Something is happening as I look up into the sky. I am tangled into Coyote, and soft snowflakes are falling into my eyes, melting into them. Making my vision strange.
My memory is buried, but I am sitting next to it, hearing it sing from underground in its grave. It is detached from my body, but it is so nearby. The memory is not quite retained nor abandoned. I feel the footprint its presence and then absence has left in my SELF, but the memory is right over there, under a thin layer of soil, so close! I could dig the memory up, fill in the footprint and be on my way. Whole.
But I chose to LOSE this memory. I can't tell you why; that's as much of a secret as the memory itself is. Well, and more than that... I can't remember why. Perhaps where the memory sat in my SELF, it chafed and rubbed and left a burn. Maybe I thought that it would be best to get rid of it and to let that part of me get a little better. But that's all a mystery now. I mean, I can't remember the memory, even though it is affecting me with its little song over there, so I have no idea how it made me feel.
And even if there was a part of me that was burned by the memory, and that part gets better, there's an indentation now where the memory was, and I'm not sure whether that is better or worse than what was there before. I wish I knew.