This morning I have walked so many times, the after morning, the moving forward morning. It will never be that morning before again.
And I’ve forgotten.
Forgotten what it is to be clean.
Forgotten what it is not to know.
A friend told me about his rape. We talked about the afterward. He’s the one who said he’s forgotten what it’s like to be clean. The forgetting, the displacement is haunting.
I’ve been reminded lately of all the rage I felt. I’ve been meditating on that, which sounds like an oxymoron, but I am particularly calm.