I watched part of a documentary today about unearthing the 13th, largest, and most complete fossilized specimen of a T.rex ever found. One of the main paleontologists on the dig spoke about being “out in the field,” digging up fossils as it’s turning to night. He said:

“You look up at the stars, the light of which is millions of years old. You look up and it’s the past. You look down at this fossilized bone that is millions of years old. You look down and it’s the past. And there you are sandwiched inbetween…”

Sandwiched inbetween the past. In between memories. Real and unreal at the same time. For the light of the stars is only the light, but not the star itself. And the fossilized bone is only a casing of bone and mineral, and not the animal itself. Standing there between what you can see and touch of a form that no longer exists. 

We are surrounded by the past, walking upon it at all times. A twirling ball of everything that has ever happened within it’s confines amidst a matrix of all that ever was, swirling and shifting forms around us. Nothing is ever gone. 

I wonder about our thoughts of the future. What we hope to see or want to create, build, do. What can our minds make happen that hasn’t happened yet. But perhaps it’s already happened. And that is why we can know it so strongly into being. So we can hold in our hands another memory. For whatever it is, it will soon be the past as we understand it. 


A decaying log is soft

like the moss growing on it;

romantic in it’s way,

allowing a forest to rot 

away beautifully.

I want to lie down 

inside the fallen log,

run my hand along it

and tell it to sink

into the ground in peace

because I will remember it.

                                      …But it has the moss.


(Untitled. Written August 4th, 2008).


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