The Little Things That Make Us Who We Are: Portals to Your Soul's Memory

I have a favorite time of day. I have a favorite moment in space and time. One to enjoy and keep for the record books. As my soul is a library of all the memories that attribute me to my experiences and make me... me. 

So, I have a favorite time of day. Its 8 am or 9:30 am. More specifically, it was when I was 7 and I woke up with my morning bed scavenged hair and tossed myself out of my big girl bed. When I went down the hall and took a few steps down the stairs until I stopped, took a seat and just sat there for awhile. It was when the morning sun shined perfectly out of that small circle window and its golden ray beamed on my face and lit up the tiny sliver area in which I sat. 

But it wasn't the time of day now was it? It was that moment in time. It was when I sat there and I could feel a peaceful glowing presence and feel my whole life. It was when time didn't stop but time was felt. Maybe all of it for how still and embracing I was. It was in the sweet peace of everything being warm and it felt like honey dew. Those too words exactly. Honey with its sweetness and dew with its watery crescent and morning stillness. It was gold and golden. Warm rays and peace. It was the stage of enlightenment and awakening that everyone seeks. It was warmth and pleasure. It was a life filled and it was love. The love of me, the love of life, time, and a moment. Where right here and right now was indeed where I belonged. It was radiant and I was happy to be. I felt the moment and I felt that time before I finished down the steps. My once quiet embrace was then surprisingly filled with laughter. My gut began to bubble up as their laughs entered in me and a smile grew on my face. Anticipation and happiness roared inside of me. I began to run down the steps. Who was down those steps? I asked before being able to turn the corner to see. I saw my mother in the kitchen laughing with my brother. As I fervently walked faster to join them. I saw my mother cooking pancakes. I was surprised to hear laughter, I was surprised to see my mother and brother, and once again I was surprised to see... they were making pancakes! What a day! What a perfect day! It wasn't everyday my mother set out to make pancakes. They were my favorite... and the only breakfast food I would liked. That moment of time... it was joy... it was pure joy, and it was inner joy.

So, I have a favorite time of day. Its 8 am or 9:30 am depending on the season of the year when the morning sun would hit that circle window in my childhood home just right, and beam that specific shade of golden ray on those steps. And everyday, for just that time of day... for a split moment when I see the sun shine that same color... I can recall that moment of time and feel the presence I once felt of that day... of when I was a child with my morning hair and head. When I could feel the warmth on my skin. When the peace radiated so thick, honey and home was all I could feel and all that I knew. So everyday, just for a split second of a flashback memory, when the morning sun is just right and is that perfect golden shade to beam its beautiful rays... I can remember that feeling and feel it. 

I have a favorite flower. I have a favorite memory of my mother. A memory in time where I saw this flower in bloom and right past it, right behind it, if I looked up a little higher... I would see my mother.

So, I have a favorite flower. Its a golden flower with a bushy and bouncy cotton-ball feeling when you gently squeeze it. More specifically, it was the freshly planted marigolds I saw at a KOA camp site when my mother was about to go into the main office to check-in our camping spot. 

But it wasn't the flower now was it? It was the smell of those North Carolina cedar pines. It was those wooden carved bear statues outside that log cabin office. It was the joy I felt at arriving and it was the love of my mother and deep bond of love for her and to who she was when I saw those gorgeous flowers and tilted my head up just a little to see her talking with my step father. It was the feeling I felt towards those flowers that when I looked up to see my mother... I noticed, it was my mother. It was the same feeling and when I saw her, the feeling grew deeper and more intense. To me, my mother wasn't like those marigolds... those marigolds were like my mother. When my mother's back was turned and I saw her long brown hair and blue shirt. I felt a feeling deep within me. A bond of love so deep, intense, and powerful... I stared at her with love while feeling warmth in my chest as every tiny little detail merged into one, and merged into her. Those cedar pines, that brown and green log cabin, the fresh air, those freshly watered golden-yellow flowers, and wooden carved black bear statues with their welcome signs. That perfect moment in time. The love of everything I felt intensified by the love and deepness I felt with my mother. All stored in one little placement of a bright sunny flower.

So, I have a favorite flower. Its a golden flower with a bushy and bouncy cotton-ball feeling when you gently squeeze it. And every time I see it, just for a moment, a flash of a second. I feel that intense feeling of love for, with, and of my mother once again. Every year when its the season for marigolds I see a very special place I use to visit in North Carolina in the mountains and I see my mother on that day... and I feel what radiates.

I have a favorite smell. I have a memory of a peace and calm where in that moment, it felt like I could call down the heavens. A moment where in that dark forest's eeriness, I felt a strange land turn into a place that connected everything. When I felt a wisdom inside of me and a place of home.

So, I have a favorite smell. But it wasn't the smell was it? It was that burning campfire I saw in my camping chair. It was when I felt the warmth of that fire place in the cold North Carolina night. When I heard those birds and crickets make their midnight noises. When I felt awakened and more in tune then every staying up past my bedtime. When my step father stepped into our trailer with a glowing, strong built, and honorable presence. When I felt no fear in my bones and when I saw that bright blaze of red, orange, yellow, and even blue crackle on the wood. When I saw the crackles and flames. Light and spark above it with the smoke and hearing those sounds. It was when I looked all the way towards the sky and for the first time in my life. I saw bats as they were circling above our fireplace. It was when I felt safe in the unknown and the wisdom of my step father as he said they were bats. It was when I kept staring towards the night sky to see them spinning and flying. It was the wisdom I felt in myself and the connection towards the heavens to where this strange place felt like home and I was welcomed to be. With every new thing was that of a reunion and sweet pleasantry. It was the safety I felt, it was the warmness I welcomed in. It was the attraction of the beauty of this world and all of the new things I'd get to experience.

