Is the stuff we keep, that life long accretion of a layer of matter that might be seen as an extension of our identity, a bulwark against mortality?  Mementos and souvenirs that say “I went somewhere!”  Pictures from parties, concerts, or mountain climbing trips that scream, “I did that!”  Icon’s of Christ, Buddha or Shiva that hint that we might have believed in something?  Books we’ve read and know we’ll never read again, but still sitting on the shelf, perhaps in the hopes that they will whisper to visitors something of the contents of our mind?

Is all this accretion of stuff around us, like a crab’s shell, an unconscious hope that perhaps, in death, someone will dig through the detritus of our time on this planet, and KNOW us, find our Rosebud, and understand what it all ultimately meant?



About radiantspleen

The dark side of enlightenment, the light side of endarkenment.
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