Mute with wonder

I wish I could separate my life into neat little packets.  It would be so much easier to remember things, to learn them and relate them to the things I am supposed to. 

But my life is always spherical, whole, filled with depth and nuances and memories.  I don’t remember a line here or a word there.  I remember the feeling, the picture, the scene that soaked me up.  I remember moments from before one might think it possible, but I have trouble remembering the name of the person I met yesterday.

Each moment draws me in when I recall it and I melt slowly into thoughts of other times, similar places, familiar feelings.  It is all much too complicated to put down in one line or less.  Usually not even possible to mold into one thot or less!

I roll along “like a rolling stone” gathering mossy bits of history and songs and poetry and books and films and babbling, not like the mynah bird who is only repeating what it has heard, but like a pin cushion pierced by a million pins who is mute with wonder.