Starting at my feet with the adventures of childhood. The budding of an easily triggered imagination. My stumble into writing.
Move upwards and the stories are more people orientated. A different story for each of the people who became the molding hands of that part of me. These stories, however, are a bit more sporadic. They do not fill in consecutive space. Certain portions around the heart, for instance, are written with stars in circling patterns, but those patterns border large holes of night sky waiting to be filled by experiences not yet written.
Often in the moments when I think I have properly accounted for all of the empty spaces, one emerges in a place I had not before noticed. Watching stars fill in a previously empty piece of night sky is a particularly satiating feeling, but there is something riveting about discovering an unanticipated emptiness. Because, you see, it doesn't mean I have another obstacle to climb before I can finish filling in the lines. Rather it means I have stepped into some else's perspective of life and found myself wanting. I have opened up another door of understanding.
Write with stars, anticipate night sky, rejoice in unknown: in this way my identity is created.
In this way I learn about myself little by little. In this way I become more equipped to learn about life outside of my moon dust.
One day I will etch in the last story. I will be complete. And it will be the end of my life. No, not the end, the completion. Perhaps it seems like a tremendous irony to spend your whole life working towards completion, only to leave the physical world once you do, but I do not see the irony.
If you live without creating stories you are not living. If you live without curiosity you are not living. Once you have experienced enough to solidify yourself, you no longer need solid ground beneath your feet. You are freed from the gravity of life. You are all moon dust. Maybe even the beginnings of a new outline.
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