Flashback 2018: A year of quiet Rebirth

I DON‘T even remember 2018 at all. I know I lived through it. And when I look through my blog I see evidence of the fact that I was alive in that year and all the things I wrote. But I can‘t remember any details from 2018 at all. My memories end in 2017 and start again in 2019.

How is that possible?

I can‘t remember the doing of anything I did. But I remember the final forms of the things I did, yet not the sensation of doing them — almost as if I was not there, but was engaged in a year-long process of deep reflection. All I can remember is how I intuitively FELT. Like one unending tone of Dead, painstakingly rising back to life. A year of quiet rebirth.

PS – Just so you understand what I mean: 2018 was the year I cut my hair and got my glasses. The end of an Era and beginning of a new. The outer changes were symbolic of an inner transformation. A kind of metamorphosis, which I silently went through. And when you’re done you look back across the bridge of change at your former self and marvel at the magic of change, how you seem to sleep through it. And the poet in me asks myself: So, did my memory of changing fall off with my hair or get screened off by my glasses? Or am I an alien who got replaced by myself? Because, like the creature turning from caterpillar to butterfly in the cocoon, I don’t remember when I was changing or the process of changing, but I remember the moment I realised – suddenly – that I had changed.

A friend once told me: Life is like a novel; it comes in chapters.