The appeal of digging up the past is the facade of better understanding the present.  The reality of such an action just leads to more digging.  We can understand the major events and how those might shape who we are or who they are, but what about everything else that has slipped through the cracks?  What about that one time that you felt afraid to go down a water slide alone? Or that time that you kissed a stranger at a Chicago rave?  Do the smaller pieces of the past get dissolved and washed away or are they part of soil beneath our feet that help us stand?  Do each of those tiny grains of dirt keep piling and piling to outweigh the major events?  


Today my mind is in Germany, lasting an entire day without letting one word leave my lips.  I am talking and talking and talking to myself, but there is no one receiving.  I am walking and walking and walking with myself, and there is no one beside me.  I am lonely, but I am whole.  The train is my vessel to the city and to the outside world.  Forty minutes on my bike to get there.  Always passing the same farm, but never in the same way.  One day there is wheat, the next daisies.  I wonder about where daisies have bloomed back home.  I wonder where home is.  I wonder where I am.  I wonder if I will ever need anyone ever again.  I am lonely, but I am whole.  Today I have said words but spoken to no one.  I keep having the feeling as though I am about to leave.