In a blur of driving the road through the Stony Rises bits of me wandered off in glimpses of clouds reflected in waterlogged paddocks and distant views of hazy blue hills – the Otways on a rain filled day.
Calling back these fragments of self I find they are loathe to return. Some seem forever lost.
Is this how life is when the years mount up? Are bits of self forever lost on random bends in the road? It could go either way I guess. Essential parts of self could shear off unexpectedly so that I forget even the sound of my own name. Either that or unnecessary accumulations of false selves gathered in department stores and in social groups could drop away so that all that remains is the core of the authentic self. How do you ensure the latter process happens rather than the former?
Photos not taken,
moments lost in transit
– parallel lives