The Pool Of Memories
I like melancholy and have never found it to be the same as moroseness or sadness.
I was looking at this painting by Olof Arborelius, and listening to Lobomyr Melnyk’s Rivers And Streams album, when I realised that if twenty years ago I could have remote viewed the future and seen myself as I am now, I would have probably ran into heavy traffic and prayed for an eighteen-wheeler to mow me down there and then. But when I look back at myself in my twenties, I no longer recognise who I was, or place any value in the things I once thought were important. I suppose you could call it growing up, but at least I haven’t given up. The urge to create something remains a constant, and I suspect it always will.