Free spirit mentored a young outsider.
by Richard Wagamese
Some nights there are stirs of echoes in the dark. It's an age thing, I think. Nights when sleep eludes you are the times when things past seem to take on lives of their own and present themselves to you as clear as yesterday. Sleepless. Reflecting. Longing sometimes. Moments when you maybe didn't hold on strong enough or long enough and the spirit of them and the people in them return fully formed, making you understand the nature of regret.
I wonder if everyone gets that. I wonder if it's a part of the human condition to have to exist on the edges of your memory sometimes and replay scenes from your life just to see how much you can actually recall. I know it's not just a First Nations thing. I believe that when you've lived here long enough, your past informs you as much as your present. If as, the Zen people say, the map is not the territory, then revisiting individual landscapes have much to offer us.
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