I wasn’t old,
not much old,
not yet aware of years or minutes or anything to separate then from now and here from there.
In fact, I wasn’t mobile. I sat alone and connected to every other thing around me.
I wasn’t aware of the distance, the difference, the me-ness or them-ness or they-ness.
The association of this for vulva, that for penis, boy, girl, name, social security number, or identity of any sort.
I was, just, wandering – in thought and emotion in a new place.
Finding peace in colors and the ways that they touched each other.
There were no words for ceiling meeting wall and wall meeting floor or carpet that my hands were on stretching to meet doors and windows or inside or out there.
There wasn’t on, or off or above, below or beyond.
I was beyond.
I remember that when I felt something they felt it too and when they felt something I felt it.
I didn’t have an opinion.
I didn’t care or extend myself to try to create a situation of others preference.
I simply was,
And I remember it often. And sometimes I think it’s a blessing, memories of times that were so long ago but feel just like now when they rest upon the tip of my tongue.
I remember dreams that felt the same. Colors, sounds, impressions, abstract, art.
I remember feelings and the images that my mind animated to protest having to go back and brush my teeth for two more minutes because I didn’t do it long enough the first time.
I remember ideas about how things worked, being shattered, transformed, stuffed away for later.
Later when I could hold them. Later when I’d say, “It’s safe now to come out.”
Later for now.
I remember childhood in all it’s flavors, dreams in all their glory, cycles of knowing that have traveled in me through many worlds.
I remember wisdom I’ve carried and spots where I’ve deposited it and adults saying, “You’re too wise for your years”.
I wasn’t old,
I wasn’t much old.
And I didn’t have any questions.
I remember this and I think maybe, I’m home
maybe this is home.
Maybe I’ve been home all along.
Maybe home travels.