When I finally bent down, humbling myself to grab them, I realized that they were one of my teeth broken into parts. For years I had saved four molars when I had them pulled out as a child. I had been compared to a shark in my life for various reasons, having too many teeth was one of the reasons. I’m sure there are more similarities and someday I will be proud of that. Sharks have barely evolved for trillions of years. By some standards that might seem a bit stoic, stubborn and well, unevolved. But by another perspective it says to me that they were well built to begin with. They didn’t need to ‘grow up’. They required very little adaptation to changing environs. Unlike some creatures, which literally fade out due to their inability to adapt, sharks have not had to do so and keep on swimming the seas as one of the most fearsome and efficient predators on the planet. Kudos I say!
And then true reflection and humility hit me. Ugh…I save everything. Not just teeth, but buttons, old high school notes we wrote while screwing around instead of studying in class. I save prescriptions I haven’t filled and don’t plan to, key chains, Chinese Jacks (I only have two now) and every piece of beauty and crap I ever wrote or painted or shot with a camera. I have an entire art studio in my attic from when I practiced (what I call it) various art mediums. Sharing the attic are old clothes I hope to fit into or have to repair, punk show posters from the 80’s and stacks of journals including one with all the guys I have ever slept with in my life and since added more. But why I ask myself, why? What am I doing? I don’t know if I have ever asked myself such an honest direct question about my rat packing tendencies, my bag lady mentality as if I went through the depression instead of my grandparents actually living through it. It’s as if I am preparing for a major depression again and darned if I won’t be prepared. In the end, I’m sure I will find something I forgot?
This all makes me wonder about past lives. Are they real or some fantastic concept that we have invented to help us understand our purpose, our pain in this life. If I was alive at another time, perhaps I didn’t learn very well or get to finish and was killed by an early age, even repeatedly. I like that, and will use that for awhile until I get to the next place here and now. Cause it makes sense to me why life’s lessons have been so painful, so strong. I wasn’t getting them fast enough.
I imagine coming home one day and my house being filled with nothing but a few essential and beautiful items. Just enough stuff to eat sleep and warm myself with. And then out of that will come me. I will emerge into something new, clean and clear and not laden with old familiar baggage and tokens of a past life telling me how to live my life, which way to go. Kitsch that remind me of another part of my selves that are now gone, tired or confused, moved on out into the air and have become the dust that surrounds me now; the very dust that chokes me at times as it is kicked up when I have to relive those old moments or when I have to, heaven forbid, go through my junk and get rid of it mandatorily because a parent or a friend or my conscience is telling me to do so.
Let go child, let go.
I don’t want to be wasteful you know?
Just this one.