Today I wrote this:
And it says this:
Calls to you.
I wish for your stories.
I don’t know about the rest of you…. but it staggers me that for every single moment of history I have had a family member living through out every historical moment. Every-single-moment.
Someone who is directly responsible for my existence-lived. Lived and loved. Thought and worked. Existed. Created. At least created life after them. That eventually led to …..me. All of the DNA carriers that resulted in me have lived through every moment of humanities existence.
I wonder about that world.
Was there an ancestor who thought about those who came before them?
Or pondered who would follow?
Did they think of generations yet to be? And contemplate the existence…..of me?
You may want to pause for a moment. That last line? The one above this one? Epic. Or at least it rhymed.
Today I wrote to them.
I wanted to reach back. Call to them. Send back a whisper.
And hopefully call a whisper forward.
And catch it as it passes me and searches out someone I contemplate the existence of.
I want their stories.