Food for Thought

This morning on the train I was reading a Paul Auster book that I picked up at Powells last time I was home. It's called The New York Trilogy and is separated into three different mystery-type novellas. I finished the first two last night, and was not that impressed. But then this morning I started the third and final one, and on the first page came across a passage that really struck me. He's talking about a close childhood friend who he hasn't seen in over a decade, and says the following, "We grew up, went off to different places, drifted apart. None of that is very strange, I think. Our lives carry us along in ways we cannot control, and almost nothing stays with us. It dies when we we do, and death is something that happens to us every day."

Recently a friend got in touch with me whom I hadn't spoken to in over a decade. It was like a rebirth of memories, of thoughts, of smiles. Death had occurred, but so had resurrection. Though I'm in Spain, and drifted and drifting from the people whom I've known and loved, I realize that maybe death is happening everyday, but so is rebirth. And thus I leave you with another quote from the book. "The fact was I had let go of Fanshawe. His life had stopped the moment we went our separate ways, and he belonged to the past for me now, not to the present. He was a ghost I carried around inside of me, a prehistoric figment, a thing that was no longer real." I miss my ghosts, but they are there, inside of me, with every stroke of the keyboard, homework I assign, and breath that I take. Hello, and goodbye, to all of my ghosts.