Nostalgia – Redux

I’ve had a few quiet moments in my life recently, allowing me time to reminisce. I find myself becoming nostalgic about the roads I stomped growing up and the friends I knew. Nostalgia seems to have a beauty that is relegated to reflecting memories in an incomplete fashion; not with the wholesome clarity of a complete mirror of the past, but more rather a broken shard of that mirror. And, while memories have the ability to provide a liquid gloss over the actual events, I would not choose to remember them any other way because I am forced to fill in the gaps, allowing me some control over them.

Shakespeare wrote that; “There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” Once again reinforcing my belief that I am the controller, rather than the innocuous perceiver of reality.

There are people from my past that I miss with a pain that I keep buried in my chest. The heaviness weighs me down from time to time. Loved ones, family, friends. People who knew me intimately well.

Despite my gentle stroll into magic, even the strongest enchantment cannot give me what I want; an opportunity to be whisked back. Just for a moment, I want to stroll past someone familiar on a rainy London street to give them a nod and tell them that I am alright. That life is good and to thank them for the role they played in helping me get to where I am.

Perhaps this is why I am nostalgic, because when the lights are dimmed and the sound switched off, unplugging me from the humdrum of the world the only thing I am left with, is an imprint in my memory.

Exercise is a moving meditation, of sorts. When I pound the running track or sweat from using the punching bag I allow myself to switch the outside world off.

The movement, the thrusting heartbeat, the glory of taking my body deep within, creating a wholeness and unity between my limbs and my spiritual essence.

It allows me to glimpse a higher state of consciousness and grants me access to my desires, my dreams. And above all, it allows me freedom to remember.

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