau, prime soils that have been perfectly groomed throughout centuries, the location on the Earth which shelters the grapes from strong winds.

But then consider the human factor - the love that is given to the vines

like the gesture when each berry is carefully picked and treated with respect.

You are the grape.

Thomas Duroux, CEO of Chateau Palmer in France looks at a grape that was grown on a vineyard that is over 400 years old.

He says,

"Ah, I know you so well, I know your soul, I know your character,

but what do you want to tell me this year?"

While you are the same shape, the same fruit, from the same soil in the same spot,

You have evolved so much. Your history and all of the facts say so much about your DNA and how you taste, yet this year you are different than the last.

The grape is picked off it's life line, it's pressed for it's inner juice.

What is released from within you?

What gives?

Are you bitter because you were trapped in dry, dark soil 

or are you sweet because you felt so loved and grounded in this rich blackness?

The cork is pulled and parts of you are shared with millions

waiting to experience your beauty, 

waiting to judge your taste.

In this fleeting moment where you are so vulnerable with all your insides exposed,

you realize what an impression you can make on one person.  On many.
Your raw inner beauty is appreciated by so many because it's such truth.
It speaks louder than the hills you were grown upon and the name stamped on your bottle.

And once the last bottle of your soul has been opened and consumed,

it cannot be redone. 

It has lived and told stories and eventually that year is a collective memory of a generation.

How that one person remembers your uniqueness that night...

how he still thinks about you when he's an old man and he speaks of you as way more than just a memory...... 

How she remembers that year the grape was so special it won awards....

She even describes you as a musical symphony to her senses.....

....that is how you were known,
that is why you were here
and why you always will be.

~ L ~