Our
lives are a whole series of chance happenings and unless you were one
of those people who meticulously plotted your course from day one then
the outcome of your life is pitted, chameleon like with subtle changes
that make up the finished package. What we are is not what we seem since
we are far more complex than what's written on the tin.
When young our emotions sometimes led us into places that no sensible person would wish to go. They were a counter pose to a perhaps a puritanical upbringing, or alternatively, exposed to a swinging, laugh a minute childhood, we knew no boundaries and lacked the common sense to ask.
Which ever way, our lives have been a series of stops and starts, an emotional roller coaster, highs and lows which our 'conservatism' smothered to produce the often bland finished product.
It's only when we hear a tune which takes us back to an occasion of high emotional tension that we remember the old you.
Nothing lasts, yet nothing passes either. And nothing passes just because nothing lasts.
That is the story of life and tied up in it the dread of the missed opportunity.
It's not even the missed opportunity that is important it's the missing person who lies trust up in the chains of conformity. What became of the dancing queen or the party goer what became of the travelling man, what became of the lover the intensity of a relationship, the anticipation of so much more. Sitting inside the psyche (the soul), that force within an individual which influences "thought behaviour and personality" is, a corralled person who never had or never took the opportunity.
The sound of a tune is enough. Music often accompanied the fun event and acts as a trigger for the journey "back then" and we become stimulated, and morph into a make believe character, a look alike, a maybe character who we wished we had been.
The dance releases the memories and the dreams, not just of the situation but of the period and our place in it.
We were fortunate not to be tied to convention in those early years of growing up when the fields and the woods were our battlefield, a place to explore and take risks, a place to discover our limitations. Those times are a blur since they carried no baggage of rejection or worse, no external measurement and little judgement. It was only later when one got into competition that the sharp edge of success or failure comes back as a memory and one remembers how fragile you were and still are.
When young our emotions sometimes led us into places that no sensible person would wish to go. They were a counter pose to a perhaps a puritanical upbringing, or alternatively, exposed to a swinging, laugh a minute childhood, we knew no boundaries and lacked the common sense to ask.
Which ever way, our lives have been a series of stops and starts, an emotional roller coaster, highs and lows which our 'conservatism' smothered to produce the often bland finished product.
It's only when we hear a tune which takes us back to an occasion of high emotional tension that we remember the old you.
Nothing lasts, yet nothing passes either. And nothing passes just because nothing lasts.
That is the story of life and tied up in it the dread of the missed opportunity.
It's not even the missed opportunity that is important it's the missing person who lies trust up in the chains of conformity. What became of the dancing queen or the party goer what became of the travelling man, what became of the lover the intensity of a relationship, the anticipation of so much more. Sitting inside the psyche (the soul), that force within an individual which influences "thought behaviour and personality" is, a corralled person who never had or never took the opportunity.
The sound of a tune is enough. Music often accompanied the fun event and acts as a trigger for the journey "back then" and we become stimulated, and morph into a make believe character, a look alike, a maybe character who we wished we had been.
The dance releases the memories and the dreams, not just of the situation but of the period and our place in it.
We were fortunate not to be tied to convention in those early years of growing up when the fields and the woods were our battlefield, a place to explore and take risks, a place to discover our limitations. Those times are a blur since they carried no baggage of rejection or worse, no external measurement and little judgement. It was only later when one got into competition that the sharp edge of success or failure comes back as a memory and one remembers how fragile you were and still are.
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