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The Remembering Is The Point of Forgetting (from Jamaica)

I’ve been up for hours, laying in bed, listening to the waves crashing and the rooster in the distance. Sometimes a mosquito buzzes in my ear. The warm, humid air settling on my skin.

I could get up and sit with cacao, do some work or get some exercise, but I just want to lay here remembering.

Remembering where we were a year ago and how impossible any of this seemed...and yet here we are, breathing into the expansiveness of possibility once again.

Remembering how when the world closed down, so did our hearts and bodies...and the courage and tenacity it took to open back up.

Remembering how scared we became of each other...and the tenderness that emerges as our faces begin to represent our shared humanity again.

Remembering how all the beauty and joy and sweetness and love was always just took a little more effort to feel it.

The journey to get here has been the medicine. Reminding us to never take for granted the simple (and grand) pleasures we receive. Reminding us of the power of gratitude and perspective. Reminding us of the sacredness of connection and laughter.

The remembering is the point of forgetting.


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