Thoughts about the past, which are the barest representation of what occurred, only a tiny sliver of the truth, dig their teeth into me. I recall haunting fragments. But these thoughts are occurring now–always now, always new–never the same thought, even if it looks the same. Brand new.

The train of thoughts barrels past; the deep vibration rattles the ground I stand on. But I can let it rumble on by, not leap to catch the caboose railing. Often, I notice that I’ve been chasing after the train–desperate to catch it–sure that replaying new versions of an old occurrence will bring about a change. Not true! Not possible!

Best to meet the new, fresh moment with curiosity. Bow to the grace that it is.

© Skye Blaine, 2011