Yesterday I bumped into some old writing; several thousand words chronicling the death of a decade which now looks like a worn out towel in my memory. It made me question love; why we need it, how to go about it, what it’s for, why bother the risks.
Last night I dreamt about an aging person; they were not male or female but more a mashing of all different family members and probably parts of myself. Nothing in particular happened in the dream except that we all stood around this vulnerable person exchanging telepathic memories of everything good and precious, kind and worthwhile about the lives we’d all been living. The most potent of those thoughts came from the resting, aged person. The point was, when you distill life down to its very essence, the intangible essential ingredient that makes life worth anything, is love.