Childhood musings, Edgar Cayce and the Art of Forgiveness

I've been purging lately, as some of you are aware.

Purging a long term friendship of a false true lover.
Purging childhood memories.
Purging scary demons from my closet.
Purging bad thoughts.
Purging toxins.

It is good and right to do so.

I've been writing my memoirs.

Now, I know what you are thinking...

"What a bunch of crap. She isn't noteworthy enough to have memoirs to write."

And maybe so.

But do you REALLY know me?

Do I REALLY know me?


I've buried a lot. Weird shit. Bizarre things. Scary things. Wonderful things. Crazy things.

As "A Song For You" says:

"I've been so many places in my life and time
I've sung a lot of songs,  I've made some bad rhyme
I've acted out my love in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But we're alone, and I'm singing this song for you"

And I am singing my song.
My song of LIFE.

As if in a sleeping prophets' dream....

the TRUTH is revealed.

I'm singing it
to a handful of people who are listening to it's arrangement.
They are sitting in the dark audience, the curtain is drawn,
and the story begins....
with deep, resonant notes, full orchestration, and lilting heart felt harmonies...

Some parts are piccicato,
some are staccato,
some are A capella,
some sung as a group,
some as a duo.

But sing it, I will.

To some it is a symphony.
To some it is a Siren call.
To some it makes their ears bleed.

To me it is a series of stories....

Much like a series of Matryoshka nesting dolls.

What will it reveal?

The scariest thing a person could find.

Their own self.

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