"The world is so big, so complicated, so replete with marvels and surprises that it takes years for most people to begin to notice that it is, also, irretrievably broken. We call this period of research 'childhood'.” Michael Chabon on Wes Anderson's Worlds, here.
Explaining is one of the things I don't believe we have to do, an inalienable right, so my connective leaps, which may not make sense to me but I trust them all the same, are not expected to make sense to you. Hooray if they do and if not, we press on regardless.
Earlier I posted about what resonates and remains, the way in which all we are, all we seek somehow connects to that "period of research" to which Chabon refers.
Since then a 4 a.m. thought threw its opaque cloak over me and hissed that we get to rewrite our story. A classic of duality, the thought spoke of all that we previously experienced being everything and nothing: every loss, trauma, disappointment, conversation, prayer, lover, child, dance, story - all of it fitting together inside the skin shaped like us, while simultaneously falling away like the boosters that carry spacecraft just far enough so that additional oomph can be discarded and the craft can navigate on its own. If being asked both to retain and jettison our childhoods does not represent the model of contradiction and ambiguity, then I guess I'm more confused than I believed.
Again, all the words have not yet come into neat alignment, again it is more of a sense than a prepared lecture. I have no proof, other than my split-screen image of how all the history exists and is the cumulative everything and is something we leave on the other side of the closed door as we move on.