In the recesses of our minds, near the darker corners in which we do not like to dine, live the memories of beloved companions we have lost. Pets that were chosen family, favorite cousins we only saw once a year as we grew older, and the imaginary ones we had to leave behind. They are somehow always with us. They permeate our being like a January frost in northern Minnesota while shoveling the drive. We absorb them. The memories may not be far off. There are no official regulations for these glimpses at eternity and mortality. There are only toys whose batteries have run out, and balloons which have given up their loft. If we have the courage to visit those corners, to play with them in the recesses, we can evolve into truly magnificent and sentient beings. If we refuse to dwell in these areas, the memories become foggy or jaded. They change over time until they have become murky shadows that don’t even resemble their original forms across lineage and dreams.

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