Is it all just rubbish?

Painfully the walls are being torn down, new perimeters are being put into place. Previously I wrote of a time and a place that was years ago, but was strong enough to mark my life. The bricks and mortar from this time are crumbling and life has condemned them too dangerous to be inhabited any longer, but still at times I chain myself to them, hoping that the wrecking ball will not remove them all. I scramble from one pile of trash to the next, picking up a brick here or there, stuffing them into the bag I carry with me. And these moments in time are becoming too heavy to carry, the sharp angles digging into my back and tearing through the canvas of their container.

Now that I've salvaged some of these experiences, I try to recycle them into the new walls and foundations that uphold my life. The chipped corners and edges caked with old cement refuse to line up with the new supplies that are making up this project. Do I continue to try to meld the old and new?

This obvious metaphor has a not so obvious lesson that I believe we all have to learn over and over again. What do we dispose of as we go into the new phases of our lives? What do we keep? The people? The memories? The lessons? What is baggage and what is useful to the new life that is forever stretching out in front of us?

At times we are all children trapped in adults bodies that just can't seem to get big because it is just too hard. Growing up to me is like being in a small box, surrounded by a huge world, trying to claw your way out while being pulled through the trap door and being shoved back inside all at the same time.

Experience is the death of innocence but the birth of life. So often I'm being birthed and dying faster than I'm breathing. These days keep rolling and there is no sign of slowing, the clock is ticking and it is only going forward.