So, I have a favorite smell. It's the burning of wood for a campground fire. And every time when the neighbors ask for smores and light their very own. When I walk down a sidewalk and a whiff of smoke catches me off guard. I breathe it in, and for a split second, a flash of a moment. I breathe in the memory of North Carolina and I feel that feeling of openness where the world is mine and I have the wisdom of knowing it's truth. 

I have a favorite insect. I have a memory of a moment when adventure was ours for the taking. When my path would be lit on a dark night and enthusiasm sparked with a friend for life.

So, I have a favorite insect. Glowing golden 3D lights that were magic as they filled the night sky. But it wasn't the bug was it? It was my brother right beside me as we rushed across the river's bridge. It was the wet fresh cedar pines. It was the sound of the gushing white water rivers nearby. It was the dark night suddenly being filled with star lights as we stepped into a swarm of Fireflies. It was the magic of seeing lights that floated in the air and when you stepped to the side, they were still there. It was the girl explaining what fireflies were to me and how she said she was catching them in her jar. It was my brother right next to me as we looked at each other in amazement and adventure. It was the adventure, joy, and excitement of these new forest bugs. It was the friends we met and it was the fearlessness for the adventure we set out upon and joy and happiness in what we found. It was the amazement! It was the wonder! And it was my brother right next to me as we were in it together. It was the love we shared and what we shared together. It was the journey and hope. It was all the layers of my skin wanting to burst out of its seems and small little box. It was the gleam in my eyes and warmth in my soul. It was the look on my brothers face. It was the kindness of those fireflies to offer us such a new perspective to life. It was the wonder and adventure. It was the time of our lives.

So, I have a favorite insect. Glowing golden 3D lights that were magic as they filled the night sky. When a child's innocence didn't know scientific terms and had never seen a firefly before. When magic was real and my best friend, my brother was right there beside me. Its what they represent to me and it's the gleam in my eyes and amazement I feel deep inside for their very own expression of life. Its the adventure and the "you never know what you might find". It's wonder.

I have a favorite lullaby. Its a seasick sailor's lullaby. One to sing when the day is all but ending. When our tired eyes and weary bones welcome a good night's rest and call in home. 

So, I have a favorite lullaby. But's its not the lullaby is it? It was my father singing his deep caressing melody when our long car rides home tired his children. When the blanketed darkness pierced out our windows. When even the radio got too sickening and silence blared. It was my father singing "Show me the way to go home, I'm tired and I wanna go to bed. Had me a cup about an hour ago and it's gone right to my head". It was his strong yearning I felt and protection he built around us. It was his deep toned voice that filled the car. When the darkness of the world and a closing day all but made time stand still and dead. It was the feeling he began to express in his tune. It was the connection I felt to where I could lay my head on his chest however far I was in the backseat. It was his strength in this aching feeling to where I found softness and soothing in his declaration and expression. When I didn't feel all too alone. When a seasick sailor could call in home and when my father called out into the unknown not expecting a whisper back. It was the strength in his defiance to not let it swallow him whole. It was the lyrics and notes he sang to show us a way through. "So where-ever I may roam, from land or sea or home, you can always find me singing this song... show me the way to go home". It was the light he would shine in the dark night and aided happy tune with bah bah bam before he would repeat the lyrics again. It was the warmth he would provide and it was the tune he sang. When life would quiet and mellow. When our tired eyes would get the best of us and our hearts ached for home. It was the power, strength, and defiance. It was the shoulder we could lean on. The soothing melody, his deep comforting tone. The same as that sailor finding comfort in a bottle, or soldiers waiting for gunshots to be fired in their foxholes. It was my father's strength and determination that even through what felt like our broken ribcages, we would not be swallowed whole. 

So, I have a favorite lullaby. It's a tune from Jaws where in the waters the sailors could expect a murderous shark. When the whereabouts of this shark and how close they were to death's door and how near to danger they were in, was lost to the abyss. When fear would come pounding in the chests for those who were lost and unseen. Whenever it gets too cold and the dead stillness of night rips through me. I sing to myself in that tune of his in which I can remember. I remember my father and for a split second, a flash of a connection. I feel his strength, and soothing. I see as if he is once again still there holding up a lantern as our very own sailboat wavers through the waters with no direction. When no land can be found. When night is too lonesome. When a sailor swallows the comfort of a bottle and when he wants to go home but he is still there in defiance and he says "though I may roam, from land or sea or home" I still deserve and there I am. I may have chosen to be a roamer but there is always a home and though this darkness is cold, it will not swallow me whole. Find me, I dare you. I will not cower. To which I say goodbye to all the critters that slither in the night, now show me the way to go home. As if saying, I am not afraid, this game I tire, so goodbye now. It serves no consequence to my own. For all my father's powerful aged discernment. For all his own cold nights and strength and the tune he sang. Brave enough to call in comfort and close our eyes for the wisdom of the new day and no monsters in the closet.

We call these little things... portals. Or at least, that's what they are to me. When a moment can be encapsulated in a symbol and beacon forth a moment in time. When one can call in that memory of your soul and feel the presence of you existing. When the walls close down and time slips into another. When you take your present through that portal. Just for a moment, for a split second of time. For a flash of a memory and a feeling. When you stand there and combine your present time with a whole world of another. When you remember. When you embrace and when you feel your own soul's knowledge, memory, and experience.

Thank you to my friend who inspired me to write this when he said "But its a part of you, for that to happen and overcome it, makes a small part of who you actually are". He's right, it's all these little things that makes us who we are. So it's nice to remember the fullness of who we actually are. I'm glad I find importance in me.