Closets of the Mind.
I truly believe the mind works much like a closet.
We travel in jagged little lines across this common
plane of human existence...and gather little bits
and pieces as we go. Some are souvenirs of long lazy
days in the sunshine. Others may be in the back
corners...in unmarked boxes. I think I began to keep
little snapshots of reality in this "closet," at the
age of 5. My first memory box is a hot summer day at
Sea World with my mother and a big Shamu, that looked
oddly like a human in a suit. I am sure my father took
the picture, I just remember crying for no reason...
I guess you could say my closet is in a kind of Organized
Chaos. My shelves are prettied with pictures of friends
and relatives...and perhaps a few of the things I learned
in secondary school...about people that is. The words of
great writers and poets are engraved on the walls, like a
dirty little bathroom secret...somehow illuminating the room
with a sense of solitude. The piles on the floor: stuff.
Stuff I will one day sort through, when time has sorted
through every box. The remarkable component to this great
closet, is the ability to pull the smallest remembrance out
of boxes. I find it amazing that I can still remember my
name, let along the history of the United States...or at least
the pieces they taught in elementary school. I definitely
choose what to keep and what to trash, within seconds of
perception. (Clutter in the mind is much like clutter in
the computer...cause of many crashes and slow-time.)
In case you are wondering who's mind you are peeking
into...welcome to the hallways of Denise's life. I am an
undergraduate University student...with few goals, aside from
to live...and maintain a truth behind my smile. I am a
published "poet and writer," growing out of the silence of
yesteryears. I hesitate to place myself under the assumptions
of poet and writer...only because I am not done with my studies,
and I am quite naive to a lot of the elements that build a writer.
What I do write is because I feel the need to (in avoidance of
insanity)...or more selfishly, I gain pleasure from writing
down my every thought.
Recently, during the summer of 1996, I lost a close friend
to the AIDS virus. Jeremiah was someone I've known most
of my life...there are no words in our language to properly
describe what a beautiful spirit he was. One thing Jeremiah
taught me, that I will never forget...are his "lessons in
laughing." There are days when it is hard to find a smile
in my pocket...much less on my face. Jeremiah is the one
to hold a weeping soul in his long beautiful arms...offering
comfort and solace...and know the perfect time to 'turn
that frown upside down.' In travels through time, there
are few paths that cross...and linger for an eternity.
I feel my sweet friend, and angel's fingers gently holding
up the creases on every smile I hold.
To this wandering soul...That is life, lived best.
My Barrier Reef]
©Denise Angela Celeste