I was on the phone with Harmony, immersed in deep conversation about all things legacy, spiritual, and soulful. The topic evolved into a discussion about "angel-speak" - a technique to open one's self up to their "guides", described in a book that Lyndsay had given me shortly after my mom passed. With Harmony on speakerphone, I thumbed through the row of dusty journals as we chatted, searching for the notebook in which I had recorded my angel-speak exercise.
One thing led to another and I found myself reading excerpts from my journals to Harmony. I was astonished at some of the passages (and even a little impressed) -- I had no memory of writing any of it, and the words were as fresh and new as if written by someone else. I lost myself in the unraveling of the hours leading up to my mother's death, and then the vivid imagery of the year and a half that followed.
Only when I heard a little gasp and then sob on the end of the line was I shaken back to my reality, leaving the pain on the pages. I asked Harmony if she was alright and she said she was, that it was just emotional to hear. I told her I would leave the rest of journals for them to read later on -- maybe when I am gone or too senile to care. *Weak attempt to lighten the mood*.
My take away was that I more fully appreciate the importance and significance of documenting emotions, reflections and moments -- and not just the big ones, but also the collection of the minuscule, because it is both that become the construct of our lives. And there is value in sharing pieces of ourselves and our human experience with others.
So I was sidetracked today, but it put me back on track... busy shifting and sorting through my dad's written reflections. And so the journey continues...