Today I have been listening to the past talking to me. Looking for something on an old hard drive I rediscovered stories and poems, ideas and scripts written over the last ten years. There is simultaneously something comforting and disturbing in reading my own voice talking to me from the past. Some of what I think of as my recent struggles, are really old friends, companions through life. Some of the joys, so present at the time, would have been forgotten if I had not documented their existence.
I am left with a sense of importance in keeping going, writing every day, recording and sharing the experience of being me and always seeking to make the most of who I am in the world. I think it is important and if I say it is, then it is.
Stop and listen for the voice of your past.