Say not thou, what is the cause that the former days were better than these? for thou dost not enquire wisely concerning this.
I went mining for memories in music made old by decades and dust,
Only to find yesterday’s songs stuck in yesterday.
There was the ballad that reminded me of her –
The kind of her that can only exist in the past,
In the sort of love can only end in failure,
Like the game of hide-and-seek she lost interest in and walked away
While I was too young to know when to quit looking.
Another song reminded me of that old dream
Now collecting dust on a tapestry whose history would never be woven,
Shrouded behind Arachne’s ghostly webs,
Before anyone told me what we all must learn:
The future is a perfect fiction
We write in our minds when we still haven’t learned to be still.
I said to my soul, be still –
Leave the charge of inescapable vanity
On Qoheleth’s lips and yesterday in yesterday.
The past is never gilded, it was a gut-punch to be endured,
If you endure, it was not in vain.
I said again to my soul, be still, the music never ends
And the only melodies worth losing yourself in are playing here, now;
The only love immune from failure is what you give here, now
When your happiness ceases to matter.
There are only so many notes, do not forget what matters most –
How they are played, and how they are heard.
Every song worth remembering is a variation on a theme
That is playing here, now and will play again.
And, the memories worth remembering
Harmonize here, now, and hereafter
In a future that needs no dreams to exist,
Which is being inexorably shaped
By the very present to which you are present.
*Qoheleth is the Hebrew title for the book of Ecclesiastes, commonly understood as the narrator of the book and also called the Preacher.
©Jedidiah Paschall – January 20, 2019