Waking

My collection of childhood memories are connected to deep sensorial experiences — true for all of us, I suppose. A familiar taste or smell that, like a time machine, takes us back  to a long ago life. These memories live so much more vividly than the present-day list of things we need to do. Why? Maybe because our childhood selves were so present in those experiences. As a child I had little control over where I was or what I was doing. Nor did I have a context for the images, tastes, smells, and sounds I was experiencing. So these memories live as pure sensation and now, when I remember, I wake into them fully.

I opened my eyes on the other side of the world.

Was this a dream?  Or my life now that I had woken?

The day was bright, hot, busy with traffic and people.

A flash of light:  shiny scissors ripping fabric.

The cloth snapped free, blurred in air,

then quickly collapsed into neat folds.

Voices:  high, loud, singing a language, woven together by sound.

Warmth:  on my lap a small green package.

It was the ridged leaf of a banana tree,

folded into a tight square,

secured with a tiny toothpick.

I opened it up and smelled:

smoky chicken, steamy sticky rice.

I made balls of rice with a treasure of chicken inside,

and popped them in my mouth,

one by one, tasting and tasting.

I taste it now, my lap feels warm, the voices sing, the fabric snaps –

I wake into this life.