it’s only in adulthood (perhaps it’s the truest sign of adulthood) that we become able to compose the mythical childhood we ought to have lived to make ourselves more perfect. listening now, cripplingly home-bound, to “freewheelin’”, I think of growing up in the spaces of minnesota and south dakota, the poetry of northern solitude crushing any hope of my own authenticity.

reincarnation must bring an unconscious memory of these sought-after pasts, if our future lives are not to lapse into cruel repetition and late regret.

::

(note for bunny-watchers: she’s headed off to pakistan. many, many thanks for sharing your stories with me.)