It is strange how memories of times past haunt through the years, something that happens when we are very small, and keeps itself alive in us. There was a time when I feared what might be said about things which kept me worried for years and made me fearful. Punishment for misdemeanours when we are barely old enough to walk and have no understanding, and the terror those memories evoke. Its like that for some or all of us. When we have those memories of times past. The lucky ones forget or donít register the complaint against our inner selves. They go on in forgetting and let go something others feel with profound worry over subsequent years.
In my mind something made me feel responsible for the hurt inflicted on others. In the innocence of a childís eyes and curiosity we play and make games of life. And we are inquisitive, we find pleasure in our world and nature. And our young minds suck up knowledge. We make these memories the pattern of life. I witnessed hurt and pain inflicted all those years back over and over in my minds eye. And the memory lingered on inside me as a rotten memory, where fear lurked and shame and guilt at others pain and consequences. I had no right to take on such a burden or feel responsible for the violence of others. For indeed it was violence to others and my involvement in its initiation which hurts me inside. I am able to look back and see the reality and innocence of the innocent and see the guilt of and cover up of adult minds back then. And the shame is not mine or others so young, it is the shame and guilt carried and denied in others which still keeps embers glowing where anger is best lost to time. And then we find the guilty ones are dead and gone.
And it seems my anger went somewhere long ago and kept itself busy in all other activities I might squander in useless fears in life. When our torturers are dead the only one to torture us is inside our own heads. And when the rational adult mind looks back to where those breaks in trust occurred and damaged outlooks, those feelings are confused by knowing no one in their right mind behaves so or makes a rod to beat a mind for evermore.
What gets me over these long years is the consequences not only of those moments of horror for me back then, but the horrors for others too and their lives blighted by the dead. And the dead who lived their consequences and had those burdens too, are no longer able to share their story. Or how it was that they behaved the way they thought was to the good and if it had any good at all. The dead can no longer speak and yet their actions are there in consequences for others. I have no good memories and the bad in truth might never have been so bad for them. Yet the consequences linger on and I am not the only one.
And what good to elaborate or dig up history, where history is merely one childís eyes and a version corrupted over time. And so corruption wins the day for in truth the memories writ large for me are only small when others read a page in a small childís history. So small it might have left untouched and yet I know with hindsightís gasp, the trail of wrong was made so good.
And what good could come of it now? So many decades gone by, and no one wants to know those truths, or share in sentiments so harsh. Better to cover up and get a life worth living in case we find some nasty reminiscence hurts all and has no good for anyone. And ,maybe this is how it ends with death.
I hope so, and yet if ever asked to share I will. And not yet my good conscience suggests and time is not right now, or maybe never right as stories can be left to expire with breath done and harsh memories buried under the sod of time.
It is my feeling now, that if our imperfect world had offered more and better times as children turn to adult lives, these shocks and nasty parts of life will be ended in anotherís time. And I see the harm done and know my harm too as incidents for me were merely a brush and others lived full time under the wrath and lash of anger made good in reality. And they still lumber on their path, as good as may be made with those consequences. And the responsible adults back then, so oblivious and unknowing would find no solace in knowing anything now, and itís the way of this world and how we humans get abused. For if they had known the damage done, how could they put it right? I donít reckon they were ever equipped to deal with monstrous doings like those. And give all a break as humanity merely learns as slow as life takes, to make changes for the good. We are wasteful in our learning and theirs too as cover need only leave the pain to wound again and again.
Its time inside me for it end to end and let go that nasty fuckers touch. An unreported crime, unrecognised and never to be punished, for in truth its run its course and no good can come of any learning now, except for me in innocence now understood. And forgiven in my mind.
We learn and grow and move on, damage done and harm done. For in truth it would be better if the harm done had been undone long ago. But no one knew back then, how to make it go away. And guilt pervades the mind of innocents, and corruptions mask tilts and casts a shadow over future lives as damage takes its toll.
It is life. And death. Forgiven in our world as can be and left to time to heal. Some things burn as deep can be and linger evermore. That is the gift of memories, and the gift to learn we need not play those harsh memories back and forth, as those patterns are changed to better times and ways of living. Maybe a learning over a lifetime can heal that gap, now I know where hurt was caused and changes made to see the good of living and free from shame and guilt, the blight of egoís drift. Our imperfect perfect, present day can make good with help along the way, another human doing done, and clears our way to good conscience as in all our learning we can change and make good from bad. Let it be so. The insensibility of time touches all as it will.