Looking back and tripping forward

Looking back is like staring into the sun.

At first you're intrigued, then as the colors begin to blur and the spots come into your field of vision but by now you can't look away. The light is beautiful, blinding, and painful all at once. This lesson is taught in nearly every American History or Social Studies class you take in Elementary, Middle, and High school.

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."

-George Santayana: The Life of Reason

From time to time I find myself looking back into that gargantuan boiling sphere of super-heated gas that is my past. Connecting the dots that begin to flood my vision. Scrutinizing all my decisions and holding them against the decisions those around me have made. In no way am I comparing my current self to those people I used to hang out with, or those I currently hang around with; nor am I comparing past self to those very same elements. I'm attempting to utilize the wisdom from that sage Spaniard, Santayana. Remember the past.

Unforgettably for me, those glances through that Akashic record are not without their own difficulties. I walk through a brier patch in biker-shorts looking into each balled up weed recalling those involved; and seeing where they are now, attempting to glean what choices were made between then and now, what boons landed gleefully into their laps, what struggles they bled for. This would be all good-nature fun if it weren't for this prevalent disposition to self analyze while racing downward into a dark spiraling race track of depression in a bright red go kart.

At first glance you would think this depression would be your A-typical, standard, cookie cutter depression accompanied with plenty of self-loathing, poor self-image issues, and loss of interest. No, that would be entirely too easy. My particular genre of the deep dark downs are filled with possibilities that will inevitably fail. Options I have yet to take that will inevitably result in more forlorn looks into the black and white photos of the past. In the end, I look back, take a sip from my cup of tea an march on,

March on good soldier,

March on.