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Remember your Zen training. THIS moment is the one to look at hard. When laughing around the table with your present family, why seek to be melancholy about your vague memories of your past one? (Well, because you're depressed.)

Childhood just gets farther and farther away, is all. We enshrine it as the origin myth of the Self, so when we lose touch with it (or just interest in it!) it feels like a kind of heresy, like "losing my religion." But there's nothing especially sacred about childhood, except the slowness of time and the vividness of the senses. Otherwise it's a fairly miserable time of life, as I remember it -- living utterly at the mercy of mastodons.


I'm not "seek[ing] to be melancholy" about my childhood (at least, I'm not meaning to). I'm just meditating out loud about the nature of memory. I guess I'm also living in fear that my brain follow's Ockie's contours, and that in 20 years or so, if I'm still lucky enough to be around, I'll start checking out. All the way out.


(Only David will get this): Asahselda selda selda asahselda selda selda....

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