Myself Through A Prism

Myself Through A Prism - Welcome back to my blog and an early Happy 4th of July to all of my American friends here and elsewhere! - Only after having thoroughly skimmed through my - by then partially still tightly wrapped- up - belongings, which in 2006 I had shipped here from the European continent in altogether twenty- two 30- 50 pound containers, I truly felt I was in dire need of taking a prompt time- out to enjoy some serious me- time on the spot. In the painstaking process of combing through box after box in order to find some significant notes which will hopefully serve me well with respect to another book trilogy in the making, I eventually came across quite a few remnants of my past, and once again, I got trapped on memory lane for most of the day. Gosh, I just could not grasp how much I had actually changed in many a way without even having been aware of it! I suppose, flabbergasted describes best how I felt and still feel about this. "All over again" perfectly fits the bill in this context as I truly love exploring my past and usually pursue this kind of treasure hunt- like endeavor in decadal steps. For that purpose, it appears, I feel magnetically drawn to gazing through a prism only to once more marvel most humbly at all the manifold distinct perceptions of my self that I keep gaining plenty of valuable insight of over time. Very much like the proverbial kid in the candy store, I somehow cannot seem to ever take my eyes off the many facets displayed in front of me in such a variedly colorful fashion - all through that magic lens. Just to give you a small example, it was pretty much towards the end of my quest when something caught my eye in particular. There it was that insanely packed folder revealing texts over texts which I had collected to help me prepare best for my oral Highschool graduation exams in English and French in 1985. Now I was all stumped as I was gaping at some of the French articles because all of a sudden, I found it hard to believe that I had actually spoken that language at some point. On flipping through that file, just in time, I caught a red cardboard divider in midair before dropping it on the floor. Instantly, I was all glued to that specific piece of past evidence and kept spinning and turning it sideways even, so I could repeatedly and ultimately downright obsessively glide over the same words, clusters and phrases almost comparable to a broken record. Gee, did I really write that, I kept wondering in awe? Later on, I was kneeling beside a box which contained a loose compilation of journaling notes dating back twelve years when I had more or less just started dating my husband. Paper is said to be patient - in German this is - or rather as the English saying goes, not to blush. For sure, no truer words ever spoken! Seriously, was it I who once composed all those many pages? Well, yeah, my handwriting should be proof enough! However, what baffles me way more than anything else, if not to say, it startles me at times, then I put in words so much of which today I sadly only recall a tiny little fraction at best. I am not going to lie, but I am shocked. - At some point, I ran my fingers through numerous single sheets experiencing more than just a taste of how important those matters must have been to me 20 plus years ago. Anyway, it quickly turned out, I rather glowingly but merely fictitiously professed my love to ..., heck, to whom, I would like to know in all seriousness? These days, I honestly cannot quite fathom anymore why on earth I would ever have put on paper such pathetic sort of love folly, let alone to ... whoever that was at that time - if in the end, it was all for nothing anyway. But you know what? Regardless, I still love and appreciate the fact that I did in fact keep some of it because among other things, this is just another testimony of the vast spectrum of multiple personal facets and fragments. What's more, even though, I admit feeling overall rather dissociated and detached from the stages of personae I used to embody at much earlier stages in my life, they have in reality always been I, me and myself, so to speak, in all their colorful diversity. - To sum up, I can whole- heartedly recommend this type of soul- searching treasure hunt provided, of course, one way or another, there is physically enough left to dive in, relate and lastly reconnect to.