losing our origins

to forget one's origin is a blessing. to have so many influences, so many sources, that ones roots become obscured is to find oneself grown and matured. a river is mysterious because we cannot quite imagine its source. however hard we might try, the fern lined gullies of a river's youth will always be more numerous, more varied, darker, more secluded, and more tree-lined than we might imagine.

and besides, remembering where we have come from only benefits us if it allows us to appreciate where we are. better to awake each morning newly formed, having renounced the armor of yesterday than to hold each breath inside, hoping exhalation is not necessary.

each day i create my religion new again, each day i sleep beneath the stars to awaken in the house of God. each day i set up my stone pillar as an altar, each day i collect the manna, no more, no less than that required.

i have lost my origin - and i am happy.