There are many times you might bump into someone you have not seen in a while, or get a random email nicely written from someone you never hear from. Many times, we say that was a blast from the past.
My past lately likes to sucker-punch me. I get my past punched in the face with a dash of emotional bruising.
Punches from the past keep me from slumping down into a monotonous emotional routine.
Punch me in the face to remind me of how much i have yet to process.
I preach the importance of processing life’s events so as to not fester.
Yet, this year I have found plenty left unprocessed in the depths of my heart.
Perhaps leaving that much about my past buried deep enough I would not have to face it in the mirror, has brought me so many punches this year.

They are punches rather than memories because I sometimes have to face unpleasantries. Some of my own doing. But to move forward I have always found it necessary to dissect myself. But where do we draw the line? Where do we begin to become obsessive and unable to function in the PRESENT. At what point do we decide there is nothing can be done. Because in actuality, there IS nothing can be done.

How many times can I tell you I am sorry?
You show up in my facebook messages.
Show up on my set.
In text messages with beautifully written memories of me.
What to learn, what to learn.

I cannot run from you again. I have been punched and confronted so as to face you.
Do I tell you I wish I could do it all over again? Do I dare, when wishing for that could erase so much of my present? But I have run and hid. I have run without looking back.
It is time to look.

Oddly enough, much of this surge began around the time of my spiritual new year (high holidays) and here at the closing of 2012, I try and make sense of it by writing a senseless blog entry that no one will read. So, my Logic and my Heart CAN be in sync. Somewhat.

Past, can we be friends?
Do people truly move on? Do I?
Because what I would really like to do is punch you right back.
Tell you to get the hell out of my face and never return.
But now that would not be very mature of me, would it?

Angry or not, I look for you in those messages now.
I look for you on my phone. I close my eyes and see your face.
I pour a glass of wine and pretend to call you.
I smoke a cigarette and have a conversation with you.
And until I can make sense of all of these memories, feelings, and fears –
I will try not to become overwhelmed with the emotion and continue to pray for peace.
I will give you my genuine self as I always do.
But could you please stop punching me so hard?