Not thinking about life

Here I am sitting in the Top Ryde food court, having gobbled a bowl of wonton noodles.  I am not even thinking about life.  I am just living it.  Even in the simplest pleasures or even displeasures, morsels of life can be found and experienced.  We sometimes think that we can only be happy during big special events.  Life is not a series of big special events but a continuous stream of experience.  In that stream there is always the invitation to an awareness of something greater, something we might miss out on altogether because our focus is always on the external.  The cleaners have taken away all evidence of my wonton noodles and the tray they were on.  On deeper reflection, that tray is still there, still hugging the gray and sombre table.  The memory still hangs there and commands its own version of reality.  And so with the many personalities that we have met in the past, those we have not seen for a long time.  They still linger although perhaps most of the time hiding behind screens of obscurity.  They too have been part of my life.  One time or another we have shared moments and in those moments were encounters with life itself.  I'm not thinking about life.  I am living it now.  It breathes and thrives in me.  Those encounters breathe and thrive but it is best to let the deathbringers die.  They corrupt the soul, invade the spirit, punish the body, redefine what you'd know as you.  The best way to live life is with someone else.  We are meant to give of ourselves.  It is the only way.  Holding back means holding back yourself and brings you closer to death.  The taste of the wonton noodles still imposes itself on my taste buds, undaunted by the washing down of a can of the dreaded Coke.  I guess I am still living the experience of the wonton noodles, gone might they be, all external traces obliterated.  So the memories persist, the good ones better do.  They have their part in defining me and destiny. I have memories of my long-lost sister.  Where she is I do not know.  Just the other night a vision of her came to me.  She was staring at me giving me the impression that we will soon meet.  After many years, it can still be possible.  Hope remains as the living breath continues to serve its purpose.  This morning the rains came and then abated.  I went for a walk with my two 3.5 kg weights down towards the Parra River.  Then the rains came again, gently patting my hoodie as I swayed the wet weights. Memories go and they come back gently patting your skull as you sway through life.  They remind you that they are around.  They have not been completlely obliterated.  They have not been taken away by the cleaners.  They breathe, they live.  Life is not just sound and fury.  Life is....