It seems incongruous that the funny feeling in your chest is seemingly the portal for old sensations the harbinger of echoes from past life experience. A tiny little invisible finger inserted deeply in a hidden fissure in the midst of tour breast bone tickling your heart when you open a dusty cupboard to pick up some implement of once everyday frequent use now deposed to its current long undisturbed stillness in place. It’s imprint revealed upon the wood from intervening eras gone undisturbed. That electric feeling that lights up the mind to a past instant. A casual glance from a long gone buried experience cached away for such a moment as this. That missing presence however, causing the sensation of electricity in a mental spark. So many such objects about this longing area held in memorandum. Curiously ignored in plain view. In part, out of an avoidance of an unwelcome final truth! In part out of a fundamental need within to be able at will to defy that same proposition. Caught in-between in a nether world of refusing to move on and just forget the whole thing. Perhaps a dank and musty fragrance to jump start one? To rekindle the impulse to push past the ever lingering sadness that marks the graveyard of the past where you fear to linger too long?
In the past there is an answer for the present. Like books on not unfamiliar topics by unfamiliar authors that remind one of their own once familiar likes and dislikes. Certain question never probed out of old family taboos never violated now revealing answers in clues never expected. The face value re-explored and what once seemed inflexibly arcane now being all to obvious. A favored dish. An old yellow solitary cup. Porcelain jingle bell follies of bygone aesthetic value. Stupid little worthless things purloined from the places unknown regaling a singular epiphany of another’s privately hidden moment. Keepsakes that at their time captured little parts of someone else’s soul. The must haves that once enclosed dwindled in importance replaced by others of later experience. Now an incoherent jumble of inexplicable artifacts each bundled into their appointed place crammed solid till even in their heyday, there was room for no more. This museum worthless to the outside world an odd mix of those long recited family incidents still remaining familiar in their constant telling. Yet entirely enigmatic past the boundary of those few recollected words. The trick being to carefully assize the event tied to the possession of each one in turn. The era versus the source of that unnamed one who was the facilitator of the remembrance. A holiday, a birthday, an anniversary. a trip! What occasion that might shed light on the effect it had on the receiver. The echo of comments well cemented in chambers down long abandoned corridors of contemplation providing a hint. The focal point of one’s own constant play as a child and certain items enshrined in memory under the vast dark gray ceiling housing the the many rows and rivulets of dormant long untested brain matter. That slow parade of a once and former life parading back again after a brief viewing to its appointed spot lost in time to once more to await its place in limbo known as forever.