Rambling thoughts come to rest in words written on a page. Disparate images and sounds, spilling out of dreams, coming to rest in contemplation, a collage of words. These forms of thought shaping how I feel, how I am being, how I care for myself. And this deeply strange thought that this 'being' is millions of years old.
I read this and that book, mainly philosophical in nature, trying to understand what is being said. Morsels of meaning manifest themselves. I'm fascinated but unsure about the relevance of these perceptions to my everyday life. I say to myself what I understand isn't the same as how I understand.
Something about you, it's not what you say, it's the way you say what you say. How you feel about your thoughts becomes a journey of yesterdays, a year ago could feel like yesterday. A sense of yesterday can pervade today.