Three leaves
Float this way
As do I



A LIfe In Haibun (ii)

Having started with my first memory, I assumed that I would move on to the next. I faced a dilemma. I was not sure whether the memory I had was from actual recollection or from recollection of hearing the story from my mother, who frequently retold family mythology. This was mostly because one or other of us four siblings wanted to hear how another – more often than not me – got into trouble. Then everyone would laugh, though I very much doubt my parents did at the time.

Unreliable memories, as Clive James almost titled his autobiographical series. Talking this over with my sibs, on the most hilarious occasion over a couple of drinks after my Father’s funeral, they have quite varying accounts of the same family events; events where we were all present.

This is not an unusual or unknown phenomenon. In fact, it is the norm, as any Policeman or Detective will tell you. No two witnesses give the same description of a person or event. Unless they are conspirators, maybe.
So I am not going to run this in strict chronological order. My memory is far too shabby at this advanced age anyway. No apology for any confusion caused, it will only mirror my own.

in order
not my life

On Death

No haiku today. I saw a photo of my best friend from university – he died 10 years ago, around the time 2 other very close friends died, and I hurt still. I don’t do death, loss or grief well. So today I wanted to reflect, not compose. This is about me, not mixed-me-and-mankind. It’s not tidy and its not easy. Poems yesterday and tomorrow on this site if you need to look away now.

I was raised to believe in an afterlife of heaven or hell, with eternities of punishment for a lifetime of “sin”. Do the crime, do the time. OK. Cold comfort there, because I was a rebel (small “R”). Eternal life was more of an insurance policy, if I am truthful. I put in the deposits but my uncertainty bled through.

I am more of a Buddhist now, though of the one god kind. I dont believe in reincarnation, however, as I fear I’d return next time as a slug or a firefly, maybe. Perhaps a bottom dwelling scum sucking scallop. Not an angel, anyway. It gives me peace and hope. That’s enough.

I am not intending to challenge anyone’s beliefs, here, nor deride any. To each his or her own. I accept that I do not have the corner on “truth” and my “faith” is somewhat shredded and tatty now.

But I still take joy in living – perhaps because I fear dying. I love hearing music. I love reading and writing. I love sunsets and dawns, rivers and mountains, streets and buildings, this and that, yesterday and today. Tomorrow? Who knows? I know I don’t.

Ka pai; it is good.